Title: The Wright Brothers
Author: Kelly, Fred Charters
Language: English
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THE WRIGHT BROTHERS



  THE WRIGHT
  BROTHERS

  By FRED C. KELLY

  _A Biography Authorized by
  Orville Wright_

  [Illustration]

  HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY
  NEW YORK



  COPYRIGHT, 1943, BY
  HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC.


  _All rights reserved, including
  the right to reproduce this book
  or portions thereof in any form._

  [b-6-43]


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA



  TO

  The Brave Flyers of the United Nations
  Fighting All over the World for Humanity
  and Decency Against the Forces of Barbarism,

  This Book Is Dedicated



AUTHOR’S PREFACE


The aim in this book has been to satisfy the curiosity of the average,
non-technical reader regarding the work of the Wright Brothers, and to
do so as simply as possible. No attempt has been made to go into minute
technical details. Nor does the book cover the scientific researches
and numerous inventions by Orville Wright since the death of his
brother.

To give credit to everyone who has been gracious with help in the
preparation of what I have written would require so long a list, with
risk of names being unintentionally omitted, that I shall not attempt
it.

But one name naturally and obviously comes first and foremost--that of
Orville Wright himself. He has read my manuscript and given generously
of his time in verifying the accuracy of various statements and in
correcting inaccuracies which otherwise would have appeared.

Next in importance to that of Orville Wright has been the help received
from his secretary, Miss Mabel Beck, whose memory and knowledge of Mr.
Wright’s voluminous files enabled her quickly to produce documentary
evidence to make certain of accuracy.

                                        FRED C. KELLY

  Peninsula, Ohio



CONTENTS


  _Author’s Preface_                        vii

  _Prologue_                                  3

  I. BOYHOOD                                  5

  II. BACKGROUND                             19

  III. PRINTING--AND BICYCLES                29

  IV. FIRST THOUGHTS OF FLIGHT               45

  V. GLIDING AT KITTY HAWK                   58

  VI. FIRST POWER FLIGHT                     84

  VII. AFTER THE EVENT                      112

  VIII. EXPERIMENTS OF 1904-’05             120

  IX. IT STILL WASN’T “NEWS”                139

  X. U. S. ARMY NOT INTERESTED              147

  XI. EUROPE DISCOVERS THE WRIGHTS          166

  XII. THE WRIGHTS IN EUROPE                194

  XIII. A DEAL WITH THE U. S.               207

  XIV. END OF DISBELIEF                     226

  XV. WHEN WILBUR WRIGHT WON FRANCE         233

  XVI. FURTHER ADVENTURES IN 1909           254

  XVII. IN AVIATION BUSINESS                268

  XVIII. PATENT SUITS                       287

  XIX. WHY THE WRIGHT PLANE WAS EXILED      300

  _Index_                                   335



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


  THE FIRST CAMP AT KITTY HAWK               52

  THE 1902 GLIDER                            53

  INSIDE THE 1902 CAMP                       84

  FROM ORVILLE WRIGHT’S DIARY                85

  FIRST FLIGHT                              116

  THE FIRST POWER PLANE                     117

  THE HUFFMAN PASTURE                       148

  THE WRIGHT PATENT                         149

  THE U. S. ARMY TEST                       180

  AT FORT MYER                              181

  THE WRIGHT PLANE IN FRANCE                212

  THE WRIGHTS AND WILBUR’S FRENCH PUPILS    213

  THE OLD AND THE NEW IN TRANSPORTATION     244

  DEMONSTRATION AT PAU                      245

  TWO ACES AND KING                         276

  THE WRIGHT HOME AND SHOP                  277



THE WRIGHT BROTHERS



PROLOGUE


In a corner of the Pullman smoking compartment, by the window, the man
who had been explaining the whole economic system mentioned inventors
as an example of the fortunate relationship between desire for money
and scientific progress.

“Take the Wright brothers,” he said. “Would they have worked all those
years trying to fly just for their health?”

Another passenger ventured to ask: “Don’t people sometimes become
curious about a problem and work to see what they can find out?”

The man by the window chuckled tolerantly as he replied: “Do you think
those Wright brothers would have kept on pouring money into their
experiments and risking their lives if they hadn’t hoped to get rich at
it? No, sir! It was the chance to make a fortune that kept them going.”
Most of the other passengers in the compartment nodded in agreement.

Not long afterward, one of those who had overheard that conversation
was in Dayton, Ohio, and inquired of his friend Orville Wright: “Do you
think the expectation of profit is the main incentive to inventors?”

Orville Wright didn’t think so. He doubted if Alexander Graham Bell
expected to make much out of the telephone. And it seemed to him
unlikely that Edison started out with the idea of making money.
Certainly, he said, Steinmetz had little interest in financial reward.
All Steinmetz asked of life was the opportunity to spend as much time
as possible in the laboratory working at problems that interested him.

“And the Wright brothers?”

If they had been interested in invention with the idea of making money,
said Orville Wright, looking amused, they “most assuredly would have
tried something in which the chances for success were brighter.”



I

BOYHOOD


From earliest years both Wilbur and Orville Wright were motivated by
what Thorstein Veblen called the “instinct of workmanship.” Their
father, the Reverend Milton Wright, used to encourage them in this and
never chided them for spending on their hobbies what little money they
might have. But he did urge them to try to earn enough to meet the
costs of whatever projects they were carrying on. “All the money anyone
needs,” he used to say, “is just enough to prevent one from being a
burden on others.”

Both brothers were fascinated by mechanics almost from the time they
were conscious of interest in anything. The childhood events most vivid
in the recollections of Orville Wright have had to do with mechanical
devices of one kind or another. One of the high spots was the day he
attained the age of five, because he received for a birthday gift a
gyroscopic top that would maintain its balance and spin while resting
on the edge of a knife-blade.

Shortly after that fifth birthday, and partly because of his inborn
enthusiasm over mechanics, Orville began an association with another
boy that had an important influence on his life. His mother started him
to kindergarten. The school was within a short walking distance of the
Wright home and Orville set out after breakfast each morning with just
enough time to reach the classroom if he didn’t loiter. His mother bade
him return home promptly after he was dismissed and he always arrived
punctually at the time expected. When asked how he was getting along,
he cheerfully said all was going well, but did not go into details. At
the end of a month his mother went to visit the kindergarten to learn
just how Orvie was doing.

“I hope the child has been behaving himself,” said the mother to the
teacher.

The teacher stared at her in astonishment. “Why,” said she, “you know,
since the first few days I haven’t _seen_ him. I supposed you had
decided to keep him at home.”

It turned out that Orville had almost immediately lost interest in
kindergarten and instead had regularly gone to a house two doors from
his own, on Hawthorne Street, to join a playmate, Edwin Henry Sines.
With an eye on the clock to adjust himself to the kindergarten hours,
he had stayed there and played with young Sines until about a minute
before he was due at home.

Orville’s father and mother were not too severe when this little
irregularity was discovered, because the boys had not been engaged in
any mischief. On the contrary, their play had been of a sort that might
properly be called “constructive.” The thing that had occupied them
most was an old sewing-machine belonging to Sines’ mother. They “oiled”
it by dropping water from a feather into the oil-holes!

Both Orville and Wilbur followed their father’s advice and earned
whatever money they spent. One source of income was from wiping dishes
in the evening, for which their mother paid a flat rate of one cent.
Sometimes she employed them to make minor household repairs. Orville
seemed to find more outlets for money than did Wilbur, who was more
saving, and from time to time he borrowed from Wilbur--but he kept his
credit good by sticking to an arrangement they always made that the
next money earned should be applied on the debt.

One of Orville’s early money-making ventures was the collecting of
old bones in near-by alleys, vacant lots, or neighbors’ yards, and
selling them to a fertilizer factory. He and another boy first did this
as a means for raising funds with which to buy candy for use while
fishing. They accumulated a weight of bones that it seemed to them must
represent a small fortune--and were somewhat shocked when the buyer
paid them only three cents.

At first, Orville’s associates in his projects were boys of his own
age rather than Wilbur, who was more than four years older and moved
in a different group; but a day came when the brothers began to share
curiosity over a mechanical phenomenon. In June, 1878, when Orville
was seven years old and Wilbur eleven, the Wright family left Dayton,
because the work of the father, who had been made a Bishop of the
United Brethren church, was shifted to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. And it was
in a house on Adams Street, in Cedar Rapids, not long after their
arrival there, that an event occurred which was to have much influence
on the lives of Wilbur and Orville--as well as to have its effect on
the whole human race.

Bishop Wright had returned from a short trip on church business
bringing with him a little present for his two younger sons.

“Look here, boys,” he said to Wilbur and Orville, holding out his
hands with something hidden between them. Then he tossed the gift
toward them. But instead of falling at once to the floor or into their
hands, as they expected, it went to the ceiling where it fluttered
briefly before it fell. It was a flying-machine, a helicopter, the
invention of a Frenchman, Alphonse Pénaud. Made of cork, bamboo, and
thin paper, the device weighed so little that twisted rubber bands
provided all the power needed to send it aloft for a few seconds.
As the brothers were to learn later, Pénaud, an invalid during most
of his short life, had not only invented, as early as 1871, various
kinds of toy flying-machines--both the helicopter type and others that
flew horizontally--but was the originator of the use of rubber bands
for motive power. Simple as was this helicopter--they called it the
“bat”--Wilbur and Orville felt great admiration for its ingenuity.
Though it soon went the way of all fragile toys, the impression it left
on their minds never faded.

Not long afterward Wilbur tried to build an improvement on that toy
helicopter. If so small a device could fly, why not make a bigger
one that could fly longer and higher? Orville was still too young
to contribute much to the actual building of larger models, but he
was keenly interested as Wilbur made several, each larger than the
one preceding. To the brothers’ astonishment, they discovered, that
the bigger the machine, the less it would fly; and if it was much
bigger than the original toy, it wouldn’t fly at all. They did not
yet understand that a machine of only twice the linear dimensions of
another would require eight times the power.

Orville, meanwhile, had distinguished himself in another way, by
organizing an army. His grade at school was dismissed one Friday
afternoon, though the rest of the school was in session, and it
occurred to Orville that it might be amusing to march by, throw gravel
on the windows, and taunt those who were still at their lessons.
Supported by his friend, Bert Shaffer, he proposed to a dozen other
boys in the class that they form themselves into an army, and act not
as individuals but as an organization. For having thought of the idea,
Orville, who had been doing some reading about Napoleon, would be the
General, but there would be Colonels and Captains as well. In fact,
they used up all the military titles they knew. Lacking guns, they
would have to carry wooden clubs, and these they got by removing some
loose pickets from the school fence. All went well until the school
janitor began to chase them, evidently intending to capture them. One
of the boys made him pause by throwing a rock in his direction as he
was crawling through a hole in the fence. After escaping into a distant
alley, all in the army assumed they would probably be in plenty of
trouble when they returned to school Monday morning.

“We’ll be all right,” said Orville, feeling bound, as their commanding
General, to try to uphold the army’s morale, “if we stick together.
They can’t fire us all.”

He mounted a box lying in the alley and outlined what they should do.
The teacher would doubtless single out only two or three of them that
had been recognized by the janitor and ask them to stay after school.
But if the teacher asked one of them to stand up, they must all stand
up; or, if she asked one to stay after school, all must stay, and show
their solidarity. “All for one, and one for all,” he quoted.

When they were back in school at the next session, the teacher said
nothing to indicate that retribution was in the making; but when the
class was dismissed at the end of the afternoon, she asked Orville to
“remain.” True to their pact, all the rest of the army stayed in their
seats--or, rather, all except one under-sized lad. A few minutes later,
the teacher asked Orville to come to her desk. As he stepped forward,
all the others started to do likewise. “The rest of you sit down,”
commanded the teacher, and then added: “I don’t know why you’re here at
all.” Her tone was such that all meekly sat down.

When Orville reached her desk, she said: “You were speaking of a
song you could bring for the exercises next Friday”--and went on to
talk, pleasantly enough, of Orville’s part in a forthcoming school
entertainment.

She didn’t even seem to know about the daring behavior of the army in
the school yard. Probably the janitor, embarrassed over his failure to
capture the culprits, had not reported them.

While in Cedar Rapids, Orville showed enterprise in another direction.
He had enough intellectual curiosity to study lessons that the teacher
had not yet assigned. When a little more than eight years old he told
his father that he was tired of the Second Reader they were still
studying at school and wished he had a Third Reader.

One morning, not long after that, at the middle of the school year, the
principal came to the room Orville was in and announced that any pupils
who showed enough proficiency in reading might be promoted at once,
without waiting until the end of the year, and begin the Third Reader.
The more promising members of the class, selected by the teacher,
then stood toeing a chalk mark, up front, as was commonly done, and
took turns at reading. In his alarm lest he might not do himself full
justice, Orville, someone told him later, held his book upside down.
That did not prevent him from reading accurately, as he knew the book
by heart, and he was promoted.

“I’m now in the Third Reader class,” he proudly announced when he
reached home that noon.

“Well, that’s a strange thing,” said his father. “Just this morning
I bought the Third Reader you asked for. But,” he added, “you
won’t be able to use it today, because you’re going to miss school
this afternoon. I have arranged for you and Wilbur to go to the
photographer’s and have your pictures taken.”

Orville’s picture thus commemorated what had seemed to him an important
event in his life.

After three years in Cedar Rapids, the Wright family, in June 1881,
moved to Richmond, Indiana, partly that Mrs. Wright, who was not in
robust health, might have the companionship of her sister who lived
there. It was in Richmond that Orville took up the building and flying
of kites. Though it interested him, Wilbur did not then take much part
in this kite-flying sport, because he feared it might be considered too
juvenile for a boy of his size. Orville came to be considered an expert
at kite-making and sold kites to playmates as a convenient means of
getting spending money. He made the framework of his kites as thin as
possible, to reduce weight. Indeed, they were so thin that they would
often bend in the wind and the kite formed an arc. But it did not then
occur to Orville that this curvature of the kite’s surface had any
relation to its good flying qualities.

Though he had turned his kite-making to profit, Orville’s best
source of revenue in Richmond was a job of folding papers, a church
publication. For additional spending money he entered the junk
business. He would go after school or on Saturdays to pick up scraps of
metal thrown out by a chain factory, and hauled this in his “express”
wagon to a junk dealer’s yard.

One of his projects was the building of a small wooden lathe. It was
too small to be quite satisfactory, and Wilbur offered to help him
build a larger lathe, seven or eight feet long. This was the first
“big” mechanical job he and Wilbur worked on together.

The lathe was considered a great success, especially by neighbor boys
who thought it a privilege to work the foot-treadle that provided
the motive power. But Wilbur felt that it should be improved. He
had noticed that bicycles were being equipped with ball-bearings
to give easy running quality and he said the lathe ought to have
ball-bearings. He looked about the barn for material that could be
adapted and took some metal rings from an old set of harness. When two
of these were held tightly side by side they formed the outer track for
the ball-bearings; but, instead of steel balls, marbles were used--the
common kind, made of clay, that we used to call “commies.” Within this
circle of marble bearings would rest the shaft of the lathe. The idea
seemed so sound that the brothers’ friends were much impressed. Many
were on hand in the upper floor of the barn awaiting eagerly the final
tinkering before the ball-bearing “patent” could be demonstrated. As
soon as the lathe was put into operation, there was a terrible noise
and then it seemed as if the barn itself was beginning to sway and
shake. It was evident that the marbles in the bearing had not been
strong enough to withstand the stress; but why should the barn become
so agitated? Orville went downstairs to find out if there could be any
other cause.

When he reached the outside he saw his sister Katharine held against
the side of the house by an invisible force. A small cyclone was taking
place! All the boys upstairs had been too absorbed to notice such minor
phenomena as weather.

Some of the enterprises Orville got into at Richmond were not of a
mechanical nature; and Wilbur, if sharing in them at all, appeared only
in the background, or as a consultant, for he was at an age when a boy
gave thought to his dignity. Orville had noticed that many boys chewed
small hunks of tar. It seemed to him that if the tar could be flavored
with sugar to make it more palatable, and small pieces were wrapped
in tissue paper, a market for the product might be found. He and his
friend, Harry Morrow, began a series of experiments in the Wright back
yard, and they seemed well on their way to having a saleable article.
But as they kept testing their samples, both became ill--some kind of
stomach disorder, accompanied by nausea--and abandoned their plans.
Wilbur, though not a partner in all this, was much interested and for
years afterwards used to refer to “that chawin’ gum corporation.”

If Orville was “into” more different things at this time than his
brother, it was mainly because Wilbur’s great passion was for reading.
And what he read, he absorbed. It wasn’t long until he himself began to
show a gift for writing. Because of that, Wilbur played an important
part in one of Orville’s early business ventures--though behind the
scenes.

One of Orville’s friends was a boy living next door named Gansey
Johnston, whose father made a hobby of taxidermy. They often played
in the Johnston barn where the father had a collection of stuffed
birds and animals. One day Orville’s imagination was much stirred.
He saw possibilities for putting those birds and animals to good
use--especially when he noted that there was even a huge black bear and
a grizzly. It was obvious to him that he and the Johnston boy should
form a partnership and he asked Gansey how he would feel about such an
arrangement.

“Partnership to do what?” asked the boy.

Why, said Orville, to give a circus!

Though he had never thought of giving a circus, the Johnston lad caught
the idea and soon was enthusiastic. They then decided to take in
Orville’s friend, Harry Morrow, as a third partner. Their show would be
known as The Great W. J. & M. Circus.

As the date for the big show approached, sixteen-year-old Wilbur
Wright, who had been taking great interest in the preparations, asked
Orville what he had done about advance notices in the newspapers.
Orville had to admit that he had done nothing.

Wilbur appeared to be shocked that no one had taken steps fully to
prepare the public mind for the coming event, and offered to write a
suitable reading notice about the street parade. This, he said, should
be placed in the Richmond _Evening Item_. He had absorbed the method of
expression used in circus bills and his forecast of the parade was a
masterpiece. There was nothing amateurish about the way he introduced
such words as “mammoth,” “colossal,” and “stupendous,” nor about his
use of impressively large figures--“thousands of strange birds from all
parts of the world” that would positively be in the menagerie. It was
announced that the proprietors of the big show would personally lead
the parade on “iron horses”; and that Davy Crockett would positively
appear with a grizzly bear. At the end of the notice, in professional
manner, was the exact route of the parade, that the populace might not
miss the great free exhibition of wonders. The notice also gave the
prices of admission to the big show--three cents for children under
three years; others, five cents. Wilbur gave the piece of publicity to
Orville to take to the _Item_ office.

There was a little box just inside a door to a stairway leading to the
editorial rooms, and the boys knew it was intended for news items. But
they walked up and down the street in front of the newspaper office for
a long time before they had the courage to enter the stairway. What
if someone should _see_ them! Finally, when they thought no one was
looking, one of them ran up to the box and in desperate haste deposited
their piece of publicity. Then both ran up the street at a speed that
could have attracted attention.

The editor of the _Item_ evidently had a good news sense and recognized
the mysterious “press release” as a local item worth printing. He had
no way of knowing who “W. J. & M.” were, but felt sure the account of
that forthcoming parade had plenty of reader interest. It came about,
therefore, that Wilbur’s advance notice had a prominent position in the
_Item_ of September 10, 1883, under a heading that asked: “What Are the
Boys Up To?”

Though some of Wilbur’s figures about the number of rare birds and
wild animals may have been a bit overdrawn, to conform to circus bill
standards, he had not exaggerated the amazing nature of the parade. Two
of the proprietors, Wright and Johnston, actually appeared at the head
of the parade on their “iron horses.” These were high-wheel bicycles,
one of them having wooden spokes. The third associate proprietor of the
big show, Harry Morrow, was unavoidably absent, because his parents had
gone on a vacation trip to Michigan, and had insisted, much against his
wishes, on taking him with them.

A principal “parade wagon” was the running gear of an old buggy, with
no body but only a few planks to make a platform on which were some of
the “thousands of rare birds,” and also the great, frightful grizzly
bear held in leash by Davy Crockett. Though no horses were hitched to
this “wagon,” plenty of boys had volunteered their services as “slaves”
to pull it through the streets. At the last minute, “Corky” Johnston,
nine-year-old brother of one of the proprietors, got into a fight with
the circus bosses, and they felt compelled to deny him the privilege of
participating in the parade. This created a problem, for he had been
cast for the role of Davy Crockett, wearing his father’s hunting togs,
including high boots. The circus chiefs got around that, the best they
could, by assigning the Davy Crockett part to Corky’s younger brother,
Griswold, not yet five years old. He was almost overwhelmed by the
hunting suit; but in the rush of getting the parade started he was the
best Davy Crockett available.

Wilbur’s advance notice was more successful than he had hoped for. It
had aroused so much curiosity that when the parade reached that part of
the announced line of march in the business section, the streets were
lined with people--almost as many, in fact, as if the circus had been
Barnum’s.

Messrs. W. & J., astounded by the unexpected attention the parade was
attracting, began to feel much too conspicuous. They hastily decided
that their route must be changed, and the parade turned up an alley!

So many customers came that not all who clamored for admission to the
Johnston barn could be accommodated, and it was decided to repeat
the show. But while those who got into the barn were viewing the
“menagerie,” the boy who had been denied the privilege of appearing
as Davy Crockett saw an opportunity to get his revenge. He got up on
the barn roof and addressed the multitude, telling them they might as
well disperse and seek their homes, because, he said, there would be no
other performance.

The crowd took him at his word.

Orville Wright had previously organized another circus, in partnership
with a neighbor boy named Miller, who had a Shetland pony. For this
show the admission was only one cent. Though the gross receipts were
not vast, the show was a great success, partly in consequence of the
profound impression it had made on the Miller boy’s father. At the
close of the performance, he announced that the show people would be
guests of honor at a reception, to which the spectators also were
cordially invited. Lemonade, ice cream, and cake were served in lavish
quantities, and every boy felt that, taking the afternoon as a whole,
he had had his money’s worth.

But of all the enterprises in which the Wright brothers showed their
initiative in Richmond, the Great W. J. & M. Circus probably caused the
most talk. People thought the boy who had organized that show would
doubtless amount to something. Many ventured the opinion, too, that
the youngster, whoever he was, who had prepared that notice for the
newspaper about the parade, would surely be “heard from.”



II

BACKGROUND


Certain traits that were to show in Wilbur and Orville Wright--the
pioneering urge, the gift for original thinking, and mechanical
aptitude--were all in their ancestry.

Take, for example, their grandfather, John G. Koerner. Native of a
German village, near Schleiz, he became so bitterly opposed to German
militarism and autocracy that he determined to migrate to the United
States. He sailed from Bremen to Baltimore early in 1818 and went to
live in Virginia. Besides gaining recognition in the United States for
his mechanical ability and for the superior quality of farm wagons
and carriages he manufactured, he became known, too, as a person who
did his own thinking. He did not accept all that he heard or read.
Indeed, he seems to have been a “character.” It was his habit to read
newspapers aloud to his family, and when, as invariably happened, he
came to something that interested him because of approval, disapproval,
or for any other reason, he would interpolate comment without changing
his tone or rate of utterance. It was impossible for a listener to tell
just how much that he seemed to be reading was actually in the paper
and which ideas were his own. One by one, members of his family would
study the paper afterward to see if various surprising statements were
really there. No matter how commonplace a newspaper article may have
been, it was never colorless as he read it.

His wife, the former Catherine Fry, American born, also came of pioneer
ancestry, from the German language section of Switzerland. Their
daughter, Susan Catherine Koerner, was born April 30, 1831, when they
lived at Hillsboro, Loudoun County, Virginia, but the family moved to
Union County, Indiana, shortly after that--at a time when there was
still pioneering life in the Hoosier country. The Koerner farm became
a rather impressive one for those times. There were finally a dozen or
fourteen buildings, including the carriage shop, all conspicuous for
their workmanlike construction and orderliness. John Koerner lived to
the age of eighty-six.

Perhaps the most interesting pioneer of all in the Wright brothers’
ancestry was Catharine[1] (Benham) Van Cleve, the first white woman to
set foot in Dayton. Her husband, John Van Cleve, whom she had married
in New Jersey, was a descendant of a Van Cleve who had come from
Holland to Long Island before 1650. When he proposed, a few years after
their marriage, that they should settle in the almost unexplored virgin
forest region of Ohio, she liked the adventurous idea. They migrated to
Cincinnati--then called Losantiville--in 1790. Within two years after
their arrival, John Van Cleve was killed by Indians. His widow married
Samuel Thompson and, in April, 1796, they decided to try their luck at
a settlement about to be established, fifty miles to the north. The
place had just been named in honor of Jonathan Dayton, a Revolutionary
soldier. Three groups of people arranged to make the trip at about the
same time. So unsettled was the country, and so nearly non-existent
were the wagon trails, that the party which included Catharine Van
Cleve Thompson preferred to travel in a flat-bottomed boat on the
Miami River. The others went by land. Though the boat trip took about
ten days, that group was the first to arrive. Among those in the boat
were some of the Van Cleve children; another of them was in one of
the overland parties. A Van Cleve son, Benjamin, became the first
postmaster at Dayton, the first school teacher, and also the first
county clerk. His marriage at Dayton in August, 1800, to Mary Whitten,
was the first recorded in Montgomery County.

Margaret Van Cleve, a sister of Benjamin, had stayed in Cincinnati,
because she was about to be married--to George Reeder, later an
innkeeper. They had a daughter, Catharine, who became the wife of Dan
Wright (not named Daniel, but plain Dan, as was also his father), who
had come to Centerville, Ohio, near Dayton, in 1811. It was of this
union that Milton Wright, father of Wilbur and Orville, was born--in a
log cabin in Rush County, Indiana, November 17, 1828.

Dan Wright’s ancestry could be traced back to one John Wright, known to
have bought Kelvedon Hall, in Essex County, England, in 1538. A less
remote ancestor, Samuel Wright, had migrated to America in 1636, and
settled at Springfield, Mass.

At the time of his marriage, Dan Wright was employed in a distillery.
But he evidently did not feel comfortable over his occupation and quit
the distillery job to devote his whole attention to farming. Moreover,
he “got religion” and would no longer even sell his corn to distillers.
Perhaps it was because of the strong religious feeling of Dan Wright
that his son, Milton, at the age of eighteen, had joined the United
Brethren church.

Milton Wright attended a small college in near-by Hartsville, Indiana,
and at the age of twenty-two he received from the United Brethren
church his certificate entitling him to preach. But he did not at once
actively enter the ministry. The pioneer urge was in him and he went
to the Willamette Valley, in Oregon, where for two years he was a
teacher in a small college conducted under the auspices of the church.
It was three or four years after finishing his course at Hartsville
that he met the young woman, a student there, who was to become his
wife. Mutual friends had spoken to him of Susan Catherine Koerner, of
how charming, how “smart” she was, and when he found an opportunity
to be introduced to her, he was by no means disinclined to make her
acquaintance. They were married on November 24, 1859, a week after his
thirty-first birthday.

During the first few years after their marriage, the Milton Wrights
lived at several different places in Indiana. Their first child,
Reuchlin, was born in March, 1861, on a farm[2] near Fairmount; and
Lorin, the second son, a year and a half later, in Fayette County, at
the home of his grandparents. When Wilbur was born, April 16, 1867,
the family was living on a small farm the father had bought near the
village of Millville, eight miles east of New Castle. Wilbur was named
for Wilbur Fiske, a churchman whom the father admired; but his name did
not include the Fiske. None of the Wright children ever had a middle
name.

For a year, the Rev. Milton Wright was minister of a church at
Hartsville, and also taught in the college he had attended there. Then,
in June, 1869, he became editor of the _Religious Telescope_, a United
Brethren weekly, at Dayton, the home of those pioneer ancestors.

A year or more after their arrival for their first stay in Dayton,
the Wright family bought, while it was still under construction, a
modest seven-room house at 7 Hawthorne Street. This was on the West
Side, across the Miami river, and about a mile from the main business
section. Here Orville Wright--named for Orville Dewey, a Unitarian
minister--was born on August 19, 1871; and his sister, Katharine, three
years later to the day.

During the family’s absence in Cedar Rapids and Richmond, the Hawthorne
Street house was rented, but the Wright family was once again to live
there, for in June, 1884, the Rev. Milton Wright’s work brought him
from Richmond back to Dayton. When, sixteen months later, the tenant’s
lease expired and they were settled again at 7 Hawthorne Street, all
the family felt that they were where they “belonged.”

The family’s return to Dayton was a few days before Wilbur would have
been graduated from high school at Richmond. With the final year of
the course so nearly completed, he would have received his diploma if
he had been present with his class on commencement day. But Wilbur did
not consider the mere diploma itself important enough to justify a trip
back to Richmond, even though the distance was less than fifty miles.
His decision was a subject for family talks and all agreed that Wilbur
should do as he thought best. The father felt, as did the others, that
receiving a diploma was ceremonial and less important than the actual
education gained.

Wilbur decided to take a special course at the high school in Dayton
the next year. He wished especially to continue the study of Greek, and
to learn trigonometry.

Orville had been in the sixth grade at Richmond, but a week or two
before the end of the year he got into a bit of mischief that caused
his teacher, Miss Bond, to dismiss him. She said he could not return
to school until either his father or mother came with him to guarantee
that his deportment would improve. But his father was away from home at
the time, and his mother was too busy packing for the move to Dayton to
take time for consultation with that teacher. Orville simply stayed out
of school for the rest of the year.

When he entered school in Dayton the next September, with no
certificate to show that he had completed the sixth grade, it looked
as if he might have to be in that grade for another year. But Orville
was so violent and uncompromising in his protests that the school
authorities said he might try the seventh grade until they could see
how well he got along. At the end of the year he passed into the eighth
grade with the highest mark in arithmetic in the city.

When Orville entered the eighth grade, Miss Jennings, who taught
grammar, evidently thought she detected something mischievous about him
and assigned him to a front seat in her class.

The next year, the same teacher had been promoted to the high school,
as a teacher of algebra, and again she put Orville up in front where
she could keep an eye on him. Orville’s front seats became a subject
for family jests.

Later on in his high school course, Orville was demonstrating a problem
in geometry on the blackboard, when his teacher, Miss Wilson, pointed
out that though he had the correct answer, he evidently had not
followed the textbook.

“I got it out of another book--Wentworth’s geometry,” Orville
explained. And he added: “I get a lot of good stuff from Wentworth.”

Instead of complimenting him on having enough interest in the subject
to consult another source, the teacher chided him for referring to what
she called “a beautiful science” as “stuff.”

Orville had no compunction about telling at meal time of such episodes.
He knew he wouldn’t be scolded. It was simply good conversational
material and would provoke sympathetic laughter.

The family was interested, too, in the inventiveness of the boys.
Lorin had once invented an improvement on a hay-baling machine. Wilbur
had designed and built a practical device for folding paper. This was
while he had the contract for folding the entire weekly issue of an
eight-page church paper. He had found the hand work tedious and got up
a machine that could be worked by a foot-treadle.

For a long time the mechanical ability that had aroused the most family
admiration, though, was in the mother. Susan Koerner Wright was more
than ordinarily resourceful in adapting household tools or utensils to
unexpected uses. She was clever at designing clothes, too; and once she
had built a sled for the two older boys. As her family used to say, she
“could mend anything.”

The mother, however, was not long to be spared to her family. On July
4, 1889, or less than four years after the return to Hawthorne Street,
she died. During the latter years of her life, Wilbur was much with his
mother, and devoted himself almost constantly to her care, for he too
at that time was an invalid, unable to engage in much outdoor activity.

Wilbur’s illness was in consequence of an accident. While playing a
game of shinny, on skates, he was hit in the face with a shinny club.
The blow knocked out all his upper front teeth. He began to suffer from
a heart disorder from which he did not completely recover for several
years.

After the death of the mother, and the departure of the two older
brothers to establish homes of their own, the other members of the
Wright family were all the more drawn together. Whatever one of them
was doing interested all. And all--especially Wilbur--did much reading.

Two groups of books were in the home, one in Bishop Wright’s study
upstairs, and another, used by the family, downstairs in the living
room. Nearly all the books in the father’s library were “very serious,”
but Wilbur often dipped into them, though the father made no effort
to direct or control anyone’s reading. Downstairs, however, were the
books that both Wilbur and Orville liked best. These included a set of
Washington Irving’s works, both Grimm’s and Andersen’s fairy tales,
Plutarch’s _Lives_, a set of the _Spectator_, a set of Addison’s
essays, Boswell’s _Life of Johnson_, a set of Sir Walter Scott,
Gibbon’s _Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_, Green’s history of
England, Guizot’s _France_, an incomplete set of Nathaniel Hawthorne,
and a set in which was Marey’s _Animal Mechanism_. Here also were a
set of the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_ and _Chambers’ Encyclopedia_.
The _Britannica_ was an edition of the late 70’s and the _Chambers’
Encyclopedia_ was an earlier edition. Though Wilbur was the great
reader, Orville was not far behind him. He was fascinated by scientific
articles in the encyclopedia almost from the time he learned to read.

Wilbur and Orville from time to time contributed to the family comfort
in a substantial way. They built a spacious front porch, and all the
lathe work for the posts they did themselves. Then they remodeled the
interior of the house, changing the arrangement of the rooms. Other
members of the family felt as much pride in such handiwork as if they
had done it themselves.

More than their sturdy, intelligent, pioneer ancestry, it was probably
the kind of home they lived in that had most to do with what the
younger brothers were later to achieve. Orville expressed that with
deep conviction many years afterward. A friend of his had remarked
to him: “Even though what you accomplished was without the idea of
making money, the fact remains that the Wright brothers will always be
favorite examples of how American lads with no special advantages can
get ahead.”

“But,” said Orville seriously, “that isn’t true. Because, you see, we
_did_ have special advantages.”

“What special advantages do you mean?”

“Simply that we were lucky enough to grow up in a home environment
where there was always much encouragement to children to pursue
intellectual interests; to investigate whatever aroused curiosity. In a
different kind of environment our curiosity might have been nipped long
before it could have borne fruit.”



III

PRINTING--AND BICYCLES


At the age of twelve, while living in Richmond, Indiana, Orville
Wright became interested in wood engravings. His curiosity had been
stirred by seeing some woodcuts by Timothy Cole and T. Johnson in the
_Century_ magazine. Wondering how the cuts were made he began to search
the encyclopedia and one or two other books that told a little about
the technique used. He then decided that he might be able to make
some woodcuts himself if he had a suitable tool--and he went ahead to
fashion such a tool from the spring of an old pocket-knife. (The next
Christmas, Wilbur gave him a set of engraving tools.)

After trying his hand at his first few woodcuts, Orville naturally
wished to make prints from them, and for this purpose he used a
press his father had for copying letters. Today seldom seen, the
old-fashioned letter-press consisted of two horizontal metal plates
that could be forced close together by turning a little circular handle
at the top of a threaded rod attached to the upper plate. One’s letter
was moistened and placed next to a thin tissue sheet in a record
book which went between the plates of the press. Under pressure, a
copy of the letter was transferred to the tissue. Such a press was a
fascinating device for a boy to play with. Indeed, Orville had used
it for other purposes than that for which it was intended. It had also
served him as a vise. And now it worked fairly well for making proofs
from his woodcuts.

It was at about this time that the Wright family returned to Dayton
from Richmond, and Orville renewed close relations with his old
chum, Ed Sines. To his delight he found that young Sines was already
interested in printing. He had a small press, obtained by trading a
file, covering more than a year, of a boys’ magazine called _Golden
Days_. This press was little more than a toy, capable of printing only
one narrow line at a time, and the boys were never able to make much
use of it. But, nevertheless, they immediately formed the printing firm
of Sines & Wright.

At the beginning of the partnership of Sines & Wright, their printing
establishment was in a corner of the Sines kitchen. Ed’s mother summed
up the situation there when one day she noticed an envelope addressed
to “Messrs. Sines & Wright,” from a type foundry. “It must be for you,”
she said to the partners, “for you certainly _are_ a pair of messers.”

Interested as they were in printing, Ed Sines and Orville had time for
other hobbies. One of these was a telegraph line they rigged up between
their homes. For years Wilbur Wright referred to it as “the first
wireless telegraph,” because the boys used to shout the messages back
and forth to verify whatever they clicked out on the keys.

It soon became evident that Orville had printers’ ink in his blood.
This printing hobby was more than a passing fancy. His father was
impressed by the boy’s persistence in trying to use inadequate
equipment. The father knew that two of his older sons, Wilbur and
Lorin, had recently had a chance to trade a boat they had made, now
seldom used, for a small printing press. If they would make that trade,
he suggested, and donate the press to Orville, then he would buy for
the youngster twenty-five pounds of brevier type. This deal was made.
The new press would print anything up to 3 by 4½ inches.

As the Sines kitchen was not quite the ideal location for their
printing plant, Orville arranged for quarters in a “summer kitchen,”
not often used, at the Wright home.

It now occurred to Messrs. Sines & Wright that it might be a good idea
to print a newspaper for the benefit of their eighth grade classmates.
They called it _The Midget_. Because of the limited capacity of their
press, the paper was necessarily small, two narrow columns wide and
four and one-half inches long. Most of the items in it were put
directly into type, as they thought of them, and not from previously
prepared copy. They found that the four pages they had planned entailed
a surprising amount of work and to reduce this they put nothing on
page three except “Sines & Wright,” twice, diagonally across the page,
in script type. After they had printed about one hundred copies for
distribution, Orville’s father saw one of these and immediately placed
a ban on the whole issue. He insisted that the boys had not done
themselves justice in slighting that third page. Readers of the paper,
he said, might get the impression that the publishers were lazy or
shiftless.

In a way, this suppression of the issue came almost as a relief,
for the publishers had begun to feel misgivings about one somewhat
daring item they had taken the liberty of printing. It was about their
teacher, Miss Jennings, who was a strict disciplinarian. The item read:
“Next week we propose to publish one of Miss Jennings’ famous lectures
before the pupils of the Intermediate School on the Inherent Wickedness
of School Children.”

Maybe, they reflected, it was just as well that _The Midget_ was not to
be distributed. Miss Jennings might take the item as good clean fun,
but, on the other hand, she might raise a rumpus.

Before long the partners had an opportunity to buy a quantity of
display type for $2, and then they began trying to establish themselves
in the job-printing business. They set up their headquarters in
the Wright barn, though on cold days they were likely to do their
typesetting on a table in the Wright dining-room. Neighborhood
storekeepers gave them a few orders for printing, and the firm began
to take on airs. They employed Forrest Whitfield, a neighbor boy, as
printer’s devil. He commanded a weekly wage of fifteen cents.

All was going well until one day they received an order from a man who
wished to pay for his printing not in money but in popcorn. He assured
them that this popcorn, on the cob, was worth more than the $2 the
printing would have cost. But before deciding if they should accept the
popcorn in payment, the partners prudently went to a grocer to get an
estimate of its value. Sure enough, it was worth $2, and the grocer
offered to buy it from them at that price.

Now Orville saw greater opportunities opening before them. With a
liquid capital of $2, they could buy more type, do a greater variety
of printing, and thus have more fun. But Ed Sines thought there was
such a thing as over-extension of plant and equipment. Why not just
divide their popcorn and _eat_ it? Each was so uncompromising in his
convictions that there was only one thing to do: one must buy out the
other and they would dissolve the partnership. Inasmuch as Orville
already owned the press they were using and most of the type, it
seemed logical that he should be the buyer. By paying his share of the
popcorn he was able to take over his partner’s interest without much
cash outlay. Thenceforth, when they worked together, as from time to
time they continued to do, Ed Sines was no longer co-proprietor but an
employee.

At about this time, something set Orville to thinking of how
interesting it would be to print circus bills. He wished some of his
friends would organize a circus. Then he could do their printing. The
idea seemed worth promoting. He went to the Truxell boys, and Fred
LaRue, neighbors up the street, and convinced them that they had just
the kind of abilities to organize and present a wonderful circus--one
that would make a great hit with all the kids. The result of this talk
was The Great Truxell Bros. & LaRue Show. Orville refused to accept any
payment for printing the handbills and tickets of admission to the big
show. The fun of doing it was all the reward he wanted.

Mrs. Wright had cleared out an upstairs room for Orville’s printing
activities and that was his base for some time. He began to feel the
need for a larger printing press and he determined to build one. The
bed for the new press was an old gravestone he got from a marble dealer.

This press would print a sheet eleven by sixteen inches. Orville could
now undertake larger printing projects. One order required more type
than he had on hand. But that didn’t stop him. After he had used up
all his type, with the job only half done, he recalled having heard of
stereotype plates. He looked up in an encyclopedia a description of how
such plates were cast from the impression of the original type in wet
cardboard. And he contrived to make such a plate from the type already
set. Then he redistributed that type for use in setting the rest of the
job.

Ambitious to be a really good printer, Orville took employment during
two summer vacations with a printing establishment in Dayton, and
worked there sixty hours a week. But he felt that the most fun and
satisfaction in connection with printing had been from building his
own press. Along in the spring of 1888, when he was nearly seventeen
years old, he started to build another press, bigger than any he had
used before. He didn’t know exactly what he would do with it, but that
question did not yet give him much concern. He would have the fun of
building it. In the family woodshed was a pile of fire-wood cut in
four-foot lengths. From these he made much of the framework, though
he had to buy at a lumber yard a few longer pieces. From near-by junk
yards he collected odds and ends of iron or steel that could be used. A
difficult problem was to find a means of forcing the type against the
printing surface, always with the same pressure, just enough and not
too much. Orville searched the Wright barn and tool-shed for something
that could be adapted, but without success until his eye happened to
alight on the old family buggy. The buggy had a folding top, held
firmly in place, when raised, by steel bars hinged in the middle. They
were designed to force the top just so far and no farther. Exactly what
he needed!

The job turned out to be much more difficult than Orville had expected,
and Wilbur Wright, observing his kid brother at a tough job, offered
to help him build the press. Some of the suggestions Wilbur made for
moving parts of that press were peculiar in that they seemed to violate
all mechanical rules and could not possibly be expected to work. Yet
they did. Some time later, a well-dressed stranger entered the shop
where Orville, merrily whistling, was feeding paper into his press,
and asked if he might look at that “home-made printing outfit.” He
had heard about it while visiting in Dayton. What at once astonished
Orville and two or three boys in the shop was that the visitor, with
complete disregard for his good clothes, lay right down flat on his
back on the floor to study the press in operation. After he had
observed it for several minutes, he got up, brushed himself off, and
remarked: “It works all right, but I still don’t understand _why_ it
works.” Before leaving he laid his card on a table. He was the foreman
of the pressroom of a newspaper in Denver.

Now that he had his new press, Orville wished he could put it to some
purpose to make full use of the greatly increased printing capacity.
The press was big enough and fast enough to print a newspaper. Why not
start a neighborhood weekly? He had hardly more than thought of this
before he decided to do so. It was probably the first time a paper was
ever started just to use a press.

Orville now rented a room on West Third Street, near Broadway. The
first issue of the paper--four three-column pages--appeared on March
1, 1889. In his salutatory, Orville said: “This week we issue the
first number of the _West Side News_, a paper to be published in the
interests of the people and business institutions of the West Side.
Whatever tends to their advancement, moral, mental, and financial, will
receive our closest attention.”

There were seventeen advertisements. A leading feature was a story
about Abraham Lincoln and General Sherman, from the _Youth’s
Companion_; and there was an article about Benjamin Franklin. The
range of the publisher’s reading was indicated by a number of short
paragraphs on foreign affairs, and about the approaching inauguration
of President-elect Benjamin Harrison. Altogether it was a creditable
job. No boyish “boners” or typographical errors were to be found.

All copies of the first issue were distributed free, as samples, but
the paper was soon a fairly profitable enterprise. After the first
few numbers, it was enlarged from three columns wide to four columns.
Ed Sines devoted himself to rounding up advertisements and news
items. From time to time Wilbur Wright helped to fill space by writing
humorous essays, and after a few weeks his name was added to the
paper’s masthead as “editor,” along with Orville’s as publisher.

Another contributor to the _West Side News_ was a young Negro lad, a
friend of Orville since grammar grades, Paul Laurence Dunbar, whose
poetry afterward made him famous. Dunbar, in 1890, started a paper,
_The Tattler_, for Negro readers, and Orville did the printing.

By the time the _West Side News_ had been running a year, Orville had
completed his course in high school. He thought the final year, devoted
in the regular course largely to review, would hardly justify the time.
Instead, having it in mind that he might decide to go to college and
would need additional credits for college entrance requirements, he
was a special student in Latin during that fourth year, attending high
school an hour or two a day. The two elder Wright brothers had attended
college in Iowa and Indiana, and later their sister Katharine took a
degree at Oberlin, but both Wilbur and Orville gave up the idea of
going to college, and neither ever received a diploma from high school.
It may be added, however, that Orville in later years never agreed
with those who suggested that “college might have ruined the Wright
brothers.” More than once he said they doubtless could have done their
scientific work more easily if they had had the advantage of college
education.

Having decided, partly because of interest in the job at hand, not
to go to college, Orville, in April, 1890, with Wilbur as partner,
converted the _West Side News_ from a weekly to a four-page,
five-column daily, called _The Evening Item_.

This venture, though it showed no loss, was never profitable. At that
time the perfecting-press was coming into use and Dayton newspapers
were issuing big, thick editions that proved to be increasingly keen
competition for a small neighborhood sheet. After about four months the
paper was suspended. But, as late as 1894, Orville and Wilbur published
for a time a little two-column weekly called _Snapshots_, devoted to
vigorous comments on current local events. After the first issue or two
these were usually written by Wilbur.

Both Orville and Wilbur now became absorbed in one more new interest.
Orville had owned in Richmond an old high wheel bicycle for which he
had paid $3--borrowed from Wilbur. Now, a new European type of bicycle
with wheels about the same size, and called a “safety,” had begun to
be popular. In 1892, Orville bought one of these, a Columbia. It had
pneumatic tires and cost $160. Six months later, Wilbur got a bicycle.
His was an Eagle and he was able to get it at an auction for $80.

Orville promptly became interested in track-racing and began to enter
his name in various local racing events. Wilbur, though he had been
a great athlete--a wonderful fancy skater and the best performer in
Dayton on a horizontal bar--never went in for racing, because not yet
completely recovered from the effects of his skating accident.

Within a few weeks or months from the time they bought their bicycles,
these Wright brothers decided to go into the bicycle business--to sell
certain well-known makes. Then they soon found that they would have
to add a repair shop. Their first sales room was at 1005 West Third
Street. They rented it in December, 1892, to be ready for business
when the bicycle season began in the early spring of 1893. For a while
Orville divided his time between the bicycle shop and the job printing
business across the street in which Ed Sines was still employed. (Sines
continued to work there until 1898 when an accident to a lame knee
forced him to seek another kind of work, and a few months later the
shop was sold.)

The brothers soon had to move their bicycle business to larger
quarters, at 1034 West Third Street. They were successful both in
selling new machines and general repairing. Among the bicycles they
sold at one time or another were the Coventry Cross, Halladay-Temple,
Warwick, Reading, Smalley, Envoy and Fleetwing.

By 1895 increased business had caused them to move once more, to 22
South Williams Street, and soon they began to manufacture bicycles.
The first “custom made” model was called the Van Cleve--after their
pioneer ancestors. A later and lower-priced model was the St. Clair;
and finally they made a still lower-priced machine called the Wright
Special. It sold for as low as $18. Before they were through with
the business they had put out under their own brand several hundred
bicycles. Many of these were built in the last building the brothers
occupied, a remodeled dwelling house at 1127 West Third Street--the
building afterward preserved as a museum at Henry Ford’s Greenfield
Village in Dearborn, Michigan.

Much of their work when building new bicycles was done in winter,
when selling was slack, in rooms upstairs over the shop, and from
time to time the brothers were interrupted by the necessity of going
down to attend to wants of customers. Sometimes they went down to
meet a caller who wished only to borrow their air-pump to inflate a
tire. They had no pressure-tank but kept a large hand-pump on the wall
near the front door. To avoid needless trips downstairs, the Wrights
contrived mechanical means by which they could tell if a caller’s wants
required their attention. They took an old two-tone bell, intended to
be fastened to a bicycle handlebar, and attached it to the wall in
their upstairs work-rooms. By means of wires and other mechanism, the
opening of the downstairs door yanked the thumb-lever on the bell in
one direction, producing one tone; and shutting the door pulled the
little lever in an opposite direction to cause the other tone. The hook
on which the air-pump hung was also connected by a wire and a spring
to a pointer upstairs. Thus it was possible to have secret knowledge
upstairs if the caller might be a real customer or if he “only wanted
air.” If he promptly helped himself to the pump, there probably was no
need for anyone to go down. Then when the pointer showed that the pump
was back on the hook and the bell signaled the closing of the door,
on the caller’s departure, the brothers could feel sure they had not
missed a sale of any kind by sticking to their work.

Throughout the time they were repairing, selling, and building
bicycles, the Wrights continued to make various experiments, just for
the fun of it. They made in 1893 what was doubtless the first pair of
“balloon” tires ever installed on a vehicle. It was necessary to build
a special “front fork” and widen the frame at the rear to make room for
the over-sized pneumatics.

Orville even found time during this period for experiments having
nothing to do with bicycles. Along about 1895, he made a new kind of
calculating machine for multiplying as well as for adding. He worked
also on a typewriter more simplified than any in existence.

Occasionally the brothers took in trade an old high wheel. They had
two of these, about the same size, that they couldn’t sell for much,
and the only way to get any benefit from them was to use them in a new
way for sport. Why not, they asked themselves, convert them into a
tandem? No one had ever heard of two high wheels operated as a unit,
and though riding such an outfit might be dangerous, it also would be
exciting. They put a swivel in the steel tube connecting the two wheels
to prevent it from twisting and breaking. Then they began to practice,
to learn the special technique the man on the rear seat had to know.
It was a little different from any a bicyclist had needed before--a
little like that of a man steering the rear end of a long fire truck.
Though it looked fairly easy, only one person besides the Wrights ever
succeeded in staying mounted. Indeed, riding even on the front seat was
perilous enough. One afternoon Orville took the rear seat with a boy
named Tom Thorne in front. As they tried to steer around a hole in the
muddy street, the handlebar caught the leg of the lad in front, which
prevented his turning far enough.

Of course there was a spill. Orville from the rear seat managed to
land on his feet, but Tom Thorne, with one leg pinioned, was hurled
headfirst to the street. When he came up for air none of his features
was to be seen, so thoroughly was he plastered with mud. He looked
so frightful that none of the boys who saw the mishap showed any
amusement. They were afraid he had ruined his face. But Orville at
once realized that the soft mud had prevented any injury and his
young friend’s appearance struck him as the funniest thing he had
ever seen. For some moments he was doubled up with mirth, unable to
control himself, while the other rider, not exactly indignant but
unable to enter into the hilarity, stood trying to gouge the mud
out of his eyes with his thumbs. It happened that Tom Thorne had an
intimate acquaintance with a family living near by and he went there,
accompanied by Orville, to ask permission to wash up; but the girl who
opened the door, though a lifelong friend, was unwilling to believe the
strange-looking creature was anyone she knew. Tom asked her to call her
mother. The mother had known him almost from the day of his birth, but
she showed no sign of recognition now. She did finally identify him by
his voice, however, and told him he might wash at the pump. He was able
to remove some of the larger chunks of mud. Then he and Orville took
the machine back to the shop. The episode was not one of the Wright
triumphs. But neighbors who heard about it smiled and wondered:

What will those Wright boys be doing next?

As boys and girls of high school age were potential customers for
bicycles, Wilbur Wright thought there should be an effective way to
stir their interest in the makes of bicycles sold by the Wright Cycle
Co. and he hit on a plan that showed him to have latent genius as an
advertising man. He got a copy of a high school examination paper and
had printed what appeared to be a set of examination questions--using
the same kind of paper and the same typography. Then he arranged with
one or two students to distribute these sheets at the high schools. At
first glance a student would think he had got hold of an advance copy
of an examination paper. But all the questions related to bicycles on
sale by the Wrights!

A chum of the Wrights, Cordy Ruse, in 1896 had built the first
horseless buggy ever run over the streets of Dayton. The Wrights and
others used to sit and talk with him about some of his problems.
They had many jokes about the difficulties of hitting upon a
suitable ignition system, a workable differential, and other seeming
insurmountables. Another problem, caused by the vibration of a
horseless carriage, had impressed Wilbur most of all.

One day when the Wrights and several others were chatting with Cordy
Ruse, Wilbur suddenly slapped his thigh and said:

“I’ve just thought of a wonderful invention! I’ll have it patented.
It’s simple enough. All there is to it is a bed sheet to be fastened
beneath an automobile to catch all the bolts, nuts, and other parts
that’ll keep dropping off.”

Orville thought that, crude as horseless carriages were, they were
probably the coming thing, and that eventually they might even hurt the
bicycle trade. In 1897 he suggested to Wilbur that perhaps they might
well give thought to the idea of going into the business of building
automobiles.

No, insisted Wilbur, shaking his head, they would never be practical.

“To try to build one that would be any account,” declared Wilbur,
“you’d be tackling the impossible. Why, it would be easier to build a
flying-machine!”



IV

FIRST THOUGHTS OF FLIGHT


Ever since the Wright brothers had played with their Pénaud toy
helicopter in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, their interest in whatever they
chanced to read about flying-machines was probably greater than if the
seed had not been planted in childhood.

Along in the early 1890’s, both Wilbur and Orville were likely to
read any article they saw on a scientific subject, and to talk
about it. Occasionally an article in a magazine that came to the
Wright home dealt with attempts of man to fly. As time went on, such
articles interested the brothers more and more. In 1895, both were
impressed--perhaps more than they then realized--by a brief item
they had come upon about the glider experiments, in Germany, by Otto
Lilienthal. He had been gliding through the air, down the side of a
hill, on a machine he had built. That, the brothers thought, must be
the king of sports, to go soaring through the air on a gliding machine.
They wished they knew more about Lilienthal and his work. All the
reports they could find about him were meager enough; but what little
they did learn increased their enthusiasm. Lilienthal, “the father of
gliding flights,” was to have a tremendous influence on them.

Their interest in anything relating to Lilienthal was still strong in
the summer of the next year, 1896, when Orville was taken ill--typhoid
fever. Then, at a time when Orville was still delirious from the fever,
Wilbur read that Lilienthal had been killed in a crash of his glider.

After Orville was well enough to hear about Lilienthal’s fatal
accident, both he and Wilbur felt a greater eagerness than ever to
learn more about what Lilienthal had accomplished, as well as of
what had been tried by others, toward human flight. Books dealing
with attempts of man to fly appeared to be scarce, but the brothers
got whatever was available in the Dayton library, besides looking up
articles on the subject in the encyclopedia. All they read, however,
during the next two or three years did not satisfy their craving for a
better understanding of the whole problem of flight.

Knowing that the Smithsonian Institution, at Washington, was interested
in the subject of human flight, they decided to send a letter to the
Smithsonian asking for suggestions as to reading material. The reply,
received early in June, 1899, suggested: Octave Chanute’s _Progress in
Flying Machines_; Professor Langley’s _Experiments in Aerodynamics_;
and the _Aeronautical Annuals_ of 1895, 1896, and 1897, edited by James
Means, which contained reprints of accounts of various experiments,
clear back to the time of Leonardo da Vinci. Besides this list of
suggested reading, the Smithsonian sent also some pamphlets, reprints
of material extracted from their own annual reports, among which were
Mouillard’s _Empire of the Air_, Langley’s _Story of Experiments in
Mechanical Flight_, and a paper by Lilienthal on _The Problem of
Flying and Practical Experiments in Soaring_.

This reading material arrived from Washington at a time when Katharine
Wright had just returned from Oberlin College, accompanied by a young
woman classmate. She had assumed that her brothers would help to
entertain this guest, but, to her vexation, Wilbur and Orville had
become too absorbed in their reading to have much time for girls.

It was now evident to the brothers that though the previous ten years
had been a period of unusual activity, the results had not been
encouraging. Maxim, after spending one hundred thousand dollars, had
abandoned his work; the Ader machine, built at the expense of the
French government, had been a failure; Lilienthal in Germany, and
Pilcher, a marine engineer, in England, had been killed while trying to
glide; Octave Chanute, too, after making some experiments in gliding,
had quit.

Since Lilienthal had already aroused the brothers’ admiration, they
were especially interested in what he had done. With hundreds of short
flights, he had had more flying practice than anyone else, even though
he had been in the air a total of only five hours in five years.
Lilienthal became the Wrights’ hero. They decided that he, by his
experiments, had made more advance in the flying art than had anyone
else up to that time--an opinion, it may be added, that they never
changed.

Their reading now gave the Wrights a good idea of how earlier
experimenters had attempted to solve the problem of equilibrium. Some
experimenters had placed the center of gravity far below the wings, on
the theory that the weight would seek to remain at the lowest point.
But it had been proved that the wings would then oscillate about the
center of gravity in a manner destructive to stability. Others had
arranged the wings in the shape of a broad V, to form a dihedral angle,
with the center low and the wing tips elevated. This, too, tended
to make the machine oscillate from side to side except in calm air.
Pénaud, in his models propelled by rubber bands, had used wings that
formed a dihedral angle, and a rear stabilizer set with its forward
edge lower than the rear edge. This produced inherent stability in both
lateral and longitudinal directions. Lilienthal, Chanute, and some of
the others had used the Pénaud system in their gliders, but in addition
to that system they counted on shifting the weight of their bodies to
help maintain equilibrium.

All this reading, while adding to their store of knowledge, also gave
the Wrights much misinformation. One wrong idea they got was that men
already knew how to design wings and propellers of such efficiency that
motors then available could easily sustain the machine in the air;
another, that the greatest problem was to maintain equilibrium. They
also were misled into thinking that fore and aft control of a flying
machine would be much more difficult than lateral control.

That neither Lilienthal nor any other experimenter had ever tried
any more adequate method to insure lateral balance struck Orville as
surprising. Why, he asked himself, wouldn’t it be possible for the
operator to vary the inclination of sections of the wings at the tips
and thus obtain force for restoring balance from the difference in
the lifts of the two opposite wing tips? That seems today an obvious
enough idea, but no one had ever done anything about it before. Orville
had hit on a fundamental principle. (Indeed, this principle later
became the basic claim of the original Wright patent, and the claim
was sustained, as covering the idea of the aileron control, in all
countries where the Wright patents were adjudicated.)

Orville made a rough sketch of a wing, showing a stationary section at
the center, consisting of approximately one-third of the wing, measured
from tip to tip, with two adjustable sections, one at either side.
These sections were carried on shafts interconnected by cogs mounted on
the center section and extending toward the wing tips. The movement of
a lever attached to one of the shafts would cause one wing section to
rotate in one direction while the other wing would turn in the opposite
direction. Thus a greater lift could be obtained on whichever side it
was needed.

The Wrights soon saw, however, that for two reasons this particular
design did not provide a good structure for a gliding machine. First,
with two-thirds of the entire weight of the machine and operator
carried by the two shafts, the structure would be weak; and, second,
with the ends of the wings free to turn about the shafts, there would
not be enough rigidity for a machine that would have to be toted about.

Then one night, some five or six weeks later, Wilbur came home from
the bicycle shop, to tell Orville enthusiastically of an idea he had
hit upon. A customer had dropped in to buy an inner tube for a tire.
Wilbur had taken the tube from the pasteboard box it came in and was
toying with the box while talking to the customer. As he twisted the
box he observed that though the vertical sides were rigid endwise, the
top and bottom sides could be twisted to have different angles at the
opposite ends. Why, he thought, couldn’t the wings of a gliding machine
be warped from one end to the other in this same way? Thus the wings
could be put at a greater angle at one side than at the other, without
structural weakness. That plan seemed so satisfactory that the Wrights
did not look for or consider any other method.

A few weeks later, in August, 1899, the brothers built a biplane kite,
and Wilbur, with a group of small boys as spectators, flew it on a
common at the edge of town. This kite had wing surfaces five feet from
tip to tip by thirteen inches wide. The warping of these surfaces
could be accomplished by the use of four cords reaching from the kite
to the ground. Two of the cords were attached to the forward corners
of the right wing tips, one to the upper and one to the lower; the
other ends of the cords, at the ground, were tied to opposite ends of
a short stick to be held in the operator’s hand. The cords tied to the
left wing were arranged in the same way. With a stick in each hand,
the operator could move the wings as he desired. The upper wing could
be moved farther forward or farther backward than the lower wing,
according to the direction in which the two sticks were simultaneously
inclined, by movement of the wrists. By inclining the two sticks in
opposite directions it was possible to draw one upper wing tip farther
forward than the lower at that end, while at the other end of the kite
the lower wing tip would be the one farther forward. This moving of
the wing tips in opposite directions caused a twisting or warping of
the wings. Then the wing at one end would be presented to the wind at
a different angle from that at the other end. If one end of the kite
started to sink, sidewise balance could be restored by exposing the
wing at that end at a greater angle, thus getting more lift.

Balance from front to rear was to be maintained by inclining the two
sticks in the operator’s hands in the same direction--to move the upper
wing either forward or backward over the lower wing, to change the
center of lift.

But in addition to this moving of the wings forward and backward, the
Wrights added an “elevator” at the rear. It was held by a pair of
wooden rods attached at right angles to the uprights that connected the
wings. When the upper wing was pulled forward, to turn the kite upward
in front, the elevator met the air at its top side and was pressed
downward, which helped to turn the wings upward--as the rear elevator
does on planes today.

Though their interest did not lag, the Wrights did nothing more for
some time about kite experiments, except to seek information in regard
to wind velocity in different parts of the country. They wrote to the
Weather Bureau at Washington, in December, 1899, and Willis Moore,
chief of that Bureau, sent them a number of government bulletins that
included statistics on wind velocities at various places. They looked
these over, but at that time made no further investigation of any of
the places mentioned.

[Illustration: THE FIRST CAMP AT KITTY HAWK. _Top_: The 1900 camp.
_Bottom_: Kitty Hawk Bay as seen from the 1900 camp.]

In May, 1900, Wilbur Wright wrote a letter to Octave Chanute, living in
Chicago, who had written _Progress in Flying Machines_. Though Chanute
was better known in engineering circles by his work for certain western
railroads, as well as for having built the Kansas City bridge and the
Chicago stockyards, his book, a reprint of his articles published from
1891 to 1893, had made him probably the best authority on the history
of aeronautics. Thinking Chanute would be interested, Wilbur told him
in his letter of a plan he had for experimenting with a man-carrying
kite by means of which, Wilbur thought, one would be able to get hours
of practice in operating a machine in the air. He proposed the use of a
high tower from the top of which a cable would lead to the man-carrying
kite. He described to Chanute, in his letter, the system of control to
be used in the kite--the warping of wings for lateral control, and the
shifting of the upper surface backward and forward for longitudinal
control--the same system used in the five-foot kite tested the previous
August. Then he asked Chanute if he had any information as to locations
where winds suitable for carrying on such experiments might be found.
(This letter from Wilbur marked the beginning of an acquaintance and
correspondence with Chanute that lasted for a number of years.) Chanute
suggested San Diego, California, and St. James City (Pine Island),
Florida, to be considered because of the steady sea breezes. But, on
the other hand, he pointed out that, since those places were deficient
in sand hills, perhaps even better locations could be found on the
Atlantic coast of South Carolina or Georgia.

[Illustration: THE 1902 GLIDER. The Wrights are testing the efficiency
of the 1902 glider by flying it as a kite--September 19, 1902.]

When the rush of the spring trade in bicycles began to subside,
giving them more time for other interests, the Wrights again took
up with enthusiasm the study of equilibrium. Each day they proposed
and discussed new devices. Orville thought the shifting of the upper
surface backward and forward over the lower one, for longitudinal
equilibrium, though successful in their kite, would not be practical
for a man-carrying glider, which would start and land on the ground.
He suggested that the wing surfaces be fixed one above the other, and
that an elevator be placed some distance in front of the wings, instead
of at the rear. In this position there would be less danger of the
elevator touching the ground in starting; and if from any cause the
elevator were disabled it would be discovered before the machine got
into the air. Wilbur then proposed that, since curved surfaces were
more efficient than flat planes, the front rudder, or elevator, should
be made flexible. Then it could be bent to present a concave surface on
whichever side a pressure was desired, but would be flat when moving
edgewise through the air.

The Wrights did not at first think an elevator in front would provide
inherent stability--that is, it would not give the machine the desired
tendency to restore its own balance just from the arrangement of its
fixed parts. But Wilbur shortly afterward developed a theory that led
him to believe the machine would have that quality.

Having read that the center of pressure moves toward the front edge
of the wings whenever the wings are turned more nearly horizontal in
flight, he thought inherent longitudinal stability could be obtained
if the front elevator were set at a negative angle--that is, with its
front edge lower than its rear edge. With such an arrangement of wings
and elevator, every time the wings became more nearly horizontal in
flight and met the air at a smaller angle on their under sides, the
elevator would meet the air at a greater angle on its upper side. So,
he reasoned, whenever, by becoming more nearly horizontal, the wings
caused the center of pressure to move forward, tending to turn the
machine upward in front, the front elevator would receive a greater
downward pressure on its upper side and so counteract the disturbing
pressure on the wings.

Actual tests later proved that the negative angle of the front elevator
did not provide the inherent stability expected. The explanation was
that the center of pressure on cambered wings traveled in the opposite
direction from that which Wilbur’s reading had led him to expect. The
Wrights later were to discover that Wilbur’s reasoning was correct;
but because the travel of the center of pressure was rearward instead
of forward the elevator had to be set at a positive instead of at a
negative angle.

The Wrights’ elevator possessed three features not found in the gliders
of any of the earlier experimenters. It was in front of the wings,
where it was less liable to damage by striking the ground in take-off
and landing; it was operable, instead of fixed as in other machines;
and it flexed to present a convex surface to the air, instead of a flat
surface. At this early stage of their work the Wrights considered this
front elevator their most important invention, because, from their
reading, they thought it was solving a problem more difficult than that
of lateral control.

Though the Wrights’ reasons for placing the elevator in front of the
wings were at first those just mentioned, they afterward found that
this arrangement had much greater importance for two reasons not at
first discovered. One of these was that it eliminated all danger of a
nose dive when the plane got into what is known as a “stall”--when the
speed became too slow. The other reason was that the elevator in front,
set at a positive angle with the pressure on its under side, not only
produced inherent stability, but also carried part of the load, and so
relieved the wings to that extent. (An elevator in the rear, set at a
negative angle to provide inherent stability, carries a pressure on its
upper side, which adds just that much to the load the wings must carry.)

Around the first of August, 1900, the brothers decided to build a
man-carrying glider on which to try out their inventions. To get
practice in operating it they would first fly it as a kite. For such
kite flying, flat open country would be needed; and for the gliding,
sand hills free from trees or shrubs. Once again they examined the
reports they had received from the Weather Bureau at Washington.
Several of the places where winds might be suitable were in the Far
West, but one in the East, much nearer to Dayton, was a place with an
odd name, Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. They decided to write at once to
Kitty Hawk for further information.

Wilbur Wright addressed a letter to the chief of the Kitty Hawk
weather bureau station, asking for various details about the locality,
explaining that he might wish to go there shortly to conduct
experiments with a man-carrying kite. He inquired, too, if it would be
possible for him and his brother to obtain board and lodging in the
vicinity until they could get themselves established in a camp.

Joseph J. Dosher, in charge of the Kitty Hawk station, who received
the letter, replied briefly, on August 16, giving the direction of the
prevailing winds; and he described the nature of the land for many
miles.

After writing his reply, Dosher handed Wilbur Wright’s letter to
a neighbor, William J. Tate, with the request that he also make a
reply. “Bill” Tate (later known as Captain Tate) was probably the
best-educated man in that locality. He lived about a mile inland from
the weather station, in the hamlet or settlement of Kitty Hawk, where
he had formerly been the postmaster. For all practical purposes he
still was the postmaster, though the office was in his wife’s name.
Endowed with a gift for expressing himself readily in either speech
or writing, Tate did a creditable job when he wrote to Wilbur Wright
on August 18. Not only did he tell about the suitability of the Kitty
Hawk region, because of the prevailing high winds, for the kind of
experiments Wilbur had mentioned, but he went into details about the
treeless sand hills and the general terrain. And he said arrangements
could undoubtedly be made for the Wrights to obtain board for as long
as desired.

The letters from Dosher and Tate--particularly the one from
Tate--convinced the Wrights that Kitty Hawk was the place for their
experiments. Almost immediately they decided they would go to Kitty
Hawk as soon as they could build their glider.

The work at Dayton, getting parts and material ready for the glider,
required only a few weeks. Only the cutting and sewing of the cloth
covering for the wings, the bending of the ash ribs into shape, and
making the metal connections, took much time. The cost of the whole
machine in actual money outlay was trifling, probably not more than $15.

It was arranged that Orville should stay in Dayton, to look after the
bicycle shop until Wilbur got settled at Kitty Hawk, and then join him
there.

Wilbur set out on a September day, taking with him parts of the glider
and all material needed to assemble it except some spruce lumber he
expected to obtain nearer his destination.

The journey proved to be more of an undertaking than Wilbur expected.



V

GLIDING AT KITTY HAWK


One must look at a map of North Carolina to get an idea of the
isolation of the long strip of sandy beach that separates the Atlantic
Ocean from Albemarle, Pamlico, and Roanoke Sounds. At the time the
Wrights went there, no bridges connected this beach with any part of
the North Carolina mainland or even with near-by Roanoke Island, seat
of Sir Walter Raleigh’s “Lost Colony.” At one point on the beach was
the Kitty Hawk life-saving station, and alongside of it a government
weather bureau. About a mile back from the ocean was the hamlet of
Kitty Hawk which, though it had a post office, was little more than a
settlement, with only about a score of dwelling houses, most of them as
widely scattered as in an ordinary farming community. Four miles south
was the Kill Devil life-saving station.

It was not surprising that when Wilbur Wright, on September 9, 1900,
reached Elizabeth City, North Carolina, the nearest railroad point
to his destination, the first persons he chanced to ask about Kitty
Hawk had never heard of the place. Then he learned that a boat made
weekly trips to Roanoke Island; but it had gone the day before. Not
liking delay, he went to the water front to inquire if another boat
might be available. There he met one Israel Perry, formerly a resident
of Kitty Hawk, who lived the year round on his little flat-bottomed
schooner. As no other boatman showed any interest in making the trip,
Wilbur booked passage with “Captain” Perry, despite the boat’s dirty,
forbidding appearance. After loading parts of the glider and other
goods that had been shipped from Dayton, he set out with Perry on the
morning of September 10 for the forty-mile voyage to Kitty Hawk. Wilbur
noticed that the small boat they used to go from the wharf out to where
the schooner was anchored was leaking badly and he asked if it was safe.

“Oh,” Perry assured him, “it’s safer than the _big_ boat.” That didn’t
inspire too much confidence in what was in store, and Wilbur soon
learned that any misgivings he felt were amply justified. Toward the
middle of the afternoon they met a strong head wind that forced them to
seek a smooth water haven in North River where they anchored to await
better weather. By that time Wilbur had worked up a good appetite; but
he discovered that neither the food nor the kitchen met even minimum
standards of cleanliness and he made excuses, as politely as he could,
for not eating. All he had with him against hunger was a small jar of
jelly his sister Katharine had slipped into his suitcase.

The weather was not favorable for continuing the voyage until the
afternoon of the second day, and the boat reached a wharf, where there
was a small store, on Kitty Hawk bay, at about nine o’clock that night.
Not knowing where else to go, Wilbur stayed aboard until the next
morning. A small boy named Baum agreed to guide him to the home of
William J. Tate, about a quarter of a mile away. By the time Wilbur
arrived there, on that morning of September 12, it was just forty-eight
hours since he had tasted food other than his little supply of jelly.

After introducing himself, and in response to “Bill” Tate’s inquiries
about how he enjoyed his trip, Wilbur spoke of his back being sore from
lying on deck and of how his arm ached from holding on when the boat
rolled. Then it came out that he had been unable to bring himself to
eat the food provided on the Perry schooner.

“You mean to tell me,” asked “Bill” Tate, greatly concerned, “that
you’ve eaten no victuals for two days?”

Here was a situation that called for quick action in a hospitable home.
It was after the Tates’ breakfast hour, but Mrs. Tate soon had a fire
in the kitchen stove and prepared a great platter of ham and eggs that
the guest seemed to relish.

Then Wilbur inquired if it would be possible for him to obtain board
and lodging there for the week or more until his brother “Orv” arrived.

Tate went into an adjoining room to ask his wife. As the door was ajar,
Wilbur could hear what was said. Mrs. Tate was a bit alarmed. Here
was a man able to devote time and money for weeks at a time to sport.
Doubtless he must be a person of great wealth, accustomed to every
luxury. Would he be satisfied with the best they could offer?

Wilbur stepped to the door, explaining that he could not help
overhearing their conversation, and said it must be understood that
if he were accepted as a paying guest he would not expect any extra
frills, but would greatly appreciate the courtesy.

“This fellow’s a real gentleman,” thought Tate, and by way of settling
the question, without waiting to hear any more from his wife, he said
to Wilbur:

“You must be tired. Why don’t you come into our spare bedroom and take
a nap?”

By the next day Wilbur was at work. The cloth covering for the
glider--white French sateen of extra good quality--had already been
shaped and sewed at Dayton, except at the ends, to permit fitting it
over the framework. But now he had to make changes in the covering,
because the glider was going to be smaller than originally planned. The
longest timbers, for the wing spars, that he had been able to find in
either Norfolk or Elizabeth City were only sixteen feet long instead
of the eighteen-foot length he desired. Thus it was necessary to cut
out strips from the middle of the lengths of cloth for both upper and
lower wings. For resewing the cloth where necessary, Wilbur borrowed
Mrs. Tate’s machine. But all the rest of the work of assembling the
glider was done at a tent Wilbur set up, about half a mile from the
Tate home, at a spot where there were a few trees and a view of the
bay. He dragged the crates, containing various parts and tools, to the
tent and hoped to have everything in readiness when Orville arrived.
But the heat was intense, the job of carrying water to the camp used up
much energy, and when Orville got there, on September 28, Wilbur told
him regretfully that much work on the glider was still to be done.

Orville’s trip had been uneventful. Indeed, though he came on a better
boat than Israel Perry’s, he had struck such a calm sea that his voyage
from Elizabeth City took two days, the same as Wilbur’s. For the
first five days after Orville’s arrival, both brothers stayed at the
Tate home. Then they established themselves in camp. One end of their
tent, twelve by twenty-two feet, was tied to a tree for anchorage. The
tree was headquarters for a mocking bird that sometimes joined in the
harmony when Orville twanged at a mandolin he had brought from home.

Not many visitors came to the camp from near-by Kitty Hawk. One reason
for this was that the camp was considered dangerous after news got
about that the Wrights used a gasoline stove. “Bill” Tate was favorably
impressed, though, with an acetylene lamp, intended for a bicycle, that
the Wrights used for lighting. He said he had a notion to install such
a system of gas lighting in his house.

It was necessary to carry water about one thousand feet over the sand.
Orville volunteered to do the cooking--and he continued to do so during
all their experiments at Kitty Hawk. But he always felt that he had the
better of the bargain, for the dish-washing job was Wilbur’s. As it was
impossible to obtain fresh bread, Orville learned to make biscuits,
and without use of milk. They were good biscuits, too--better, his
father afterward insisted, than anyone else could make. To simplify
operations, Orville always mixed at one time enough flour and other dry
ingredients to last for several days, as biscuits had to be baked three
times daily.

Working together, the brothers soon had the glider assembled. When
completed it weighed about fifty-two pounds. Though the main spars were
only sixteen feet long, the “bows” at the ends of each wing surface
brought the total span to nearly seventeen and one-half feet. The
total lifting area was 165 square feet instead of 200 as intended. A
space eighteen inches wide at the center of the lower surface where
the operator would lie, with feet over the rear spar, was left free of
covering. The apparatus had no rear vanes or tail of any kind; but it
had two important features never used by previous experimenters. One
was the front rudder, or “elevator,” the rear edge of which was about
thirty inches from the nearest edge of the wings; the other was the
wing warping. By an ingenious arrangement of the trussing, the wings
could be twisted into a helicoidal warp from one end to the other, thus
exposing one wing to the air at a greater angle than the other. This
was to be used for bringing the machine back to the level after it was
tipped up sidewise by a gust of wind.

The Wrights’ first surprise at Kitty Hawk was that the winds there were
not what they had counted on. United States Weather Bureau reports
had led them to think they would have winds of about fifteen miles an
hour almost every day. But now it dawned on them that fifteen miles an
hour was simply the daily average for a month. Sometimes the wind was
sixty miles an hour, and the next day it would be entirely calm. It now
began to look as if they might frequently have to wait a few days for
suitable conditions, which meant that their experiments would require
more time than they had expected.

Almost as soon as they began their trials of the glider, the brothers
got another surprise. According to the Lilienthal tables of air
pressures, their machine of 165 square feet needed a wind of only from
seventeen to twenty-one miles an hour to support it as a kite with a
pilot aboard. But they found that much stronger winds were needed to
lift it. Since suitable winds would not be plentiful, their plan of
practicing by the hour aboard the glider while flying it as a kite
would have to be postponed. Instead, they flew it as a kite, loaded
with about fifty pounds of chain, but with no man aboard. They held it
with two ropes, and operated the balancing system by cords from the
ground. Though the results were promising, inspiring confidence in
the system of maintaining equilibrium, the brothers knew that only by
actual gliding experience could they confirm what the kite experiments
had indicated as being true.

One thing that puzzled them was that the machine appeared to be greatly
deficient in lifting power as compared with calculated lift of curved
surfaces of its size. In wondering what might be the cause of this wide
discrepancy between expected and actual lifts, the Wrights considered
the possibility that it might be because the curvature of the wings
was less than that used by Lilienthal. Or could it be that the cloth
covering was too porous and permitted some of the lifting power of the
wind to be lost? They wondered, too, if the Lilienthal tables they had
followed, relating to air pressure on wing surfaces, could be in error.

They next determined to try gliding on the side of a hill. That meant
toting their machine four miles south of their camp to a great sand
dune about one hundred feet high, called Kill Devil Hill. On their
first day at the hill, the wind was about twenty-five miles an hour.
As they lacked previous experience at gliding they decided to wait
for less of a blow for their first attempt. The next day the wind had
subsided to fourteen miles an hour, and they made about a dozen glides.
“Bill” Tate was there and assisted them.

In making these glides, the machine was usually only two or three feet
from the soft, sandy ground, and though the brothers repeatedly made
landings while moving at a speed of twenty miles an hour, neither
operator nor machine was harmed. The slope of the hill toward the
northeast was about 9½ degrees, or a drop of approximately one foot
in six. After moving at a rate of about twenty-five to thirty miles
an hour with reference to the wind, or ten to fifteen miles over the
ground, the machine, while keeping its course parallel to the slope,
increased its speed, thus indicating that it could glide on a slope
less steep.

Their control of the machine was even better than they had dared to
expect. They got quick response to the slightest movement of the front
elevator, which promised to be satisfactory in maintaining fore and
aft balance. At first, they fastened the warping mechanism, to make it
inoperable, and had only the elevator to manipulate, for they feared
that, inexperienced as they were, if they tried to use both, then
they might be unsuccessful with either. But even without the use of
the warping mechanism it was possible to make glides of from five to
ten seconds before the sidewise tilt of the machine forced a landing.
Before making the last three or four flights the Wrights loosened the
warping wires to permit the sidewise control to be used.

When these experiments of 1900 ended, instead of the hours of practice
in the air the Wrights had hoped to have, they had flown the machine
as a kite with a man aboard barely ten minutes, and had had only two
minutes of actual gliding.

Now that the experiments for that year were ended and they had no
further use for the glider, the brothers weighted the machine with sand
and left it on the hill. When “Bill” Tate saw that they were through
with the glider he asked if he might have it, and they gladly gave
it to him. Mrs. Tate used the sateen that covered the wings to make
dresses for her two small daughters. She noted that it appeared to
be unusually good fabric, more closely woven and better than she had
seen in the stores. Some of her neighbors, when they saw the dresses
she made of it, remarked that it seemed too bad to use such excellent
material on a kite.

Though the amount of practice was less than they had expected, all
the Wrights had learned in that season of 1900 seemed to confirm the
correctness of certain opinions held at the beginning. Their method of
warping or twisting the wings to maintain lateral balance was better
than dependence on either the dihedral angle or shifting the weight
of the operator; better than any method yet tried. And their front
elevator had been highly satisfactory as a means for directing the
machine up and down. Before leaving Kitty Hawk they decided that their
next experiments would be with a glider large enough to be flown as a
kite, with an operator aboard, in winds ordinarily to be counted on.

When the brothers set to work on their glider for the experiments of
1901, they decided to make it of the same general design as the first
one, and with the same system of control. But they carried out their
plan to give it considerably more area, to provide greater lifting
power. Another change they made was to increase the curvature of the
wings to conform to the shape on which Lilienthal had based his tables
of air pressures. It had wings of about seven-foot chord (the straight
line distance between the front and rear edges) with a total span of
twenty-two feet, and weighed ninety-eight pounds. After a section
twenty inches wide had been removed from the middle of the lower wing,
and the rear corners of the wings rounded off, the total lifting area
was 290 square feet, as compared with 165 in the previous glider. The
front elevator, with its rear edge about two and one half feet away
from the front edge of the wings, had a four-and-one-half foot chord
and an area of eighteen square feet.

This was a much larger machine than anyone had ever tried to fly. The
Wrights knew it could not be controlled simply by shifting the pilot’s
weight, as others had done, but they had faith in their own operable
front elevator and believed they could manage it. If their calculations
were correct, it would be supported in a wind of seventeen miles an
hour, with the wing surfaces at an “angle of incidence” of only three
degrees. (“Angle of incidence,” now more often called “angle of
attack,” has been defined as the angle at which the plane presents
itself to the air in advancing against it.)

As it would be impractical to keep so large a machine with them in the
tent, as they had done with the smaller glider, the brothers built near
Kill Devil Hill a rough frame shed, twenty-five feet long, sixteen
feet wide, and seven feet high at the eaves. Both ends of the building
except the gable parts were made into doors, hinged above. When open,
the doors provided an awning at each end of the building. For living
quarters they still used a tent. By driving a pipe ten or twelve feet
into the sand they got a water supply.

Though the great stretch of sandy waste seemed too desolate for
anyone to bother about owning, yet it was all under the ownership of
one person or another and the Wrights took the precaution to obtain
permission to erect their buildings.

This year they were to have company in camp. Octave Chanute, with whom
they had been in correspondence for about a year, stopped in Dayton
in June, 1901, at their invitation, to get better acquainted. When
he learned that the Wrights had carried on their experiments in 1900
without the presence of a doctor in camp, and were intending to do so
again, he told them he thought that was too risky, considering the kind
of work and the isolation of the experiment ground. He said he knew a
young man in Coatesville, Pennsylvania, George A. Spratt, “an amateur”
in aeronautics, who had had some medical training. Spratt had never
seen any gliding experiments, and Chanute thought he would be eager
for the opportunity. If the Wrights would board him at camp, Chanute
said, he would be glad to pay Spratt’s traveling expenses to Kitty Hawk
and would consider himself “compensated by the pleasure given to him.”
Chanute also proposed that they have in camp with them E. C. Huffaker,
of Chuckey City, Tennessee, who was building a glider that Chanute was
financing, and the Wrights consented. Thus there were four regularly
in camp that season, and for a time Chanute himself was with them as a
guest.

The new machine was completed and ready for trial on the afternoon
of July 27. Since it was designed to be flown in a wind of seventeen
miles, and there was but thirteen miles of wind on that day, the
brothers took the machine to the big Kill Devil Hill for its first
trial. After five or six short tuning-up flights they made a glide of
315 feet in nineteen seconds. Although several flights on this first
day of experiments in 1901 exceeded the best made the year before,
yet it was soon evident that in several respects the machine was not
as good as the first one. It was found that the wings, with a camber
of one to twelve--the camber recommended by Lilienthal, and used by
Chanute and others--was not so good as the camber of one to twenty-two,
used by the Wrights in 1900. (Camber of one to twenty-two means that
the length of the chord, the straight-line distance between the front
and rear edges of the wings, is twenty-two times the distance _from_
the chord to the deepest part of the wing curve.) This was demonstrated
by the fact that the 1901 machine could not glide on a slope as nearly
level as had the earlier machine. The Wrights found, too, that a
machine with wings of one to twelve camber was not so easily controlled
fore and aft as when the wings were of one to twenty-two camber. They
decided therefore to reduce the camber of the wings to make them more
like those of the earlier machine. When they resumed their gliding,
after the camber had been reduced (one to eighteen), the control of
the machine appeared to be as good as it was the year before, and they
then made flights in winds of twenty-two to twenty-seven miles an hour,
without accident. Though in most of these flights the lateral control
was highly effective, in a few others--under conditions seemingly the
same--the wing warping appeared to have no effect at all.

The Wrights now made the discovery that in free flight, when the wing
on one side of the machine was presented to the wind at a greater
angle than that on the other side, the wing with the greater angle,
instead of rising as it was expected to do, sometimes descended. The
explanation was that the greater angle of the wing at one side gave
more resistance to forward motion and thus reduced the speed on that
side. This decrease in speed more than counter-balanced the effect of
the larger angle of the wing in producing lift. (The Wrights had not
discovered this when flying the glider as a kite, because, when held by
ropes, the wings always maintained equal air speeds, even when their
resistances were unbalanced.)

It was evident to the brothers that their present method of controlling
equilibrium was not yet complete. Something was needed to maintain
equal speeds at the two wing tips. The idea occurred to them that the
addition of a vertical fin attached to the machine at some distance in
the rear of the wings might be the solution of the problem. But the
test of such a fin had to be left until another season.

The behavior of the glider in these various flights forced the Wrights
to give thought to another scientific problem, that regarding the
center of air pressure on curved surfaces. Contrary to the teachings of
scientific books on the subject, it was becoming more and more evident
that the travel of the center of pressure on a cambered surface is not
always in the same direction as the travel on a plane surface. When
the angle of attack on a plane surface is decreased, the center of
pressure moves toward the front edge; but on a cambered surface this
is true only when larger angles are being decreased. When the angle of
attack on a cambered surface is decreased from, say, thirty degrees
to twenty-five degrees, the center of pressure moves forward, as it
does on a plane surface; but when a certain angle (between twelve
and fifteen degrees) is reached, then the movement of the center of
pressure is reversed. From there on, the center of pressure moves
toward the rear so long as any further decrease is made in the angle
of attack. The Wrights proved this by a series of experiments with a
single surface from their plane. Knowledge of the phenomenon of this
reversal of center of pressure was of great importance to them in their
later work of designing aeroplanes.

Scientific problems were not the only ones to perplex the Wrights. A
sore trial were the mosquitoes and sandfleas, particularly numerous
and aggressive in that summer of 1901. As Orville Wright recalled
in later years, there were times when he thought, while fighting
mosquitoes through the night, that if he could just survive until
morning he would pack up and return home. Those mosquitoes might have
caused a long postponement of the conquest of the air.

By the time they left Kitty Hawk on August 20, the brothers had
satisfied themselves that a glider of large surfaces could be
controlled almost as easily as a smaller one, provided the control is
by manipulation of the surfaces themselves instead of by movements
of the operator’s body. So far as they knew, judging from figures
previously published, they had broken all records for distance in
gliding. Chanute, who had witnessed part of the 1901 experiments,
insisted that the results were better than had ever been attained
before. All that was encouraging. But, on the other hand, if most of
the supposedly scientific information available was worthless, then
their task was even more formidable than they had expected. With no
dependable previous knowledge to guide them, who were they to determine
how man should fly? Wilbur seemed much discouraged. Possibly he had
entertained hopes of actually flying, though he had always disclaimed
having such an idea. He was ready to drop the experiments altogether.
On the way home, Wilbur declared his belief: Not within a thousand
years would man ever fly!

Chanute urged the brothers not to drop their experiments, arguing that
if they did it would be a long time before anyone else would come as
near to understanding the problem or how to work toward its solution.
Without knowing it, Chanute made a great contribution to aviation
history, for the Wrights heeded his repeated admonitions against
ceasing their efforts. Without the proddings of Chanute they might not
have gone on.

Chanute performed another great service for aeronautics when he, as
president of the Western Society of Engineers, invited Wilbur Wright to
address that body at a meeting in Chicago, September 18, 1901, on the
subject: Some Aeronautical Experiments.

Wilbur shrank from the idea of making such a talk and would hardly have
done so except to oblige his friend. He cautioned Chanute, though,
not to make the speech a prominent feature of the program, because,
he said, he made no pretense of being a public speaker. Chanute did
nevertheless plan to use the announcement of the talk as a means to
help make the meeting a big success. He wanted to know if it would be
all right to make the occasion “Ladies’ Night.” Wilbur decided that he
would already be as badly scared as a man could be and the presence of
women would not make the situation much worse. But he insisted on one
thing, that he must not be expected to appear in formal evening dress.

In this speech Wilbur boldly declared that the best sets of figures
obtainable regarding air pressure against airplane surfaces appeared
to contain many serious errors. Orville, at the shop in Dayton, was a
little alarmed about that part of the speech. What if something about
their own work had been wrong and the figures compiled by various
scientists should finally be proved correct? Certainly it was no small
responsibility for anyone so little known as Wilbur or he to denounce
publicly the work of eminent scientists, dignified by preservation in
books long regarded as authoritative. It would be both presumptuous and
risky to brand supposedly established facts as untrue unless the person
doing so could be unassailably sure of his ground.

In this cautious state of mind Orville rigged up a little wind-tunnel
for the purpose of making a series of tests. This tunnel consisted
simply of what appeared to be an old starch box, not more than eighteen
inches long, that was lying in the shop. In it he placed a hastily
constructed apparatus, a main part of which was simply a metal rod
pivoted in the manner of a weather vane. Without attempting to give
technical details of the method used, it may be said that a curved
surface was balanced against a plane surface in an air current passing
through the box. As Orville had provided the box with a glass top he
could measure the angles to the wind at which the curved surface and
the plane surface of equal area produced equal pressures.

The experiments with this crude apparatus lasted only one day. They
were conclusive enough so far as they went, indicating errors in
published figures relating to air pressure on curved surfaces. But
as Orville was later to learn, the published errors were greatest in
regard to wing surfaces set at small angles, such as would be used in
flying, and he had tested thus far only larger angles. With the tests
thus incomplete, Orville and Wilbur decided, on the latter’s return
from Chicago, that it might be prudent to stay on the safe side and
omit from the published record of Wilbur’s speech the more severe
part of his criticism of available figures. They would wait until
further wind-tunnel experiments could give more detailed knowledge.
Consequently, when Wilbur’s speech appeared in the December, 1901,
issue of the _Journal of the Western Society of Engineers_, it was a
bit less startling than the one he had actually delivered--though, even
after the deletions, there still remained strong hints that accepted
tables of figures might be wrong. And the record of the speech was
treated as of great importance. It has probably been reprinted and
quoted as often as any other article ever written on the subject of
flying.

The Wrights were not sure they would ever build another glider. But
their curiosity, their passion for getting at truth, had now been too
much aroused for them to quit studying the problem of air pressures.
They decided to build another wind-tunnel, less crude than the one
Orville had hastily used, and continue their experiments. The new
tunnel consisted of an open-ended wooden box about sixteen inches
square on the inside by six feet long. Into one end would come a
current of air and the draft thus created would be “straightened,”
as well as made uniform, by having to pass through a set of small
pigeon-holes. It would have been a great convenience to use an electric
fan for sending the air into the tunnel. But the Wrights had no
electric current in their shop--still lighted by gas--and the fan was
driven by a one-cylinder gas engine they had previously made. They
attached the fan to a spindle that had held an emery wheel. A new
measuring device, or balance, was built of wire intended for bicycle
spokes, and pieces of hacksaw blades. These experiments were now done
with much more refinement than at first, and the measurements were
for both “lift” and “drift.” But as each curved surface measured was
balanced against the pressure on a square plane, exposed at ninety
degrees to the same air current, it was not necessary to know the
precise speed of the air current.

During that autumn and early winter of 1901, the brothers tested in
the wind-tunnel more than two hundred types of wing surfaces. They
set these at different angles, starting with the angle at which the
surface begins to lift, and then at 2½ degree intervals, up to twenty;
and at five degree intervals up to forty-five degrees. They measured
monoplane, biplane, and triplane models; also models in which one
wing followed the other, as used by Langley in his experiments. They
measured the lift produced by different “aspect ratios”--that is, the
ratio of the span of the wing to its chord. They found that the greater
the span in proportion to the chord the more easily the wing may be
supported. They measured thick and thin surfaces. One surface had a
thickness of nearly one-sixth of its chord.

Among other things, these experiments proved the fallacy of the sharp
edge at the front of an airplane wing and the inefficiency of deeply
cambered wings as then generally advocated by others. Sometimes they
got a result so unexpected that they could hardly believe their own
measurements--as, for example, when they discovered that, contrary to
all previously published figures by students of the subject, a square
plane gave a greater pressure when set at thirty degrees than at
forty-five degrees.

These wind-tunnel experiments in the bicycle shop were carried on for
only a little more than two months, and were ended before Christmas,
1901. The Wrights discontinued them with great reluctance; but, after
all, they were still in the bicycle business, still obliged to give
thought to their means for earning a living, and with no idea that
this scientific research could ever be financially profitable. In
those few weeks, however, they had accomplished something of almost
incalculable importance. They had not only made the first wind-tunnel
in which miniature wings were accurately tested, but were the first
men in all the world to compile tables of figures from which one might
design an airplane that could fly. Even today, in wind-tunnels used in
various aeronautical laboratories, equipped with the most elaborate
and delicate instruments modern science can provide, the refinements
obtained over the Wrights’ figures for the same shapes of surfaces
are surprisingly small. But it is doubtful if the difficulties and
full value of the Wrights’ scientific researches within their bicycle
shop are yet appreciated. The world knows they were the first to
build a machine capable of sustained flight and the first actually
to fly; but it is not fully aware of all the tedious, grueling
scientific laboratory work they had to do before flight was possible.
Important as was the system of control with which the Wrights’ name
has been connected, it would not have given them success without their
wind-tunnel work which enabled them to design a machine that would lift
itself.

The Wrights had a double reason for making sure of their figures.
With little money to spend on a hobby, it was much cheaper to rectify
mistakes on paper than after the idea was put into material form. They
knew that if they should decide to go on to further gliding attempts,
they could not afford to spend much more money on apparatus built
according to unreliable data.

After compiling their own tables of figures, the Wrights gave copies
of them to their friend Chanute and others interested in the problem
of aerodynamics. Chanute well knew that the Wrights now had knowledge
of aeronautics far beyond that of anyone else in the world, and he
felt that for them to go on with their experiments was almost a duty.
He much regretted, in the interest of science, he said, that they had
reached a stopping-place, for he was sure further experiments on their
part promised “important results.”

Chanute might well have felt pride in the effectiveness of his
insistence that the Wrights should go on experimenting, as well as in
the results of his invitation to Wilbur to make that Chicago speech.
Except for that speech and its daring statements that Orville thought
needed more confirmation, there probably would have been no wind-tunnel
tests; and without the kind of knowledge then obtained, neither the
Wrights nor anyone else could have built a practical flying-machine.
Those wind-tunnel experiments marked one of the great turning points in
the long history of attempts at human flight.

It still remained for the Wrights to put their new knowledge to actual
test in gliding, and they set out on August 25, 1902, for their third
stay at Kitty Hawk. But not until September 8 were they able to begin
the work of assembling their new glider, for the camp, battered by
winter gales, needed much repairing; and they decided to build an
addition to it for living quarters. They did not have their machine
ready for its first trial until September 19.

This new glider was of not much greater lifting area than that of
the previous year, though the wing span had been increased from
twenty-two to thirty-two feet. But since the wind-tunnel experiments
had demonstrated the importance of the “aspect ratio,” the total span
was now about six times the chord instead of three. One minor change
also may be noted. In the earlier gliders, the wing-warping mechanism
had been worked by movement of the operator’s feet; but now in this
1902 glider it was done by sidewise movement of one’s hips resting on
a “cradle.” The most noticeable change was the addition of a tail,
consisting of fixed twin vertical vanes, with a total area of a trifle
less than twelve square feet. Its purpose was to correct certain
difficulties encountered in some of the flights with the 1901 machine.
When the wing surfaces at the right and left sides were warped to
present different angles toward the wind, the wing that had the greater
angle, and therefore the more resistance, tended to lag behind, and
then the slower speed offset what otherwise would have been the greater
lifting power of that wing. The tail was expected to counter-balance
that difference in resistance of the wing tips. If the wing on one
side tended to swerve forward, on a vertical axis, then the tail, more
exposed to the wind on that same side, should, it was thought, stop
the machine from further turning.

Entirely apart from any advantages to be gained from the use of the
tail, the first trials of the new machine were highly encouraging for
another reason. It was soon evident that by disregarding all tables
of air pressures used by their predecessors and building according to
the figures obtained from their wind-tunnel experiments, the Wrights
had made a big advance toward flight. Because of the knowledge they
now had, not possessed by any previous experimenter, of how the wings
should be shaped, this 1902 machine was of just about twice the
“dynamic efficiency” of any other glider ever built; it could have been
flown with probably less than half the power required for any other
glider.

Altogether the Wrights made more than one thousand gliding
flights in September and October, 1902. Several glides were of
more than six hundred feet, and a number of them were against a
thirty-six-mile-an-hour wind. No previous experimenter had ever dared
to try gliding in so stiff a wind. That the Wrights were successful
at such feats gave proof of the effectiveness of their devices for
control. Some of their flights lasted more than a minute and at times
it was possible to soar in one spot without any descent. So impressive
were such exhibitions that Bill Tate’s brother Dan solemnly offered the
opinion: “All she needs is a coat of feathers to make her light and she
will stay in the air indefinitely.”

About one time in fifty, however, the machine behaved in a manner quite
mysterious. It would turn up sidewise and come sliding to the ground in
spite of all the warp the operator could give to the wing tips. At one
trial the lateral control would work perfectly and then the next time,
under conditions that seemed to be about the same, it was impossible
to prevent one wing end from striking the sand with a kind of spinning
movement that the brothers called “well-digging.”

This new problem, that had not occurred in their previous gliders,
came from the fact that the machine had a tail. Those “well-digging”
accidents were tail-spins--though that term did not come into use
until several years afterward. But even after it was evident that
the tail had something to do with the machine’s peculiar behavior,
neither brother was prepared to explain _why_. Then one night Orville
drank more than his customary amount of coffee. Instead of going to
sleep as usual the moment he got into bed, he lay awake for several
hours. Those extra cups of coffee may have been important for the
future of practical flight for, as he tossed about, he figured out the
explanation of the phenomenon caused by the tail. Here it is, as he
eagerly gave it to Wilbur, and to their brother Lorin, who was visiting
them, at breakfast the next morning:

When the machine became tilted laterally it began to slide sidewise
while advancing, just as a sled slides downhill or a ball rolls down
an inclined plane, the speed increasing in an accelerated ratio. If
the tilt happened to be a little worse than usual, or if the operator
were a little slow in getting the balance corrected, the machine slid
sidewise so fast that this movement caused the vertical vanes to strike
the wind on the side toward the low wing instead of on the side toward
the high wing, as it was expected to do. In this state of affairs the
vertical vanes did not counteract the turning of the machine about a
vertical axis, caused by the difference of resistance of the warped
wings on the right and left sides; on the contrary, the vanes assisted
in the turning movement, and the result was worse than if there were no
fixed vertical tail.

If his explanation was sound, as Orville felt sure it was, then, he
said, it would be necessary to make the vertical tail movable, to
permit the operator to bring pressure to bear on the side toward
the higher wing. (This is the form of the Wright system of control
generally used today--the independent control of aileron and rudder.)

Wilbur promptly saw that the explanation was probably correct and
nodded approvingly. And he immediately made a suggestion. A particular
relation existed, he said, in the desired pressures on the tail, no
matter whether the trouble was due to difference of resistance of
the wing tips or on account of sliding. Whatever the reason, it was
desirable to get rid of the pressure on the side toward the low wing,
to which a greater angle of incidence must be imparted in restoring
lateral balance, and bring pressure on the side of the tail toward the
high wing where there must be a reduced angle. So why not have the
mechanism that controlled the wing warping and that which moved the
tail operated in conjunction? Then the pilot, instead of having to
control three things at once, would need to attend only to the front
elevator and the wing-warping device. The brothers at once attached
the wires controlling the tail to those that warped the wings--and
they also changed the tail from two vertical fins to a single vertical
rudder.

After the changes in the 1902 glider, the Wrights had their machine
in about the form pictured and described in the drawings and
specifications of their patent, applied for on the 23rd of the next
March.

With their accurate data for making calculations, and a system of
balance effective in winds as well as in calms, the brothers believed
that they now could build a successful power-flyer.



VI

FIRST POWER FLIGHT


Immediately on their return to Dayton after the 1902 glider flights,
the Wrights set to work to carry out plans, already begun at Kitty
Hawk, for a power machine. The satisfactory performance of the glider
had demonstrated the accuracy of the laboratory work on which its
design was based, and they now felt sure they could calculate in
advance the performance of any machine they built with a degree of
accuracy not possible with the data available to their predecessors.

Early in their preparations, they took steps to obtain a suitable
engine. They knew that a steam engine might do well enough for their
purpose, but a gasoline engine would be simpler and better. Some time
previously they had built an air-cooled, one-cylinder gas engine for
operating the machinery of their small workshop; but they did not feel
experienced enough to build the kind they now needed and preferred to
buy one.

[Illustration: INSIDE THE 1902 CAMP. The kitchen corner of the 1902
camp at Kitty Hawk.]

They wanted a motor to produce at least eight horsepower and to weigh,
without accessories, not more than twenty pounds per horsepower.
It seemed doubtful if such a motor as they required was then being
manufactured; but perhaps one of the automobile companies could build
one light enough by reducing the weight of the flywheel and using more
aluminum than in the regular output. On December 3, 1902, they sent
letters to a number of automobile companies, and to gasoline motor
manufacturers, altogether to nearly a dozen, asking if they could
furnish a motor that would develop eight brake horsepower and weigh
not more than 200 pounds. Orville Wright was not sure in after years
whether he and Wilbur revealed in their letters the use they planned
for the motor they were seeking; but most of the companies replied
that they were too busy with their regular business to undertake such
a special order. There is reason to suspect the companies may have got
wind of the purpose to which the motor would be put and were afraid to
become implicated in the project. If a company provided a motor for a
so-called flying-machine, and this fact should leak out, it could hurt
their business prestige, because it might look as if they considered
human flight a possibility.

[Illustration: FROM ORVILLE WRIGHT’S DIARY. Part of the entry for
December 17, 1903--the day of the first power flight.

    Thursday, Dec. 17th

    When we got up a wind of between 20 and 25 miles was blowing
    from the north. We got the machine out early and put out the
    signal for the men at the station. Before we were quite ready,
    John T. Daniels, W. S. Dough, A. D. Etheridge, W. C. Brinkley
    of Manteo, and Johnny Moore of Nags Head arrived. After running
    the engine and propellers a few minutes to get them in working
    order, I got on the machine at 10:35 for the first trial. The
    wind, according to our anemometers at this time, was blowing
    a little over 20 miles (corrected) 27 miles according to the
    Government anemometer at Kitty Hawk. On slipping the rope
    the machine started off increasing in speed to probably 7 or
    8 miles. The machine lifted from the truck just as it was
    entering on the fourth rail. Mr. Daniels took a picture just
    as it left the tracks. I found the control of the front rudder
    quite difficult on account of its being balanced too near the
    center and thus had a tendency to turn itself when started so
    that the rudder was turned too far on one side and then too
]

One company replied, however, that they had motors, rated at eight
horsepower, according to the French system of ratings, which weighed
only 135 pounds, and if the Wrights thought this would develop enough
power for their purpose, they could buy one. After an examination of
the particulars of this motor, from which they learned that it had but
a single cylinder, of four-inch bore and five-inch stroke, the Wrights
decided that its power was probably much overrated.

Finally the brothers decided that they would have to build their
motor themselves. They estimated that they could make one of four
cylinders, of four-inch bore and four-inch stroke, weighing not more
than two hundred pounds, with accessories included. Their mechanic,
Charlie Taylor, gave them enthusiastic help. In its final form, the
bare engine, without magneto, weighed 152 pounds; with accessories,
170 pounds. At 1,200 revolutions per minute, it developed sixteen
horsepower--but only for the first fifteen seconds after starting;
after a minute or two it did not give more than about twelve
horsepower. Since, however, they had not counted on more than eight
horsepower, for a machine of a total weight of 600 pounds, now they
could add 150 pounds for strengthening wings and other parts. Not yet
knowing how much power an engine of that size ought to have developed,
the Wrights were much pleased with its performance. Long afterward they
found out that the engine should have provided about twice as much
power as it did. The trouble, as they later said, was their “lack of
experience in building gasoline motors.”

The wings of this new power machine had a total span of a few inches
more than forty feet, and the upper and lower wing surfaces were six
feet apart. To reduce the danger of the engine ever falling on the
pilot, it was placed on the lower wing a little to right of center.
The pilot would ride lying flat, as on the glider, but to the left of
center, to balance the weight. To guard against the machine rolling
over in landing, the sled-like runners were extended farther out in
front of the main surfaces than on the glider. These two runners were
four feet, eight inches apart. The tail of the machine had twin movable
vanes instead of a single vane as in the 1902 glider.

The Wrights left the designing of the propellers until the last,
because they felt sure that part of the job would be easy enough.
Their tables of air pressures, derived from wind-tunnel experiments,
would enable them, they thought, to calculate exactly the thrust
necessary to sustain the machine in flight. But to design a propeller
that would give the needed amount of thrust, with the power at their
command, was a problem they had not yet considered. No data on air
propellers were available, but the Wrights had always understood that
it was not difficult to obtain an efficiency of fifty per cent with
marine propellers. All that should be necessary would be to learn the
theory of the operation of propellers from books on marine engineering
and then substitute air pressures for water pressures. What could be
simpler or easier? Accordingly, the brothers got several such books
from the Dayton Public Library. But when they began to read those
books, they discovered to their surprise that much less was known about
propellers than they had supposed.

All the formulae on propellers in the books were found to be based on
experiment and observation rather than on theory. The marine engineers,
when they saw that a propeller would not move a boat fast enough, had
then tried one larger, or of a different pitch, until they got one
that would serve their purpose. But they could not design a propeller
on paper and foresee exactly what its performance on a certain type
of motor-boat would be. Exact knowledge of the action of the screw
propeller, though it had been in use for a century, was still lacking.

The Wrights knew that rough estimates, which might be near enough for
a motor-boat, would not do for an airplane. On a boat a propeller
having only a fraction of one per cent of the desired efficiency could
move the boat a little; but on an airplane, unless the propeller
had the full amount of thrust needed, it would be worthless, for it
couldn’t lift the plane into the air at all! In short, the Wrights had
to have a propeller that would do exactly what was expected of it.
And they had neither the time nor money to carry on a long series of
experiments with different kinds of propellers until they could hit on
one suitable. They couldn’t afford to make mistakes except on paper.
They must somehow learn enough about how propellers acted, and why, to
enable them to make accurate calculations.

It was apparent to the Wrights that a propeller was simply an airfoil
traveling in a spiral course. As they could calculate the effect of an
airfoil traveling in a straight course, why should they not be able to
calculate the effect in a spiral course? At first thought that did not
seem too difficult, but they soon found that they had let themselves
into a tough job. Since nothing about a propeller, or the medium in
which it acts, would be standing still, it was not easy to find even a
point from which to make a start. The more they studied it, the more
complex the problem became. “The thrust depends upon the speed and
the angle at which the blade strikes the air; the angle at which the
blade strikes the air depends upon the speed at which the propeller
is turning, the speed the machine is traveling forward, and the speed
at which the air is slipping backward; the slip of the air backward
depends upon the thrust exerted by the propeller, and the amount of
air acted upon.” It was not exactly as simple as some of the problems
in the school arithmetic--to determine how many sheep a man had or how
many leaps a hound must make to overtake a hare.

In trying to work out a theory about the action of screw propellers,
Wilbur and Orville got into many arguments. Right here it may be noted
that this habit the brothers had of arguing technical points was one of
the reasons why they were able to accomplish all they finally did in
a relatively short time. Neither was a “yes” man to the other. But in
their arguments about propellers a peculiar thing happened. “Often,”
Orville later reported, “after an hour or so of heated argument, we
would discover that we were as far from agreement as when we started,
but that _each had changed to the other’s original position_.”

Many months passed before the intricacies of the problem began to
untangle themselves. The Wrights finally got a better understanding of
the action of screw propellers than anyone had ever had before. The
time came when they felt sure of their ability to design propellers of
exactly the right diameter, pitch, and area for their needs.

A calculation indicated that 305 revolutions of the propeller would be
required to produce 100 pounds thrust. Later, actual measurement showed
that only 302 instead of 305 propeller turns were required, or just
under one per cent of the calculated amount. The propellers delivered
in useful work 66 per cent of the power expended. That was about
one-third more than either Hiram Maxim or Professor Langley in their
attempts at flying had ever been able to attain.

For two reasons the Wrights decided to use two propellers. First,
they could in that way obtain a reaction against a greater quantity
of air, and at the same time use a larger pitch angle; and, by having
the propellers run in opposite directions, the gyroscopic action of
one would neutralize that of the other. The propellers were on tubular
shafts about ten feet apart, both driven by chains running over
sprockets, somewhat as on a bicycle.

L. M. Wainwright, president of the Diamond Chain Company, of
Indianapolis, became interested in the Wrights’ transmission problem,
and gave them valuable advice.

The Wrights found that the chains would have to be run through guides
to prevent slapping and to overcome undue stresses on the machine.
They adopted tubular guides and found that they could cross one of
the chains in a figure eight and thus have the propellers running in
opposite directions.

Not until September 23 was all in readiness for the Wrights to set out
for Kitty Hawk. They were able to make good connections with a boat
and arrived at camp two days later, on a Friday. Discussing en route
what they hoped to accomplish, neither had the slightest doubt about
the fulfillment of their dreams. Besides being full of confidence they
also felt the exuberance of excellent physical condition. Orville was
now thirty-two years old and Wilbur thirty-six. Five foot ten and a
quarter inches in height, Wilbur was the taller of the two by a little
more than an inch and a half. Orville weighed 145 pounds, about five
more than Wilbur. Each of them had grayish-blue eyes and they might
have been recognized as brothers, though in their own family Wilbur at
that time was considered “more of a Wright” in his facial conformation.
Orville looked a little more like his mother. Both were suitably built
for bird men.

Plenty of annoyances, difficulties, and delays were still to be faced.
When they reached their camp near Kill Devil Hill, the Wrights found
that a storm had blown it from its foundation posts. They repaired the
shed and also built a new one. With two sheds they had enough space
for housing both the 1902 glider and the power machine, and also for a
better workshop.

Just as the new building was nearing completion, the Kitty Hawk region
had one of the worst storms in years. It came without warning, soon
blowing forty miles an hour, and increased during the night until the
next day the wind was more than seventy-five miles an hour. Orville
risked climbing to the roof to nail down some of the more exposed
parts. But by the time he got to the roof edge, the wind had blown his
coat about him in a manner to pinion his arms and leave him helpless.
Wilbur rushed to his assistance and held down his coat, but the
wind was so strong that it was almost impossible to swing a hammer
accurately enough to hit a nail.

Three weeks were needed for assembling the new machine. From time
to time, also, they took out the 1902 glider, still in fairly good
condition in the shed where they had left it, and got practice. After
the first few trials each brother was able to make a new world’s record
by gliding for more than a minute.

It was hoped to have the power machine ready for its first trial
early in November. But at the first run of the motor on the completed
machine, an unexpected strain from back-firing twisted one of the
propeller shafts and tore loose the cross-arm to which the propeller
was fastened. Both shafts were then sent back to the bicycle shop at
Dayton to be made stronger. Dr. Spratt had arrived on October 23 to
witness tests of the new machine, but the weather had become so wintry
that he started home on November 5, taking with him as far as Norfolk
the shafts for shipment to Dayton.

Octave Chanute came, on invitation, the next day, but he too found
it difficult to be comfortable with the weather increasingly wintry
and he stayed less than a week. Before leaving camp, Chanute had
unintentionally given them something else to worry about. He had
remarked that at least twenty per cent usually must be allowed in chain
transmission for loss in power. As the Wrights had allowed only five
per cent, they felt considerable alarm.

Since Chanute was a capable and famous engineer, it seemed prudent to
find out whose estimates were more nearly correct. After Chanute had
gone, the brothers suspended one of the drive chains over a sprocket
and hung a bag of sand at each end of the chain. By measuring the
amount of weight on one side needed to lift that on the other, they
calculated the loss in transmission. As nearly as they could tell,
this loss was even less than the five per cent they had estimated.

The shafts, made of larger and heavier tubing, arrived from Dayton on
November 20. When they were tested again, a new difficulty appeared.
The sprockets, which were screwed to the shafts and locked with nuts
of opposite thread, kept coming loose. This was a small problem, and
yet the brothers did not at once see any way to solve it. They went to
bed discouraged. The next day, however, they tried, as they often did,
something they had learned in the bicycle business. They had found a
great variety of uses for the kind of cement intended for fastening
tires to rims. Once they had used it successfully in fastening the
hands of a stop-watch that several watchsmiths had said was beyond
repair. Why not try tire cement on those sprockets? They heated the
propeller shafts and sprockets, poured melted cement into the threads
and screwed them together. There were no more loose sprockets.

Just as the machine was ready for test, bad weather set in. There was
rain or snow for several days and a wind of twenty-five to thirty miles
an hour from the north. But while being delayed by the weather the
Wrights were not idle. They busied themselves contriving a mechanism
to measure automatically the duration of a flight from the time the
machine started to move forward to the time it stopped, the distance
traveled through the air in that time, and the number of revolutions
made by the motor and propeller. A stop-watch took the time; an
anemometer measured the air traveled through; and a counter took the
number of revolutions made by the motor. The watch, anemometer,
and revolution counter were all automatically started and stopped
simultaneously.

During this time, the Wrights occupied themselves also in making tests
of the strength of the wings, as well as many satisfactory tests of the
engine. During a test of the engine, on November 28, they discovered
that one of the recently strengthened tubular shafts had developed a
flaw and cracked!

With winter almost upon them, there was no time to trust to express
service in getting the shafts to Dayton. Orville decided he would go
there at once. Instead of tubular shafts, they would use solid tool
steel, necessary, it seemed, to take up the shock of premature or
missed explosions of the engine.

Not until Friday, December 11, did Orville get back to camp. (En route,
he had read in a newspaper of the last unsuccessful attempt to fly the
Langley machine over the Potomac at Washington.)

It didn’t take long to install the new propeller shafts and the next
afternoon, Saturday, the machine was again ready for trial. But the
wind was so light that a start could not have been made from the level
ground with a run of only sixty feet permitted by the monorail track
to be used. Nor was there enough time before dark to take the machine
to one of the near-by hills, where, by placing the track on the steep
incline, enough speed could be promptly attained for starting in calm
air.

All day Sunday the Wrights just sat at the camp and read, hoping
for suitable weather the next day. They were now particularly eager
to avoid delay because of their boyish craving to be at home by
Christmas. If there should be a spell of bad wintry weather they might
have to stay at Kitty Hawk for another two or three weeks.

Monday, December 14, dawned beautifully clear, but cold, and there was
not enough wind to permit a start from level ground near the camp. The
Wrights therefore decided to attempt a flight from the side of Kill
Devil Hill. With a relatively light wind it should be all the easier
to handle the machine. The pilot, whichever one of them it should be,
ought to be able not only to fly successfully but to go on down far
beyond the Kitty Hawk life-saving station, nearly five miles away,
before landing.

Contrary to reports of secretiveness, the Wrights, naturally desiring
witnesses, had extended a general invitation to people living within
five or six miles to come and see their first attempt at flight. But
it was impossible for them to send word or give a signal as to the
exact time the attempt would be made. They had arranged, however, to
put a signal on one of the sheds that could be seen from the Kill Devil
Life-Saving Station only a little more than a mile away. Members of the
life-saving crew were on the lookout for the signal. Soon after the
signal was hung against the wall of the shed, the Wrights were joined
by John T. Daniels, Robert Westcott, Thomas Beacham, W. S. Dough,
and “Uncle Benny” O’Neal. All helped to get the machine to the place
selected, a quarter of a mile away, on the hillside. It would not have
been easy to drag the 750-pound machine that distance and the Wrights
used a characteristic bit of ingenuity. They set the machine on the
monorail track they were going to use for the take-off, slid it along
to the end of the sixty-foot wooden rail, then took up a rear section
of the track and added it to the front end. By thus re-laying the track
over and over, they were able to have the machine run on wheels all
the way. The sled-like skids that were the landing gear of the machine
rested on a truck--a plank about six feet long, laid across a much
smaller piece of wood to which were attached two small wheels, one in
front of the other. Each was kept on the track by two vertical guides.
These little wheels had ball-bearings. They were modified hubs from
wheels of a bicycle. The rail itself was two by four inches, set on
edge, with the upper surface covered by a thin strip of metal.

As soon as they reached the hill, the Wrights prepared for the test.
Each was eager for the chance to make the first trial, and they tossed
a coin to determine which of them it should be. Wilbur won the toss.

After the machine had been fastened to the track by wire to prevent
its moving until released by the operator, one of the Wrights started
the motor and let it run for a few minutes to make sure it was working
properly. Then Wilbur took his place on the machine. Two small boys,
with a dog, who had come to see what was going on, were scared away by
the noise of the motor.

Here is Orville Wright’s own account[3] of what then happened:

    I took a position at one of the wings, intending to help
    balance the machine as it ran down the track. But when the
    restraining wire was slipped, the machine started off so
    quickly I could stay with it only a few feet. After a 35- to
    40-foot run, it lifted from the rail.

    But it was allowed to turn up too much. It climbed a few feet,
    stalled, and then settled to the ground near the foot of the
    hill, 105 feet below. My stop-watch showed that it had been
    in the air just 3½ seconds. In landing, the left wing touched
    first. The machine swung around, dug the skids into the sand
    and broke one of them. Several other parts were also broken,
    but the damage to the machine was not serious. While the
    tests had shown nothing as to whether the power of the motor
    was sufficient to keep the machine up, since the landing was
    made many feet below the starting point, the experiment had
    demonstrated that the method adopted for launching the machine
    was a safe and practical one. On the whole, we were much
    pleased.

    Two days were consumed in making repairs, and the machine was
    not ready again till late in the afternoon of the 16th. While
    we had it out on the track in front of the building, making
    the final adjustments, a stranger came along. After looking
    at the machine a few seconds he inquired what it was. When we
    told him it was a flying-machine he asked whether we intended
    to fly it. We said we did, as soon as we had a suitable wind.
    He looked at it several minutes longer and then, wishing to be
    courteous, remarked that it looked as if it would fly, if it
    had a “suitable wind.” We were much amused, for, no doubt, he
    had in mind the recent 75-mile gale when he repeated our words,
    “a suitable wind”!

    During the night of December 16th a strong cold wind blew
    from the north. When we arose on the morning of the 17th,
    the puddles of water, which had been standing about the camp
    since the recent rains, were covered with ice. The wind had
    a velocity of 10 to 12 meters per second (22 to 27 miles an
    hour). We thought it would die down before long, and so
    remained indoors the early part of the morning. But when ten
    o’clock arrived, and the wind was as brisk as ever, we decided
    that we had better get the machine out and attempt a flight.
    We hung out the signal for the men of the Life Saving Station.
    We thought that by facing the flyer into a strong wind, there
    ought to be no trouble in launching it from the level ground
    about camp. We realized the difficulties of flying in so high a
    wind, but estimated that the added dangers in flight would be
    partly compensated for by the slower speed in landing.

    We laid the track on a smooth stretch of ground about one
    hundred feet west of the new building. The biting cold wind
    made work difficult, and we had to warm up frequently in our
    living room, where we had a good fire in an improvised stove
    made of a large carbide can. By the time all was ready, J. T.
    Daniels, W. S. Dough and A. D. Etheridge, members of the Kill
    Devil Life-Saving Station; W. C. Brinkley of Manteo; and Johnny
    Moore, a boy from Nag’s Head, had arrived.

    We had a “Richard” hand anemometer with which we measured the
    velocity of the wind. Measurements made just before starting
    the first flight showed velocities of 11 to 12 meters per
    second, or 24 to 27 miles per hour. Measurements made just
    before the last flight gave between 9 and 10 meters per second.
    One made just afterward showed a little over 8 meters. The
    records of the Government Weather Bureau at Kitty Hawk gave the
    velocity of the wind between the hours of 10:30 and 12 o’clock,
    the time during which the four flights were made, as averaging
    27 miles at the time of the first flight and 24 miles at the
    time of the last.

    With all the knowledge and skill acquired in thousands
    of flights in the last ten years, I would hardly think
    today of making my first flight on a strange machine in a
    twenty-seven-mile wind, even if I knew that the machine
    had already been flown and was safe. After these years
    of experience, I look with amazement upon our audacity in
    attempting flights with a new and untried machine under such
    circumstances. Yet faith in our calculations and the design
    of the first machine, based upon our tables of air pressures,
    obtained by months of careful laboratory work, and confidence
    in our system of control developed by three years of actual
    experiences in balancing gliders in the air, had convinced us
    that the machine was capable of lifting and maintaining itself
    in the air, and that, with a little practice, it could be
    safely flown.

    Wilbur having used his turn in the unsuccessful attempt on the
    14th, the right to the first trial now belonged to me. After
    running the motor a few minutes to heat it up, I released
    the wire that held the machine to the track, and the machine
    started forward into the wind. Wilbur ran at the side of the
    machine, holding the wing to balance it on the track. Unlike
    the start on the 14th, made in a calm, the machine, facing a
    27-mile wind, started very slowly. Wilbur was able to stay with
    it till it lifted from the track after a forty-foot run. One of
    the Life Saving men snapped the camera for us, taking a picture
    just as the machine had reached the end of the track and had
    risen to a height of about two feet.[4] The slow forward speed
    of the machine over the ground is clearly shown in the picture
    by Wilbur’s attitude. He stayed along beside the machine
    without any effort.

    The course of the flight up and down was exceedingly erratic,
    partly due to the irregularity of the air and partly to lack
    of experience in handling this machine. The control of the
    front rudder was difficult on account of its being balanced too
    near the center. This gave it a tendency to turn itself when
    started, so that it turned too far on one side and then too
    far on the other. As a result, the machine would rise suddenly
    to about ten feet, and then as suddenly dart for the ground. A
    sudden dart when a little over a hundred feet from the end of
    the track, or a little over 120 feet from the point at which
    it rose into the air, ended the flight. As the velocity of the
    wind was over 35 feet per second and the speed of the machine
    over the ground against this wind ten feet per second, the
    speed of the machine relative to the air was over 45 feet per
    second, and the length of the flight was equivalent to a flight
    of 540 feet made in calm air.

    This flight lasted only 12 seconds, but it was nevertheless the
    first in the history of the world in which a machine carrying
    a man had raised itself by its own power into the air in full
    flight, had sailed forward without reduction of speed, and had
    finally landed at a point as high as that from which it started.

    With the assistance of our visitors we carried the machine
    back to the track and prepared for another flight. The wind,
    however, had chilled us all through, so that before attempting
    a second flight, we all went to the building again to warm up.
    Johnny Moore, seeing under the table a box filled with eggs,
    asked one of the Station men where we got so many of them. The
    people of the neighborhood eke out a bare existence by catching
    fish during the short fishing season, and their supplies of
    other articles of food are limited. He probably never had seen
    so many eggs at one time in his whole life.

    The one addressed jokingly asked him whether he hadn’t noticed
    the small hen running about the outside of the building. “That
    chicken lays eight to ten eggs a day!” Moore, having just seen
    a piece of machinery lift itself from the ground and fly,
    a thing at that time considered as impossible as perpetual
    motion, was ready to believe nearly anything. But after going
    out and having a good look at the wonderful fowl, he returned
    with the remark, “It’s only a common-looking chicken!”

    At twenty minutes after eleven Wilbur started on the second
    flight. The course of this flight was much like that of the
    first, very much up and down. The speed over the ground was
    somewhat faster than that of the first flight, due to the
    lesser wind. The duration of the flight was less than a second
    longer than the first, but the distance covered was about
    seventy-five feet greater.

    Twenty minutes later, the third flight started. This one was
    steadier than the first one an hour before. I was proceeding
    along pretty well when a sudden gust from the right lifted the
    machine up twelve to fifteen feet and turned it up sidewise in
    an alarming manner. It began a lively sidling off to the left.
    I warped the wings to try to recover the lateral balance and
    at the same time pointed the machine down to reach the ground
    as quickly as possible. The lateral control was more effective
    than I had imagined and before I reached the ground the right
    wing was lower than the left and struck first. The time of this
    flight was fifteen seconds and the distance over the ground a
    little over 200 feet.

    Wilbur started the fourth and last flight at just 12 o’clock.
    The first few hundred feet were up and down, as before, but by
    the time three hundred feet had been covered, the machine was
    under much better control. The course for the next four or five
    hundred feet had but little undulation. However, when out about
    eight hundred feet the machine began pitching again, and, in
    one of its darts downward, struck the ground. The distance over
    the ground was measured and found to be 852 feet; the time of
    the flight 59 seconds. The frame supporting the front rudder
    was badly broken, but the main part of the machine was not
    injured at all. We estimated that the machine could be put in
    condition for flight again in a day or two.

    While we were standing about discussing this last flight, a
    sudden strong gust of wind struck the machine and began to turn
    it over. Everybody made a rush for it. Wilbur, who was at one
    end, seized it in front. Mr. Daniels and I, who were behind,
    tried to stop it by holding to the rear uprights.

    All our efforts were in vain. The machine rolled over and over.
    Daniels, who had retained his grip, was carried along with it,
    and was thrown about, head over heels, inside of the machine.
    Fortunately he was not seriously injured, though badly bruised
    in falling about against the motor, chain guides, etc. The ribs
    in the surfaces of the machine were broken, the motor injured
    and the chain guides badly bent, so that all possibility of
    further flights with it for that year were at an end.

It is unlikely that any of the five spectators who had seen these
flights sensed their scientific importance. But some of them felt
interested, from one point of view, because they would have the laugh
on a number of natives thereabouts who had insisted that these Wright
brothers must be a pair of harmless cranks. A common argument had been:
“God didn’t intend man to fly. If he did, he would have given him a set
of wings.”

It was the regret of his life to the Wrights’ friend, “Bill” Tate, that
he missed witnessing that first flight. He had decided that “no one but
a crazy man would attempt to fly in such a wind,” and made no effort to
be there.

After preparing and eating their lunch, and then washing their dishes,
Wilbur and Orville set out, about two o’clock that afternoon, to walk
over to the Kitty Hawk weather station, four or five miles away, to
send a telegram to their father. It must have been about three o’clock
when they reached the station. So few telegrams were sent from this
locality that no regular commercial office existed and it was permitted
to send them over this government wire as far as Norfolk where they
would be relayed by phone from the weather bureau to the office of one
of the telegraph companies.

Orville wrote out the following message to their father: “Success four
flights Thursday morning all against twenty-one-mile wind started from
level with engine power alone average speed through air thirty-one
miles longest 59 seconds inform press home Christmas. Orville Wright.”

What Orville meant when he wrote “against twenty-one-mile wind” was
that the wind was at least twenty-one miles an hour during each of the
flights. At the time of the first flight it was, as already noted,
between twenty-four and twenty-seven miles an hour--probably about
twenty-six miles.

After handing the message to Joseph J. Dosher, the weather bureau
operator, Orville joined Wilbur over in a corner of the room to examine
the record on an instrument that recorded the wind velocity.

Dosher got an almost instantaneous connection with Norfolk, and while
the Wrights were still looking at the wind record, he said:

“The operator in Norfolk wants to know if it is all right to give the
news to a reporter friend.”

But the Wrights replied: Absolutely no! They preferred to have the
first news of the event come from Dayton.

Dosher clicked out the refusal.

The operator at Norfolk, however, did not heed the warning.

When they left the weather bureau after sending their message, the
Wrights went over to the Kitty Hawk life-saving station, a few steps
away, and chatted with members of the crew there. Captain S. J. Payne,
in charge of the station, declared that he had seen one of the flights
with the aid of a pair of binoculars.

Then the Wrights walked to the post office at Kitty Hawk; and before
returning to camp they stopped for a farewell visit at the home of
Captain Hobbs, who had often done hauling and other work for them.

Meanwhile, the telegraph operator at Norfolk, disregarding the Wrights’
adverse response to his request, had promptly gone ahead and given a
tip about the flights to a young friend, H. P. Moore, of the Norfolk
_Virginian-Pilot_. Moore was connected with the circulation department
of the paper but was breaking in as a reporter and was in the habit of
calling at the weather bureau. He made a desperate effort to reach by
telephone over the government line someone at Kitty Hawk or elsewhere
along the coast who could furnish details about what the flying-machine
looked like, and about this Mr. Wright who was supposed to have
operated it. Whatever information he got did not come from eyewitnesses
of the flights, or from anyone who had ever seen the machine, and the
account published the next morning was about ninety-nine per cent
inaccurate. It described a flight of _three miles_ by Wilbur and told
of Orville then running about yelling “Eureka.” The machine had one
six-blade propeller beneath it, to elevate it, so the story ran, and
another propeller at the rear to shove it forward.

“Very little can be learned here about the Wrights,” the story said.
“They are supposed by the natives of Kitty Hawk to be people of means
and are always well dressed.”

(When Moore met Orville, years later, and asked him what he thought of
the account, Orville good-naturedly replied: “It was an amazing piece
of work. Though ninety-nine per cent wrong, it did contain one fact
that was correct. There _had_ been a flight.” Then Moore wrote that
Orville had corroborated his story.)

One must give the _Virginian-Pilot_ editors credit for treating the
news as important. The headline over the flight story the next morning
extended clear across the top of the first page.

Moore sent brief “queries,” outlining the story, to twenty-one other
newspapers over the country, including several in Ohio, one of them the
Dayton _Journal_. But nearly all the telegraph editors resented having
a correspondent suggest that a human being could fly by machinery. Of
the twenty-one newspapers to whom it was offered, only five ordered
the story. They were the New York _American_, the Washington (D.C.)
_Post_, the Chicago _Record-Herald_, the Philadelphia _Record_, and the
Cincinnati _Enquirer_. But not all five papers that received the story
published it the next morning. The Chicago _Record-Herald_ and the
Washington _Post_ delayed using it, and the Philadelphia _Record_ did
not print it at all. Thus only three newspapers in the United States
had a report of the great event at Kitty Hawk the next morning. The
Cincinnati _Enquirer_ was the only one besides the _Virginian-Pilot_
that gave space to the account on the front page.

As the Associated Press is a co-operative news-gathering agency and the
_Virginian-Pilot_ was a member, the story was available to the AP at
Norfolk, but the AP was not yet interested in it.

One might have thought the news would especially interest the Dayton
_Journal_; but Frank Tunison, the telegraph editor there (who also
handled outgoing news for the Associated Press) was a man who took
pride in not being easily fooled, and he paid no attention to the query
from Norfolk.

Orville’s telegram to his father did not reach Dayton until 5:25 that
evening. In transmission, errors had got into the message; fifty-nine
seconds had become fifty-seven, and the sender’s name was spelled
“Orevelle.”

Katharine Wright immediately sent a message to Octave Chanute that
the “boys” had reported four successful flights. Bishop Wright asked
his son Lorin to prepare a brief statement with a copy of the message
and give it to the Associated Press. After he had finished his
dinner, Lorin went to the office of the _Journal_ and inquired if the
Associated Press representative was there. He was referred to Frank
Tunison. Whether Tunison had already received the query from Moore at
Norfolk is not certain. But he seemed annoyed over being expected to
accept such a tale.

Without looking up from his work, he yawned and said to Lorin:

“Fifty-seven seconds, hey? If it had been fifty-seven minutes then it
might have been a news item.”

Nothing about the Wrights’ feat appeared in the Dayton _Journal_ the
next morning. But news considered important enough to be displayed
on the first page of that same issue included items about a routine
weekly meeting of the local united trades and labor council; a colored
man named Charles Brown, who admitted pocketbook thefts; the pardoning
of a robber from Joliet prison, in Illinois. On the page opposite the
editorial page, the biggest, blackest headline was: “Stores Are Filled
with Christmas Shoppers.”

Dayton afternoon papers on that December 18 did print accounts of the
receipt of the telegram by Bishop Wright, as well as other “facts”
about the flight. The Dayton _Herald_ article appeared to be a rehash
of the dispatch from Norfolk in the Cincinnati _Enquirer_. Over the
article in the Dayton _Daily News_, on an inside page, alongside of
so-called “country correspondence” from near-by towns, the heading was:
“Dayton Boys Emulate Great Santos-Dumont.” Santos-Dumont had flown
in an airship, and now the Wrights had flown in something or other.
Therefore the Wrights must be imitators of Alberto Santos-Dumont!
Lacking scientific knowledge, the editors failed to distinguish between
a flying-machine, heavier-than-air, and an airship consisting of a
gas-bag equipped with a propeller. Indeed, from then on, nearly all who
had heard of the reported flights, editors included, were in one or the
other of two groups of disbelievers: (1) those who refused to believe
the flights had taken place at all; and (2) those who thought that
even if they had been made they were not of great importance.

The Associated Press, that had declined to accept news of the flights
at either Norfolk or Dayton the day before, now sent out for afternoon
papers on December 18, a brief report, less than 350 words, from
Norfolk. This appeared to be simply a condensation of the article in
the _Virginian-Pilot_ that morning and contained most of the same
inaccuracies. Not more than two or three sentences in the AP dispatch
were correct. “The machine flew for three miles,” the report said,
“... and gracefully descended to the earth _at the spot selected_
by the man in the _navigator’s car_ as a suitable landing place....
Preparatory to its flight the machine was placed upon _a platform ...
on a high sandhill_ and when all was in readiness the fastenings to the
machine were released and it _started down an incline_. The navigator,
Wilbur Wright, _then_ started a small gasoline engine which worked
the propellers. When the end of the _incline_ was reached the machine
gradually arose until it obtained [sic] an _altitude of 60 feet_....
_In_ the center is the navigator’s car and suspended _just below the
bottom plan_ [sic] is a small gasoline engine, which furnishes the
motive power for the propelling and elevating wheels.

“There are _two 6-blade propellers_,” the dispatch said, “one arranged
just below the frame so as to exert an _upward force_ when in motion
and the other extends horizontally from the rear to the center of the
car furnishing forward impetus. Protruding from the center of the car
is a _huge fan-shaped rudder of canvas_, stretched upon a frame of
wood. This rudder is controlled by the navigator and may be moved to
each side, raised or lowered.” Not all the Associated Press papers
printed the brief dispatch in full; in fact, many did not use it at all.

With the first reports “confirmed” by the Associated Press, two papers,
the Washington _Post_ and Chicago _Record-Herald_, that had withheld
the story bought from Mr. Moore at Norfolk, finally printed the Moore
dispatch on the morning of December 19. The Washington _Post_ even
used it on the front page, but cautiously inserted qualifying phrases,
saying “it is reported” that a flight was made. And the Chicago
_Record-Herald_ on December 20 had an editorial about the flights,
or about “the” flight. But as the editorial restated many of the
inaccuracies contained in the news report, it only added to the general
misinformation.

(A few newspaper editors are still touchy about the inadequate
reporting of the Wrights’ first flights. As recently as January 29,
1941, the Chicago _Daily News_ had an editorial of nearly half a column
defending the merit of the hopelessly inaccurate Associated Press
dispatch from Norfolk on December 18, 1903. And shortly afterward, on
February 12, 1941, in connection with a letter from a reader who sought
to give the historic facts, the _Daily News_ editor, still unwilling
to accept the truth, added a note insisting once again that there was
“nothing fantastic” about that AP report from Norfolk!)

At a meeting of the American Association for the Advancement of
Science, in St. Louis, December 28 to January 2, Octave Chanute made
an address on the subject of Aerial Navigation in which he referred to
the Wrights’ flights. But little was said about the Chanute speech in
the newspapers.

(Chanute used that address as the basis for an article in the March,
1904, issue of _Popular Science Monthly_ in which he said: “Now that an
initial success has been achieved with a flying-machine, we can discern
some of the uses of such apparatus and also some of its limitations.
Its first application will probably be military.” He said, too, that
“it may even carry mails in special cases, but the useful loads carried
will be very small. The machines will eventually be fast, they will
be used in sport, but they are not to be thought of as commercial
carriers.” He did not think it would ever be practical to carry loads
“such as a store of explosives, or big guns to shoot them.”)

Almost as surprising as the lack of effort by the usually painstaking
Associated Press to get the facts about the Kitty Hawk event, was the
failure of the AP, or any other press association, or any newspaper,
to rush a staff man to Dayton in an effort to obtain the whole amazing
story of what the Wrights had done.

Desiring to correct the misinformation that had been printed, the
Wrights prepared a statement about their recent flights, and gave this
to the Associated Press with the request that it be published. This
appeared, at least in part, in probably a majority of the Associated
Press newspapers, on January 6; but the initiative, it should be
noted, did not come from the press association, but from the Wrights
themselves. A few editorial paragraphers made derisive comments on one
sentence of the statement which suggested that “the day of flying had
arrived.”

Exactly one month after the Kitty Hawk flights, on Sunday, January 17,
the New York _Herald_, in its magazine section, had an article headed:
The Machine That Flies. Despite the time that had elapsed, affording
opportunity to get the facts, this article not only contained a mass of
preposterous misstatements but even quoted Wilbur Wright for many of
them. The article was accompanied by a drawing, an artist’s conception
of the machine in flight, and a diagram, showing the two “six-bladed
propellers,” one behind the machine and the other beneath it, to give
it elevation!



VII

AFTER THE EVENT


The Wrights felt a glow of pride and satisfaction in having both
invented and demonstrated the device that had baffled the ablest
scientists through the centuries. But still they did not expect to make
their fortunes. True, they had applied, on March 23, 1903, or nearly
nine months before they flew, for basic patents (not issued until May
22, 1906), but that was by way of establishing an authentic record.
Thus far they hadn’t even employed a patent lawyer.

Long afterward, Orville Wright was asked what he and Wilbur would have
taken for all their secrets of aviation, for all patent rights _for the
entire world_, if someone had come along to talk terms just after those
first flights. He wasn’t sure, but he had an idea that if they had
received an offer of ten thousand dollars they might have accepted it.

Since the airplane was not yet developed into a type for practical use,
ten thousand dollars might have been considered a fair return for their
time, effort, and outlay. They had had all the fun and satisfaction
and their expenses had been surprisingly small. Their cash outlay for
building and flying their power plane was less than $1,000, and that
included their railroad fares to and from Kitty Hawk. Of course, the
greater part of their expenses would have been for mechanical labor,
much of which they did themselves. But skilled labor was low-priced at
that time; one could hire a better than average mechanic for as little
as $16 a week. Even if the Wrights had charged themselves with the cost
of their own work, their total expenses on the power plane would still
have been less than $2,000.

Many fanciful stories have been told about the sacrifices the Wright
family made to enable the brothers to fly, and of how they were
financed by this person or that. More than one man of wealth in Dayton
has encouraged the belief that _he_ financed them. One persistent story
is that they raised money for their experiments by the sale of an Iowa
farm in which they had an interest. The truth is that this farm, which
had been deeded by their father to the _four_ Wright brothers, was sold
early in 1902 before Wilbur and Orville had even begun work on their
power plane or spent much on their experiments. The sale was made at
the request of their brother Reuchlin, and had no relation whatsoever
to aviation. Nor is it true that the Wright home was mortgaged during
the time of the brothers’ experiments. Another story was that their
sister Katharine had furnished the money they needed out of her salary
as school teacher. Katharine Wright was always amused over that tale,
for she was never a hoarder of money nor a financier, and could hardly
have provided funds even if this had been necessary. Any rumor that her
brothers could have borrowed money from her, rather than lending money
to her, as they sometimes did, was almost as funny to Katharine as
another report--that her brothers had relied on her for mathematical
assistance in their calculations.

The simple fact is that no one ever financed the Wrights’ work except
Wilbur and Orville themselves. Their bicycle business had been giving
them a decent income and at the end of the year 1903 they still had a
few thousand dollars’ savings in a local building and loan association.
Whatever financial scrimping was necessary came _after_ they had flown;
after they knew they had made a great discovery.

But the Wrights’ belief that they had achieved something of great
importance was not bolstered by the attitude of the general public. Not
only were there no receptions, brass bands, or parades in their honor,
but most people paid less attention to the history-making feat than if
the “boys” had simply been on vacation and caught a big fish, or shot a
bear.

Before the flights, some of the neighbors had been puzzled by reports
that the Wrights were working on a flying-machine. One man in business
near the Wright shop had become acquainted with an inventor who
thought he was about to perfect a perpetual motion machine; and this
businessman promptly sent the inventor to the Wrights, assuming that he
would find them kindred spirits. John G. Feight, living next door to
the Wright home, had remarked, just before the brothers went to Kitty
Hawk: “Flying and perpetual motion will come at the same time.”

Now that flights had been made, neighbors didn’t doubt the truth of
the reports--though one of them had his own explanation. Mr. Webbert,
father of the man from whom the Wrights rented their shop, said:

“I have known those boys ever since they were small children, and if
they say they flew I know they did; but I think there must be special
conditions down in North Carolina that would enable them to fly by the
power of a motor. There is only one thing that could lift a machine
like that in _this_ part of the country--spirit power.” Webbert was a
spiritualist. He had seen tables and pianos lifted at séances!

But even if the boys _had_ flown, what of it? Men were flying in
Europe, weren’t they? Hadn’t Santos-Dumont flown some kind of
self-propelled balloon?

The one person who had almost unbounded enthusiasm for what the
brothers had accomplished was their father. They found it difficult to
keep a complete file of the photographs they had made showing different
phases of their experiments, because the moment their father’s eye
fell on one of these pictures he would pick it up and mail it to some
relative along with a letter telling with pride what the boys had done.

Two brothers in Boston sensed, however, that, if the scant reports
about the Kitty Hawk event were based on truth, then something of
great significance had happened. These men were Samuel and Godfrey
Lowell Cabot, wealthy and influential members of a famous family. Both
of them, particularly Samuel, had long been interested in whatever
progress was being made in aeronautics. On December 19, the day after
the first news of the flights was published, Samuel Cabot sent to the
Wrights a telegram of congratulations. Two days later, his brother
Godfrey wrote them a letter. In that letter Godfrey Cabot wanted to
know if they thought their machine could be used for carrying freight.
He was financially interested in an industrial operation in West
Virginia, he said, where conditions would justify a rate of $10 a ton
for transporting goods by air only sixteen miles.

[Illustration: FIRST FLIGHT. The only picture made of man’s first
flight in a power-driven, heavier-than-air machine, Kitty Hawk,
December 17, 1903. The plane, piloted by Orville Wright, has just taken
off from the monorail. Wilbur Wright, running at the side, had held the
wing to balance the machine until it left the rail.]

One reason why nearly everyone in the United States was disinclined
to swallow the reports about flying with a machine heavier than air
was that important scientists had already explained in the public
prints why the thing was impossible. When a man of the profound
scientific wisdom of Simon Newcomb, for example, had demonstrated
with unassailable logic why man couldn’t fly, why should the public
be fooled by silly stories about two obscure bicycle repair-men who
hadn’t even been to college? Professor Newcomb was so distinguished an
astronomer that he was the only American since Benjamin Franklin to be
made an associate of the Institute of France. It was widely assumed
that what he didn’t know about laws of physics simply wasn’t in books;
and that when he said flying couldn’t be done, there was no need to
inquire any further. More than once Professor Newcomb had written
that flight without gas-bags would require the discovery of some new
metal or a new unsuspected force in Nature. Then, in an article in
_The Independent_--October 22, 1903, while the Wrights were at Kitty
Hawk assembling their power machine--he not only proved that trying to
fly was nonsense, but went further and showed that even if a man did
fly, he wouldn’t dare to stop. “Once he slackens his speed, down
he begins to fall.--Once he stops, he falls a dead mass. How shall he
reach the ground without destroying his delicate machinery? I do not
think that even the most imaginative inventor has yet put on paper a
demonstrative, successful way of meeting this difficulty.”

[Illustration: THE FIRST POWER PLANE. A side view of the 1903 plane at
Kitty Hawk.]

In all his statements, Professor Newcomb had the support of other
eminent authorities, including Rear Admiral George W. Melville,
then chief engineer for the United States Navy, who, a year or two
previously, in the _North American Review_, had set forth convincingly
the absurdity of attempts to fly.

The most recent Newcomb article was all the more impressive as a
forecast from the fact that it appeared only fifteen days after one of
Professor Langley’s unsuccessful attempts at flight. That is, Langley’s
attempt seemed to show that flight was beyond human possibility, and
then Newcomb’s article explained _why_ it was impossible. Though these
pooh-poohing statements by Newcomb and other scientists were probably
read by relatively few people, they were seen by editors, editorial
writers, and others who could have much influence on public opinion.
Naturally, no editor who “knew” a thing couldn’t be done would permit
his paper to record the fact that it had been done.

Oddly enough, one of the first public announcements by word of mouth
about the Wrights’ Kitty Hawk flights was in a Sunday-school. A. I.
Root, founder of a still prosperous business for the sale of honey and
beekeepers’ supplies at Medina, Ohio, taught a Sunday-school class. One
morning shortly before the dismissal bell, observing that the boys in
the class were restless, he sought to restore order by catching their
interest. Perhaps he wished to show, too, that miracles as wonderful as
any in the Bible were still possible.

“Do you know, friends,” he said, “that two Ohio boys, or young
men rather, have outstripped the world in demonstrating that a
flying-machine can be constructed without the aid of a balloon?” He had
read a brief item about the Wrights in an Akron paper.

The class became attentive and Root went on: “During the past two
months these two boys have made a machine that actually flew through
the air for more than half a mile, carrying one of the boys with it.
This young man is not only a credit to our state but to the whole
country and to the world.”

Though this was several weeks after the Wrights had first flown, no
one in the class had ever heard about it, and incredulously they fired
questions at the teacher.

“Where do the boys live? What are their names? When and where did their
machine fly?”

Root described, not too accurately, the Kitty Hawk flights, and added:
“When they make their next trial I am going to try to be on hand to see
the experiment.”

An important part of Root’s business was publication of the still
widely circulated magazine, _Gleanings in Bee Culture_, and in his
issue of March 1, 1904, he told of the episode in the Sunday-school.
By printing that story, the Medina bee man may possibly have been the
first editor of a scientific publication in the United States to report
that man could fly. (The _Popular Science Monthly_ in its issue of
March, 1904, had an article by Octave Chanute in which the flights were
mentioned.) Root a little later even predicted: “Possibly we may be
able to fly over the North Pole.”

The Wrights were more amused than disturbed by the lack of general
recognition that flying was now possible. They inwardly chuckled when
they heard people still using the old expression: “Why, a person could
no more do _that_ than he could fly!” But they knew they had only begun
to learn about handling a flying-machine.



VIII

EXPERIMENTS OF 1904-’05


In all their work on their power plane the Wrights’ main incentive had
been to gain the distinction of being the first of mankind to fly. They
had not designed the machine for practical use. Now, however, even
though they did not yet foresee many of the uses for which the airplane
was destined, they began to think it could be developed into a machine
useful for scouting in warfare, for carrying mail to isolated places,
for exploration; and that it would appeal to those who could afford it
for sport.

If their machine was capable, as they had demonstrated, of flying by
its own power for 852 feet against a 20-mile wind, there was no reason
why it shouldn’t go many times that far. But if the machine was to be
practical, many improvements would be necessary, and they would need
more experience in flying. Much practice would be required, and that
would mean more expense in proportion to income, for they would have
less time for building and repairing bicycles. But they decided to
devote to aviation whatever amount of time seemed necessary. A number
of bicycles at their shop were in various stages of completion. But
no new ones were started after the Wrights’ return from Kitty Hawk,
though some of those on hand were completed and sold. The brothers now
began to turn over to Charlie Taylor, their chief mechanic, most of the
routine work of the shop.

In January, 1904, the brothers began building a new plane. It was
similar to the one flown at Kitty Hawk, but there were a number of
changes, including more sturdy construction throughout. The weight
exceeded that of the original plane by about eighty pounds. (In flight,
the weight, including the pilot, and 70 pounds of iron bars carried
on the framework under the front elevator, was 900 pounds.[5]) The
wing camber was changed from 1-20 to 1-25--that is, the curvature was
decreased; and the ribs were tapered from front to rear spar instead
of being of uniform depth, as in the earlier model. An entirely new
engine went into the 1904 machine. In fact, the Wrights started to
build three new engines. One of these had four cylinders of 4⅛-inch
bore; another, four cylinders of only 4-inch bore, as the one used at
Kitty Hawk; and the third was a V-type, of eight cylinders. The 4⅛-inch
bore was the one installed in the 1904 plane and gave a satisfactory
amount of power--but not so much as the Wrights later developed in
the other four-cylinder motor of only four-inch bore. That motor they
kept in their shop and used for a kind of guinea pig, trying various
improvements and refinements until it produced as much power as they
had expected from the V-type motor of eight cylinders and twice as much
as the original motor used at Kitty Hawk. They then gave up the idea of
completing the V-type motor.

Another change in the 1904 machine was using white pine instead of
spruce for the front and rear spars in the wings. Spruce was not
available in Dayton at that time, and tests the Wrights made at their
shop, in the manner usually employed for ascertaining the strength of
woods, indicated that the two woods were about equally strong. (But
in actual use, when stresses came suddenly, as in landing, the white
pine spars snapped “like taffy under a hammer blow,” though spruce had
always withstood such shocks. The brothers rebuilt the wings, with all
spars of spruce.)

To obtain practice, their first need was a suitable field, not too
far from home. They found a cow pasture, fairly level, handy to an
interurban railway, at Simms Station, eight miles from Dayton, toward
Springfield. This field, often called the Huffman prairie, was part of
a farm belonging to a Dayton bank president, Torrence Huffman. Compared
with a modern flying-field the area of sixty-eight acres they wanted to
use was not quite ideal. It contained a number of trees, besides being
near power wires and poles. But it was as good as they could find
and without delay the Wrights introduced themselves to Mr. Huffman to
ask if they might rent his pasture for their experiments. He granted
the request and told them they were welcome to use the field free of
charge. But he said he hoped they would drive his cows to a safe place
and not run over them.

By April 15, 1904, the Wrights had built a rough wooden shed at the
Huffman pasture, in preparation for their experiments.

Even if they had tried, the Wrights could hardly have kept secret what
they were doing here at the Huffman prairie, with an interurban car
line and two highways passing the field they were using. But they took
special precautions against being thought secretive, for they knew that
the best way to avoid being bothered by newspaper people or others was
to make no mystery of what they were doing. Before they had attempted
even one trial flight at the Huffman pasture they wrote letters to each
of the Dayton papers, as well as to each of the Cincinnati papers,
that on May 23 they would attempt to fly and would be glad to have any
newspaper representative who felt interested come and watch them. Their
only request was that no pictures be taken, and that the reports should
not be sensational. This latter stipulation was to avoid attracting
crowds, but as it turned out there was no need to be concerned about
curiosity-seekers.

About a dozen newspapermen showed up. Also on hand were a number
of friends and neighbors of the Wright family. Altogether perhaps
thirty-five persons were present--all by invitation.

The Wrights dragged their machine out of the shed to wait for a
suitable wind before launching the machine from the short stretch of
wooden track. As it happened, the wind was unusually high that day,
about twenty-five miles an hour, and the Wrights said they would wait
for it to die down a little. When the high wind did cease, it went
suddenly to an almost complete calm, and a wind of at least eleven
miles an hour was needed to take off from so short a track. The Wrights
said they would try a flight if the wind picked up. But the wind failed
to do so. The crowd waited and two or three of the reporters--too
experienced to be easily fooled--began to make comments to one another.
They hadn’t wanted to come in the first place. Why had they been asked
to waste time on such an assignment? Most of the guests, though,
had only sympathy for the brothers. They actually seemed sincere in
thinking they _could_ fly.

Though sorry to disappoint the spectators, the Wrights showed no
signs of embarrassment. They had learned to take events as they came.
Finally, after the day had dragged on with no sign of a more favorable
wind, one of the brothers announced:

“We can’t fly today; but since you’ve taken the trouble to come and
wait so long, we’ll let the machine skim along the track and you’ll get
an idea of what it’s supposed to do. With so short a track, we may not
get off the ground, but you’ll see how it operates.”

Then the engine misbehaved. It worked all right in the warming-up
period, but began to skip explosions as soon as the machine started
down the track. This was caused, the Wrights soon learned, by the flow
of air over the mouth of the intake pipe--a trouble never experienced
with the engine used at Kitty Hawk.

After running the length of the track, the machine slid off the end
without rising into the air at all. That wasn’t much of a story for the
reporters. Their assumption that they had been sent on a wild goose
chase seemed to be confirmed. Would there be a flight the next day?
The Wrights couldn’t be sure. First of all they must find out what
ailed that engine. They might be able to do that overnight, or it might
take longer. However, all who wished to return the next day would be
welcome. Indeed, the Wrights said, any newspaper representative would
be welcome at _any_ time.

Two or three of the newspapermen did return the next day. The engine
still sulked, but the wind was a bit more favorable and the Wrights
decided to show the reporters what they could. This time the machine
rose five or six feet from the ground and went through the air for
nearly sixty feet before it came down. An electric contact point in
one of the engine cylinders had worked loose, and only three cylinders
were hitting. The few reporters present, though now convinced that
the age of flying had not yet come, wrote friendly articles and made
the most of what they had seen. The versions differed widely. One
report had the machine rising to a height of seventy-five feet. In the
Cincinnati _Enquirer_ account was a comment that the machine “is more
substantially constructed _than other machines of its kind_.”

None of those newspapermen ever returned. During all their experiments
that year and the next, the Wrights had about all the privacy they
needed. They used to smile over a comment by Octave Chanute: “It is a
marvel to me that the newspapers haven’t spotted you.”

Having disposed of the reporters, the inventors resumed their work.

Almost as soon as the new trials began, the brothers encountered a new
difficulty. A track 60 feet long had been adequate for launching the
machine in the wind at Kitty Hawk; but a track of 160 feet, or even one
of 240 feet, was not long enough for use at Huffman field where the
winds were usually light.

The Huffman field was covered with hummocks from six inches to a foot
high. Only a few spots free from hummocks were suitable for a 240-foot
track. And landing wheels, such as were used later, would have been
impractical on that uneven ground. Laying 240 feet of track, after
finding enough ground space free from hummocks, was a considerable
job. But frequently, after the track was laid, the wind would change
its direction, and then all the work had to be done over. After a
few times, the brothers gave up trying to use so long a track, and
ordinarily used one of only 160 feet.

As steady winds of eleven miles an hour, the least that would do for
starting from a 160-foot track, were not frequent, the Wrights had
to be in readiness to take advantage of occasional gusts of strong
wind. With their machine on the track, they waited until they could
“see” a flurry of wind coming--that is, until they could see weeds
being agitated by the wind in the distance. Then they would start the
motor and run the machine down the track to meet the wind gust when
it reached the end of the rail. In that way they sometimes succeeded
in making a start on a day generally calm. But one such start ended
disastrously, and Orville, who was piloting the machine, had one of
his narrowest escapes. When the machine first met the flurry of wind,
it rose rapidly, but a second later it was on the ground with the
wings pointing vertically into the air. It had dived at a steep angle,
throwing Orville forward to the ground. The upper wing spar came down
across the middle of his back. But luckily, a section about two feet
wide, just wide enough to miss hitting him, was broken out. No other
damage was done to the spar, and the Wrights could never account for
the seemingly miraculous breakage that provided a space for safety over
the very place where Orville lay on the ground. After that accident,
Charlie Taylor, who had seen other narrow escapes, gloomily told the
neighbors across the road that every time he saw one of the brothers
start on a flight he felt that he was seeing him alive for the last
time.

Early in July the Wrights made alterations in the machine which located
the center of gravity farther toward the rear than it had been before.
In the first trial after those alterations, the machine, after leaving
the track, kept turning up more and more and looked as if it were going
to loop the loop. The center of gravity was so far back that the front
elevator, even when turned to its limit, could not check the upward
turn. While pointing vertically upward, the machine came to a stop and
then began to slide backward. By the time it reached the ground it was
once more so nearly level that if the skids had had a slight upward
bend at their rear ends, the landing might have been made without
damage. As it was, the rear ends of the skids dug into the ground; but
the damage was slight.

Before their experiments had progressed far in 1904 the Wrights saw
that a better method of launching the machine was needed. They decided
that a derrick with a falling weight would be the simplest and cheapest
device. A 1,600-pound weight, falling a distance of 16½ feet, was so
geared with ropes and pulleys that it produced a 350-pound pull on the
machine through a distance of 49½ feet. By this arrangement the machine
could be put into the air after a run of only 50 feet, even in a dead
calm. Shifting the track was now seldom necessary.

Up to the time the derrick catapult was ready for its first trial on
September 7, less than forty starts had been made and many of them
failed for lack of speed. But now the length of the flights increased
rapidly. The shorter flights had been in almost a straight line, but
as the lengths of the flights increased it was necessary to make turns
to stay within the field. Then a new trouble--or rather an old one
that supposedly had been overcome at Kitty Hawk--began to bother the
Wrights. Often in making a short turn they suddenly found themselves in
a tail-spin which ended in a crash requiring days, or even weeks, for
repairs. They soon learned what it was in making the turn that caused
the tail-spin; but they found it difficult to avoid, because they had
no way of knowing at what angle the air was striking the machine. This
led to the “invention” of the first instrument for guidance of a pilot
in flying. They simply attached a short piece of string to the crossbar
beneath the front elevator. When the machine traveled directly forward
the string trailed straight backward; but when the machine slipped to
either side the string blew to one side or the other and indicated
approximately the amount of the side slip. By close observance of this
string it was possible to avoid entirely the danger of tail-spins, but
the pilot learning to fly had so many things to attend to, so it seemed
to him, that he sometimes neglected to watch the string closely enough.

After it was found that the derrick permitted the plane to be launched
at any time, the Wrights often let the machine stand on the track
during the day with the weights raised, ready to start at a moment’s
notice. One day in early November, while idly strolling in front of
the track, Orville thought he saw a slight movement of the plane on
the track. A more careful look did not confirm his first impression;
nevertheless he turned and leisurely walked towards the plane. When
within a few steps of it he saw that it actually _was_ in motion.
The wire that held it against the pull of the 1,600-pound weight was
attached to a stake driven into the soft ground several feet. That
stake was slowly coming out of the ground! By leaping upon one of the
skids, Orville reached the elevator control lever in time to prevent
the machine from rising as it rushed down the track. A strained
shoulder was the principal damage, though the machine suffered a few
slight breakages.

Not until the 51st flight in 1904, when the machine stayed in the air
one minute and one second, did the Wrights beat their best Kitty Hawk
record of 59 seconds. The first complete circle was not made until
September 20. But toward the end of the 1904 experiments, there were
two five-minute flights. In each of these the machine circled the field
four or five times without stopping.

The total flying time during 1904 was only 45 minutes. But the
knowledge and experience gained from that three quarters of an hour
were of almost inestimable importance.

Toward the end of May, 1905, the Wrights began assembling a machine
all new with the exception of the motor and the propeller-driving
mechanism. Strengthening of the structure at places where the previous
machine had been too weak in making landings added about 25 pounds more
weight. The principal changes, however, were in wing design, addition
of some new features not in the earlier machines, and in making the
wing-warping and operation of the tail rudder independent of each
other. The camber of the wings was changed from 1-25, used in 1904,
back to 1-20 as used in 1903 at Kitty Hawk. This change was to enable
the machine to get off at a slower speed.

The most radical change was the addition of two semi-circular vanes,
called “blinkers,” between the two surfaces of the front elevator. This
device was later patented by the Wrights. The purpose of the “blinkers”
was to assist the rear rudder in overcoming the unequal resistances
of the two wings when they were warped while making a turn. Gliding
experiments in 1902 had shown that the pressure on a fixed vane in the
rear of the wings tended to speed the higher wing when the machine
slipped in the direction of the lower wing, and caused a tail-spin. The
vane had to be made movable to relieve this pressure. It now occurred
to the Wrights that if a fixed vane were placed in front of the wings,
instead of behind them, its effect would be the reverse of that
when the vane was in the rear, and that there would be less need of
operating the rear rudder to overcome the unbalanced resistance of the
two wings. Moreover, when the machine slipped inward while “banking”
a turn, the speed of the low wing would be increased and a tail-spin
avoided. The operation of the rear rudder could now be made independent
of the wing-warp without danger.

It was found that the “blinkers” entirely removed the danger of tail
spinning but that they added to the difficulty of steering, both when
flying straight and when making turns. Consequently they were not used
in all the flights. (In modern planes the effect of the “blinkers” is
gained by extending the fuselage far out in front of the wings.)

Though tail-spins could be avoided without use of “blinkers,” by
carefully observing the little piece of string that indicated side
slip, yet they sometimes occurred. In one flight, in September,
1905, when the “blinkers” were not on the machine, Orville suddenly
discovered he was in a tail-spin and that he was about to come down
in the top of a forty-foot thorn tree. The thorns were several inches
long, and the idea of falling through them to the ground was not
alluring. Orville quickly turned the machine into an almost vertical
dive while turning in a circle 50 to 100 feet in diameter. The inner
wing of the machine hit a branch of the tree, imbedding a thorn in an
upright, and tore off the branch. In the dive, the higher wing, because
of much greater speed, soon passed the lower wing in the downward
plunge and itself became the low wing. The machine thus was in a steep
bank with the high side toward the tree, just the opposite from what
it had been before. When Orville turned the elevator to avoid striking
the ground, the machine turned suddenly and unexpectedly away from the
tree, because, in this steeply banked condition, the elevator exerted
more pressure laterally than it did vertically. (When an aeroplane is
banked to 45 degrees the elevator serves just as much for a rudder as
for an elevator, and the rudder just as much for an elevator as for a
rudder.) Though the machine lightly touched the ground, Orville flew
it on back to the hangar, where the branch of the tree was found still
clinging to the upright. It had been the practice of the Wrights to
dive the machine to recover speed in a stall; but this quick recovery
was from an entirely different cause--the great difference in the
speeds of the two wings.

An amusing flight by Orville in 1905 was made after some weeks of
inactivity in flying and after the machine had undergone a number of
changes since his last flight. When the machine left the starting rail
it began pitching like a bucking broncho. Orville wanted to stop, but
at every plunge the plane came down so steeply he did not dare attempt
a landing. As soon as he got control of the machine, after going three
or four hundred feet, he did land safely. Wilbur rushed up to inquire
why he had stopped just when he had really got going. Orville explained
that he would have landed even sooner, but had taken the first
opportunity to stop without smashing the machine to pieces.

Though the rudder and wing-warp were entirely independent of each other
in all the flights of 1905, the Wrights several years later resumed
having the two controls interconnected, to operate together, but with
an arrangement needed for modifying their relationship when making
turns.

Another change that improved control of the 1905 machine was in giving
the wings considerably less angle at the tips than in the central part.
By this arrangement, the tips stalled later than other parts of the
wings and some lateral control remained even after the central part of
the wings were in a stalled condition.

After the Wrights had made the blades of their propellers much
wider and thinner than the original ones, they discovered that the
performance of the propellers in flight did not agree closely with
their calculations, as in the earlier propellers. They could see only
one reason for this, and that was that the propeller blades twisted
from their normal shape under pressure in flight. To find out quickly
if this was the real reason, they fastened to each blade a small
surface, like an elevator, out behind the blades, set at an angle to
balance the pressures that were distorting the blades. They called the
surfaces “little jokers.” When they found that the “little jokers”
cured the trouble, they dispensed with them and began to give the
blades a backward sweep, which served the same purpose.

In the flying season of 1905, the control of the machine was much
improved by increasing the area of the front rudder from 50 to 85
square feet, and by moving it to nearly twice the distance from the
wings. This added distance made response to the movement of the rudder
slower, and control of the machine much easier.

The lateral control also was improved by enlarging the rear rudder from
20 to 34 square feet, and by moving it to a position three feet farther
back of the wings.

On account of frequent rains, the soggy condition of the field, and
other weather conditions, only nine attempts to fly were made in the
first two months of experiments in 1905, and only three of these lasted
for as much as ten seconds. But after the first of September progress
was rapid.

During all this time, the newspapers had continued to let the Wrights
alone. Indeed, the failure of the newspapers in Dayton and elsewhere
to say much about the history-making experiments at Huffman field was
often used as an argument to prove that there couldn’t be any truth in
the rumors that men had actually contrived a successful flying-machine.
“You couldn’t have kept a thing like that _secret_. Some reporter
surely would have _heard_ about it!”

Dan Kumler, who was city editor of James M. Cox’s _Daily News_, in
Dayton, during those early years of flying, recalled in 1940, not long
before his death, that many people who had been on interurban cars
passing the Huffman field and seen the Wrights in the air used to come
to the _Daily News_ office to inquire why there was nothing in the
paper about the flights.

“Such callers,” said Kumler, “got to be a nuisance.”

“And why wasn’t there anything in the paper?” Kumler was asked.

“We just didn’t believe it,” he said. “Of course you remember that the
Wrights at that time were terribly secretive.”

“You mean they were secretive about the fact that they were flying over
an open field?”

“I guess,” said Kumler, grinning, after a moment’s reflection, “the
truth is that we were just plain dumb.”

James M. Cox, owner of the _Daily News_, has likewise confessed that
“none of us believed the reports” of flights.

One fact that kept the earlier flights relatively inconspicuous was
that much of the time the plane was within 10 or 15 feet of the ground.
Only occasionally was it up as high as 50 feet. There were no flights
beyond the field itself, because if necessary to make a forced landing
elsewhere, dragging the machine back to its shed might not have been
easy.

The Wrights had aimed at first to avoid being in the air when an
interurban car was passing. But that precaution soon proved to be
unnecessary. Few people ever paid any attention to the flights. One
day, though, the general manager of the interurban line was on a
passing car when the plane was in the air and he ordered the car
stopped. He and the chief engineer of the line, who was with him, got
off and stayed a while to look at the incredible sight.

Across the Springfield pike from the field lived the Beard family,
tenants on the Torrence Huffman farm. Whenever the plane landed
abruptly Mrs. Beard was likely to dash across the road with a bottle of
arnica, feeling sure it would be needed, as sometimes it was. But there
were few other visitors.

Two somewhat mysterious visitors did come, however. The Wrights saw two
men wandering about near-by fields during most of one day and thought
they must be hunters, though there was not much game thereabouts. Again
the next day the two strangers were seen, and finally they came across
the field to where the Wrights were adjusting their machine. One of
them carried a camera. They asked if visitors were permitted.

“Yes, only we’d rather you didn’t take any pictures,” one of the
brothers courteously replied.

The man with the camera set it down off to one side, twenty feet away,
as if to make it plain that he was not trying to sneak any shots. Then
he inquired if it was all right to look into the shed. The brothers
told him to make himself right at home. Was he a newspaperman? No, he
said, he was not a newspaperman, though he sometimes did writing for
publication. That was as near as he came to introducing himself. After
the callers had gone, Charlie Taylor, the Wrights’ mechanic, said:
“That fellow’s no writer. At least he’s no ordinary writer. When he
looked at the different parts of the machine he called them all by
their right names.”

Later the Wrights learned the identity of the visitor. Orville
chanced to see a picture of him in a New York newspaper. His identity
was confirmed some time afterward when he and Orville were formally
introduced to each other--though neither referred to their previous
meeting. The man had been chief engineer for Professor Langley of the
Smithsonian Institution.

Toward the end of September, the Wrights were able greatly to increase
their distances. On September 26, there was an uninterrupted flight of
11⅛ miles in 18 minutes and 9 seconds; and on September 29, one of 12
miles in 19 minutes 55 seconds. Then, on October 3, there was a new
record of 15¼ miles in 25 minutes 5 seconds; another, on October 4,
of 20¾ miles in 33 minutes 17 seconds; and finally, on October 5, 24⅕
miles in 38 minutes 3 seconds.

The flights of October 3 and 4 would have been longer except that
certain bearings had become overheated. By October 5 the inventors had
added more grease cups where needed and also installed a larger gas
tank. But the tank was not full when that final test began and the
flight ended because the fuel was exhausted. It was the intention of
the Wrights to make one more test and put the record at more than an
hour; but now for the first time the miracle of flight actually began
to attract more spectators and the brothers decided it might be prudent
to quit for the season before details of the machine’s construction
became public knowledge. However, there was one more short flight--just
one circle of the field--on October 16.

After the close of the 1905 experiments, a test of the engine showed
that it produced more power than when first put into use. This gain
was attributed to the increased smoothness of the cylinders and pistons
produced by wear.

Looking back over their experiments, the Wrights noted that “in 1903,
62 pounds per horsepower were carried at a speed of 30 miles an hour;
in 1904, 53 pounds at 34 miles an hour; and in 1905, 46 pounds at 38
miles an hour.” Thus the weight carried per horsepower was in inverse
ratio to the speed--the smaller the weight carried per horsepower, the
higher the speed. That seems obvious enough now, but at the time the
Wrights were making these experiments many scientists still accepted
the “Langley Law,” that the greater the speed, the less horsepower
necessary.

The Wrights now knew that the airplane would have practical use--though
they did not foresee how safely trans-Atlantic flights would be
made--and not even in their wildest dreams did they think of anyone
ever flying at night.



IX

IT STILL WASN’T “NEWS”


Though Dayton newspapermen had not besieged the Huffman pasture for
details of the great news story lurking there during 1904-’05, one of
their number had occasionally been in contact with the Wrights. That
was Luther Beard--no kin to the other Beards mentioned--managing editor
of the Dayton _Journal_. Besides being a newspaper editor, Beard also
taught school at Fairfield, about two miles from the Huffman farm, and
went back and forth by the interurban car line that passed the field
where the Wrights were making history. It sometimes happened that on
the trip to Dayton he was on the same car with one or both of the
Wright brothers, returning from their flights.

“I used to chat with them in a friendly way and was always polite to
them,” Beard recalled, years afterward, chuckling over the joke on
himself, “because I sort of felt sorry for them. They seemed like
well-meaning, decent enough young men. Yet there they were, neglecting
their business to waste their time day after day on that ridiculous
flying-machine. I had an idea that it must worry their father.”

In these conversations, neither the Wrights nor Beard was likely to
bring up the subject of aviation. The Wrights showed no eagerness
to talk about what they were doing, and Beard kept to subjects he
considered more sensible. But one day, in the autumn of 1904, several
of the school children told him they had seen the Wrights flying all
around the field. Maybe, thought Beard, that might make a little local
item for the paper. When he next saw Orville Wright on the car, a day
or two afterward, Beard asked him if it was true that they had been
flying all the way around the field.

Oh, yes, Orville admitted, they often did that. Then Orville began to
talk about something else.

Evidently, Beard decided, the fact that an airplane could be flown
under perfect control in circles didn’t amount to anything after
all. Orville Wright himself didn’t seem to think it was unusual or
important. There was no use putting it in the paper. One more reason
perhaps for not printing much in the _Journal_ about what the poor,
misguided Wrights were doing was that such items were annoying to Frank
Tunison, another of the editors--the same Tunison who had turned down
the story of the first flight at Kitty Hawk. Having decided that the
Wrights were not news, he was naturally irritated to see any reference
to them, even on an inside page. “Why do we print such stuff?” he would
ask.

However, Beard said to Orville, as they rode along on the car: “If you
ever do something _unusual_ be sure and let us know.” From time to
time he went or telephoned to the Wright home to find out if by remote
chance the brothers had done anything worth mentioning.

“Done anything of special interest lately?” he asked Orville Wright one
evening.

“Oh, nothing much,” replied Orville. “Today one of us flew for nearly
five minutes.”

“Where did you go?” asked Beard.

“Around the field.”

“Oh! Just around the field. I see. Well, we’ll keep in touch with you.”

Doubtless, reflected the newspaperman, the Wrights’ circling of Mr.
Huffman’s pasture for five minutes was pretty good for two local
boys. But it was hardly a thing to take up space in the paper. Hadn’t
Santos-Dumont circled the Eiffel Tower, and flown all around Paris?
One more newspaper writer, like hundreds of others, had failed to
distinguish between an airship with a gas bag and a flying-machine
heavier than air. (At the time of the thirty-eight-minute flight in
1905, however, Luther Beard was among the spectators at the field.)

Another bright young newspaperman in that vicinity didn’t grasp quite
the full significance of what the Wrights were doing. The Dayton
_Journal_ had a branch office at Xenia, about eleven miles from where
the Wrights did their flying. The reporter in charge of that branch
office was an enterprising lad, just out of college, who answered
to the name of Fred C. Kelly. His eagle eye spotted an item about
the Wrights and their flying-machine in a country weekly, the Osborn
_Local_, published in a village a mile or two from the Huffman field.
Did he investigate the story? No, he didn’t need to investigate it to
feel sure it must be nonsense.

The fact of human flight was still unacceptable and ridiculous even
to professional humorists. The humorous weekly, _Puck_, in its issue
of October 19, 1904--nearly a month after that first circular
flight--published a joke, inspired presumably by absurd reports about
two young men at Dayton:

“When,” inquired the friend, “will you wing your first flight?”

“Just as soon,” replied the flying-machine inventor, “as I can get the
laws of gravitation repealed.”

The significance of the first complete circular flight, on September
20, 1904, was not overlooked, however, by one man who witnessed it.
That was A. I. Root, the Medina bee man. He had traveled by automobile
the day before to Xenia, where he had a relative, and then went to
the Huffman field, only a few miles away, to become better acquainted
with the Wrights. His trip of 175 miles from Medina without serious
difficulty with his machine was then almost a feat in itself. He had
not needed any repairs until he reached Xenia. (Incidentally, he had
remonstrated with the repair man he dealt with there, Mr. Baldner, for
his frequent use of profanity; and he was impressed by the fact that
no matter how puzzling or discouraging the problem, the Wrights never
uttered a profane word.) After going to Huffman field, Root became more
than ever interested in the Wrights and as he wished to see all he
could of their work for a few days, he arranged for board and lodging
at the Beard home across the road. (A little later he even offered
to pay the Wrights $100 for material he had obtained from them for
articles about their work--but they refused to accept any payment.)

Root knew that the circular flight he had just witnessed was of prime
importance, for it demonstrated that the airplane would have practical
use. He wrote an eye-witness account of what the Wrights had done for
the January 1 (1905) issue of his magazine, _Gleanings in Bee Culture_,
and sent a marked copy to the editor of the _Scientific American_, with
a letter telling the editor he was free to reprint the article. The
editor wrote back that he had not received the marked copy. So Root
sent another. But when the editor of the _Scientific American_ saw what
Root had printed he paid no attention to it.

Root continued to print articles about the Wrights in his magazine.
In December, 1905, he published the fact that a great number of long
flights had been made during the previous season, “one of 24 miles in
38 minutes,” probably the first publication of that event in the United
States. At about the same time, in its issue of December 16, 1905, the
_Scientific American_ said, in an editorial headed “Retrospect for the
Year”: “The most promising results (with the airplane) to date were
those obtained last year by the Wright brothers, one of whom made a
flight of over half a mile in a power-propelled machine.” Previously in
the same editorial, though, was the assertion: “... the only successful
‘flying’ that has been done this year--must be credited to the balloon
type.” By that time, the Wrights’ total flying distance was about 160
miles.

In its issue of January 13, 1906, in an article headed “The Wright
Aeroplane and Its Fabled Performances,” the _Scientific American_
commented skeptically on a letter written by the Wright brothers which
had been published in a Paris automobile journal. In that letter the
Wrights had given details of the long flights of late September and
early October, 1905. In expressing its disbelief in the “alleged”
flights described in the Wright letter, the _Scientific American_ said:
“If such sensational and tremendously important experiments are being
conducted in a not very remote part of the country, on a subject in
which almost everybody feels the most profound interest, is it possible
to believe that the enterprising American reporter, who, it is well
known, comes down the chimney when the door is locked in his face--even
if he has to scale a fifteen-story skyscraper to do so--would not have
ascertained all about them and published them broadcast long ago?”

A few weeks later, in February, 1906, the editor of the _Scientific
American_ wrote to the Wrights to inquire if there was any truth in
reports that they were negotiating with the French Government. He
enclosed in his letter a clipping of “The Wright Aeroplane and Its
Fabled Performances.”

The Wrights wrote in reply that since the _Scientific American_
obtained the data of what it termed “alleged experiments” directly from
a published letter signed by the Wright brothers, and since it did not
discredit the authenticity of the letter, but only the truthfulness of
the statements, they were at a loss to understand why the editor should
desire further statements from such a source. They did not answer the
inquiry about the negotiations with the French Government.

Most of the long flights in late September and early October, 1905,
had been seen by Amos Stauffer, a farmer working in an adjoining
field. But he went right ahead husking corn. Another witness, however,
was more of a gossip. At one of the October flights, William Fouts,
a Dayton druggist, was present, and the Wrights cautioned him not to
say anything about what he had seen. But Fouts must have taken a few
people into his confidence. In the afternoon of October 5, the Dayton
_Daily News_ had an article saying the Wrights were making sensational
flights every day. The Dayton correspondent for the _Cincinnati Post_
reported this to his paper which printed it the next day. A fairly
good-sized crowd then went to the Huffman pasture. But when they found
nothing going on there most of them decided that the reports must have
been much exaggerated. Nothing more was said about the Wrights in
Ohio papers for some time. John Tomlinson, a reporter on the Dayton
_Journal_, and correspondent for out-of-town papers, offered $50 to
Henry Webbert, friend of the Wrights, to let him know the date of their
next flight. There was one more short flight on October 16, but no
newspapermen or other onlookers were at the field.

On March 12, 1906, the Wrights had sent to the Aero Club of America the
following list of names of reputable men who had seen one or more of
their flights: E. W. Ellis, assistant city auditor; Torrence Huffman,
bank president; C. S. Billman, secretary, and W. H. Shank, treasurer
of the West Side Building & Loan Association; William, Henry and
Charles Webbert, in the plumbing business; Frank Hamburger, hardware
dealer; Howard M. Myers, post-office employee; William Fouts and Reuben
Schindler, druggists; William Weber, plumber; Bernard H. Lambers, of
Dayton Malleable Iron Works. Besides those living in Dayton, were:
O. F. Jamieson, traveling salesman, of East Germantown, Ohio; David
Beard and Amos Stauffer, of Osborn; and Theodore Waddell, of the Census
Bureau at Washington. The Wrights had a list of about sixty persons who
had witnessed flights.

Those witnesses named in the published list got requests for
confirmatory letters from the _Scientific American_ whose editor
finally had decided that reports of what the Wrights had done might be
worth looking into. Then, in the issue of April 7, 1906, the magazine
reported the long flights of the previous autumn and quoted in full
a letter from one of the witnesses. More than six months later, on
November 21, 1906, the Aero Club itself wrote to the various persons
named in the list received from the Wrights, asking for letters about
the flights they had seen.

As late as October, 1906, the _Scientific American_ had devoted
more than a column to a letter from J. C. Press, of South Norwalk,
Connecticut, who presented arguments to justify his belief that “man
may fly within a few years.” But, on the other hand, the letter-writer
quoted the editor of _Collier’s Weekly_ as expressing “disbelief in
even the ultimate possibility of flight.”

At last, however, in the issue of December 15, 1906, or nearly three
years after the Wrights’ first flights, the _Scientific American_
printed an editorial which indicated that the editor was now becoming
aware of the facts. The editorial said: “In all the history of
invention, there is probably no parallel to the unostentatious manner
in which the Wright brothers of Dayton, Ohio, ushered into the world
their epoch-making invention of the first successful aeroplane
flying-machine.”



X

U. S. ARMY NOT INTERESTED


From the time that they knew their invention was practical, the Wrights
wished to offer to their own government a world monopoly on all their
patents and, still more important, all their secrets relating to the
airplane. They thought it might be useful to the Army for scouting
purposes. But as they had greater interest at first in learning more
about flying and improving their machine than in making money out of
it, they did not at once attempt negotiations with government officials
at Washington. When they did make such an effort they received a rude
shock. The United States Army not only didn’t believe there was any
such device in existence as a practical flying-machine, but was not
disposed to investigate.

At least one foreign government showed more awareness and more
curiosity. In the autumn of 1904, the Wrights got a letter from
Lieutenant Colonel J. E. Capper, of the Royal Aircraft Factory (a
government experimental laboratory dealing with aeronautics) at
Aldershot. He wrote on shipboard en route to the United States, and
enclosed a note of introduction from another Englishman whom the
Wrights knew, Patrick Y. Alexander, member of the Aeronautical Society
of Great Britain. (Alexander had called upon the Wrights at Dayton
in 1902, with a letter of introduction from Octave Chanute.) Colonel
Capper wanted to know if he might see the Wrights in Dayton when he
returned eastward from a visit to the St. Louis Exposition. They told
him they would be glad to see him and he came to Dayton, accompanied by
his wife, in November.

Soon after his arrival, Colonel Capper frankly said that he was there
at the request of his government. The Wrights told him of what they had
accomplished during that previous season of 1904 at the Huffman field.
Before leaving, Colonel Capper asked them to make his government some
kind of proposal.

The Wrights made no haste about submitting a proposal to the British,
but, on January 10, 1905, about two months after the Capper visit, they
wrote to him asking if he was sure his government was receptive to an
offer. In this letter they suggested that a government in possession
of such a machine as they now could furnish, and the knowledge and
instruction they could impart might have a lead of several years over
governments which waited to buy a perfected machine before making a
start in this line. The letter was signed: Wright Cycle Company.

[Illustration: THE HUFFMAN PASTURE. This rough field, eight miles from
Dayton, where the Wrights made their important experiments of 1904 and
1905, is now a part of Patterson Field.]

[Illustration: THE WRIGHT PATENT. Facsimile of the Letters Patent
awarded Wilbur and Orville Wright on May 22, 1906, for their invention,
the “Flying Machine.”]

Whatever the British Government might desire, the Wrights did not
intend to take any steps that could prevent the United States
Government from having opportunity to control all rights in their
invention for the entire world; and before having any further word from
the British it seemed wise to learn from Washington just what our own
government might want. They wrote, on January 18, 1905, to their
member of Congress from the Dayton district, R. M. Nevin, as follows:

    The series of aeronautical experiments upon which we have been
    engaged for the past five years has ended in the production of
    a flying-machine of a type fitted for practical use. It not
    only flies through the air at high speed, but it also lands
    without being wrecked. During the year 1904 one hundred and
    five flights were made at our experimenting station, on the
    Huffman prairie, east of the city; and though our experience in
    handling the machine has been too short to give any high degree
    of skill, we nevertheless succeeded, toward the end of the
    season, in making two flights of five minutes each, in which
    we sailed round and round the field until a distance of about
    three miles had been covered, at a speed of thirty-five miles
    an hour. The first of these record flights was made on November
    9th, in celebration of the phenomenal political victory of the
    preceding day, and the second, on December 1st, in honor of the
    one hundredth flight of the season.

    The numerous flights in straight lines, in circles, and over
    “S”-shaped courses, in calms and in winds, have made it quite
    certain that flying has been brought to a point where it can be
    made of great practical use in various ways, one of which is
    that of scouting and carrying messages in time of war. If the
    latter features are of interest to our own government, we shall
    be pleased to take up the matter either on a basis of providing
    machines of agreed specification, at a contract price, or of
    furnishing all the scientific and practical information we have
    accumulated in these years of experimenting, together with a
    license to use our patents; thus putting the government in a
    position to operate on its own account.

    If you can find it convenient to ascertain whether this is a
    subject of interest to our own government, it would oblige
    us greatly, as early information on this point will aid us in
    making our plans for the future.

                         Respectfully yours,
                                        WILBUR AND ORVILLE WRIGHT


Mr. Nevin forwarded the letter to the Secretary of War who turned it
over to the Board of Ordnance and Fortification. That Board evidently
regarded the letter simply as something for their “crank file.” They
had received many proposals in the past from inventors of perpetual
motion machines and flying-machines and had stock paragraphs to use in
reply.

Their response to Nevin, signed by Major General G. L. Gillespie,
of the General Staff, the President of the Board of Ordnance and
Fortification, said:

    I have the honor to inform you that, as many requests have been
    made for financial assistance in the development of designs
    for flying-machines, _the Board has found it necessary to
    decline to make allotments for the experimental development
    of devices for mechanical flight_, and has determined that,
    before suggestions with that object in view will be considered,
    _the device must have been brought to the stage of practical
    operation_ without expense to the United States.

    _It appears from the letter of Messrs. Wilbur and Orville
    Wright that their machine has not yet been brought to the
    stage of practical operation_, but as soon as it shall have
    been perfected, this Board would be pleased to receive further
    representations from them in regard to it.[6]

It will be noted, of course, that what the letter said bore almost no
relation to anything the Wrights had written.

Having thus been brushed aside by their own government, the Wrights now
might have been conscience clear to do as they saw fit with a foreign
government. But nevertheless they determined that, no matter how public
officials at Washington behaved, they would take no steps which could
shut off their own government from use of the airplane if Army people
ever got around to understanding the machine’s potential importance.

On February 11, 1905, the Wrights received a letter from the British
War Office, asking them to submit terms, and March 1, without giving
formal terms, they outlined in a general way what they were willing to
do.

“Although we consider it advisable,” they wrote to the British War
Office, “that any agreement which may be made at present be based
upon a single machine and necessary instruction in its use, we would
be willing, if desired, to insert in the contract an option on the
purchase of all that we know concerning the subject of aviation ...

“We are ready to enter into a contract with the British Government to
construct and deliver to it an aerial scouting machine of the aeroplane
type ...”

Specifications included these: The machine to be capable of carrying
two men of average weight, and supplies of fuel for a flight of not
less than fifty miles; its speed, when flying in still air, to be not
less than thirty miles an hour; the machine to be of substantial enough
construction to make landings without being broken, when operated with
a reasonable degree of skill.

Another provision was that the purchase price should be determined by
the maximum distance covered in one of the trial flights; £500, or
about $2,500 for each mile. If none of the trial flights was of at
least ten miles, then the British Government would not be obligated to
accept the machine.

There were further exchanges of letters between the Wrights and the
British (altogether twenty-four letters in the years 1905–6), but the
brothers began to suspect that the British were mainly interested
in prolonging the negotiations as a means of keeping in touch and
knowing what progress was being made in aviation. Probably, thought the
Wrights, the British shrewdly foresaw that the flying-machine would not
add to the isolation of the British Isles, and did not wish to hasten
its development. But they doubtless wished to be well informed about
whatever was happening in the conquest of the air.

The British War Office wrote on May 13, 1905, that they were asking
Colonel H. Foster, their military attaché, in Washington, to call upon
the Wrights at their “works”--meaning, presumably, at their shop--and
to see their machine in flight.

The brothers were urged by their friend Octave Chanute on one of his
visits to Dayton, to make another offer of their machine to the United
States Army. Because of the treatment they had received from the War
Department, the Wrights were naturally reluctant to expose themselves
to further rebuffs, but Chanute was insistent that such behavior by
Army people surely would not occur again. Thus prodded by Chanute, the
Wrights, on October 9, 1905, wrote to the Secretary of War:

    Some months ago we made an informal offer to furnish to
    the War Department practical flying-machines suitable for
    scouting purposes. The matter was referred to the Board of
    Ordnance and Fortification, which seems to have given it scant
    consideration. We do not wish to take this invention abroad,
    unless we find it necessary to do so, and therefore write
    again, renewing the offer.

    We are prepared to furnish a machine on contract, to be
    accepted only after trial trips in which the conditions of
    the contract have been fulfilled; the machine to carry an
    operator and supplies of fuel, etc., sufficient for a flight
    of one hundred miles; the price of the machine to be regulated
    according to a sliding scale based on the performance of the
    machine in the trial trips; the minimum performance to be a
    flight of at least twenty-five miles at a speed of not less
    than thirty miles an hour.

    We are also willing to take contracts to build machines
    carrying more than one man.

                         Respectfully yours,
                                       WILBUR AND ORVILLE WRIGHT.


Once again the Secretary of War referred their letter to the Board of
Ordnance and Fortification. Major General J. C. Bates, member of the
General Staff, had become president of the Board since the previous
correspondence, and he signed the reply. The Wrights blinked at the
familiar phrases in the opening paragraph:

“I have the honor to inform you,” said the Major General, “that,
as many requests have been made for financial assistance in the
development of designs for flying-machines, the Board has found
it necessary to decline to make allotments for the experimental
development of devices for mechanical flight, and has determined that,
before suggestions with that object in view will be considered, the
device must have been brought to the stage of practical operation
without expense to the United States.”

The letter went on: “Before the question of making a contract with
you for the furnishing of a flying-machine is considered it will be
necessary for you to furnish this Board with the approximate cost of
the completed machine, the date upon which it would be delivered, and
with such drawings and descriptions thereof as are necessary to enable
its construction to be understood and a definite conclusion as to its
practicability to be arrived at. Upon receipt of this information, the
matter will receive the careful consideration of the Board.”

In other words, the Board would have to see drawings and descriptions
to determine if the machine the Wrights had been flying could fly!

Regardless of whatever irritation they felt, the Wrights wrote to the
Ordnance Board on October 19. In that letter they said:

    We have no thought of asking financial assistance from the
    government. We propose to sell the results of experiments
    finished at our own expense.

    In order that we may submit a proposition conforming as nearly
    as possible to the ideas of your board, it is desirable that
    we be informed what conditions you would wish to lay down as
    to the performance of the machine in the official trials,
    prior to the acceptance of the machine. We cannot well fix a
    price, nor a time for delivery, till we have your idea of the
    qualifications necessary to such a machine. We ought also to
    know whether you would wish to reserve a monopoly on the use of
    the invention, or whether you would permit us to accept orders
    for similar machines from other governments, and give public
    exhibitions, etc.

    Proof of our ability to execute an undertaking of the nature
    proposed will be furnished whenever desired.

Here is what Captain T. C. Dickson, Recorder of the Board, wrote in
reply:

    The Board of Ordnance and Fortification at its meeting October
    24, 1905, took the following action:

    The Board then considered a letter, dated October 19, 1905,
    from Wilbur and Orville Wright requesting the requirements
    prescribed by the Board that a flying-machine would have to
    fulfill before it would be accepted.

    It is recommended the Messrs. Wright be informed that the Board
    does not care to formulate any requirements for the performance
    of a flying-machine or take any further action on the subject
    _until a machine is produced which by actual operation is
    shown to be able to produce horizontal flight and to carry an
    operator_.

Such letters did not encourage the Wrights to press their offer
further. As Wilbur expressed it, they had taken pains to see that
“opportunity gave a good clear knock on the War Department door.” It
had always been their business practice, he said, to sell to those who
wished to buy instead of trying to force goods upon people who did not
want them. And now if the American Government had decided to spend
no more money on flying-machines until their practical use should be
demonstrated abroad, the Wrights felt that there wasn’t much they could
do about it.

Chanute, too, was now convinced that the seeming stupidity of War
Department officials was not accidental. His comment was: “Those
fellows are a bunch of asses.”

On that same day, October 19, when they wrote to the Ordnance Board,
the Wrights had sent a letter also to the British War Office amending
their earlier proposal. They said that recent events justified them in
making the acceptance of their machine dependent upon a trial flight
of at least fifty miles, instead of only ten miles as in the original
offer.

Shortly afterward, on November 22, 1905, the Wrights received a letter
from Colonel Foster, the British military attaché in Washington,
asking if it would be possible for him to see the Wright machine in
flight. Experiments for that year had been completed; but, the Wrights
replied, if Colonel Foster came to Dayton he could meet and talk with
many persons who had witnessed flights. That didn’t satisfy Colonel
Foster. He wrote again on November 29 that the War Office had had many
descriptions of airplane flights by persons supposed to have witnessed
them. What the War Office wanted, he said, was for him to _see_ a
flight.

The Wrights made it plain to the Colonel that they saw no point to
making a demonstration of their machine unless negotiations had reached
a point where a deal could be closed if the machine’s performance
was as represented. They reminded him that it wasn’t necessary for
the British War Office to put up any money in advance--only to sign
an agreement that a deal would be closed after the Wrights had shown
what their machine could do. Communications continued to pass between
the Wrights and the British. Colonel Foster was succeeded as British
military attaché at Washington by Colonel Gleichen and the latter made
a trip to Dayton. But nothing came of the negotiations. In December,
1906, the British finally wrote to the Wrights that they had decided
not to buy an airplane.

Meanwhile, in the spring of 1906, the War Department at Washington
heard once more about the Wrights in consequence of an exchange of
letters between the Wrights and Godfrey Lowell Cabot, of Boston, who,
it will be remembered, had written to them just after the Kitty Hawk
flights in 1903. Cabot had seen a bulletin published by the Aero Club
of America, on March 12, 1906, that told about the progress the Wrights
had made during the season of 1905 at Huffman field. He had learned
also, from his brother Samuel, a little about the Wrights’ offer to
the U. S. War Department. Samuel Cabot got the news, presumably,
from Chanute, with whom he from time to time exchanged letters. (He
had written to Chanute asking if the Wrights needed any financial
assistance for carrying on their experiments, and Chanute told him they
did not.) Godfrey Cabot wrote to the brothers (in April, 1906) saying
that he supposed they had offered their machine to the U. S. Army “with
negative results,” but that if they ever decided to form a company to
exploit the machine’s commercial possibilities, he wished they would
send him a prospectus.

In their reply to Cabot (May 19), the Wrights confirmed the reports
about their correspondence with the Ordnance Board. Cabot was so
astounded over the treatment they had received that he promptly sent
the facts to his relative, Henry Cabot Lodge, United States Senator
from Massachusetts. Lodge forwarded Cabot’s letter, along with one of
his own, to the Secretary of War--who sent it to the Board of Ordnance
and Fortification. Brigadier General William Crozier, president of
the Ordnance Board, wrote to Senator Lodge, on May 26, acknowledging
his letter to the Secretary of War, and stating that “if those in
control of the flying-machine invented by the Wright brothers will
place themselves in communication with the Board of Ordnance and
Fortification, War Department, Washington, D. C., any proposition they
may have to make will be given consideration by the Board.”

Shortly afterward, Godfrey Cabot called upon General Crozier in
Washington and showed him copies of the Aero Club Bulletin which told
about the Wrights flying twenty-four miles in 1905. Since this was
convincing evidence that the Wrights’ machine was capable of horizontal
flight, General Crozier may have been somewhat embarrassed. He said the
Ordnance Board would be glad to receive a proposition from the Wrights!
He said, too, that he might send a representative to see the Wrights in
Dayton.

In reply to a letter from Cabot reporting his talk with Crozier, the
Wrights (on June 21) wrote:

    If General Crozier should decide to send a representative to
    Dayton we would be glad to furnish him convincing proof that
    a machine has been produced which by actual operation has been
    shown to be able to produce horizontal flight and to carry an
    operator.

This letter also said:

    We are ready to negotiate whenever the Board is ready, but
    as the former correspondence closed with a strong intimation
    that the Board did not wish to be bothered with our offers, we
    naturally have no intention of taking the initiative again.

General Crozier did not send any representative to Dayton.

Several months later, in November, 1906, newspapers got wind of the
fact that there had been some kind of correspondence between the
Wrights and the War Department. On November 29, many newspapers carried
a dispatch from Washington which said: “While General Crozier will not
discuss negotiations with the Wrights, he said today: ‘You may simply
say it is now up to the Wright brothers to say whether the government
shall take their invention. They know the government’s attitude and
have its offer.’”

There had been no Government offer. The last communication the Wrights
had received from the War Department was the one, more than a year
before, in which the Ordnance Board said it did not wish to take any
further action.

The Wrights felt sure that the War Department no longer doubted the
existence of a successful flying-machine. It appeared, though, that
certain Army officers still were unwilling frankly to admit their
blundering behavior and come down from their high horse. There was
reason to believe that the Ordnance Board would welcome a face-saving
opportunity and hoped the Wrights would once again take the initiative
by making a new proposal. But the Wrights were not ready to do so.
Their advances had too often been spurned. The next move, they thought,
should come from the War Department.

In that frame of mind, early in the spring of 1907, the inventors
evolved a plan for bringing their machine to the attention of the War
Department in a manner quite dramatic.

An exposition was going to be held on the Virginia coast that year
to celebrate the three hundredth anniversary of the founding of the
first English colony, at Jamestown. In connection with this Jamestown
Exposition there would be a great naval review, April 26, at Hampton
Roads. President Theodore Roosevelt and other important government
people, including Army and Navy officers, would be present. What would
be the matter, the Wrights asked themselves, with appearing there
unexpectedly in their flying-machine? They could equip their machine
with hydroplanes and pontoons for starting and landing on water, take
it to Kitty Hawk, and then fly it, over Currituck Sound and beyond,
to the scene of the naval review. After circling a few hundred feet
above the battleships, the machine would disappear as suddenly and
as mysteriously as it had come. No newspaper people or anyone else
would know where it came from or how to get in touch with those who
knew about it, and the mystery would grow. Officers of the Army and
Navy would be asked embarrassing questions. Had they arranged for the
flying-machine to appear, and had it been adopted for use in time of
war? Those who still “knew” there was no practical flying-machine would
be set to wondering.

The Wrights had many a quiet chuckle at the thought of the effect
of their practical joke if it could be carried out. It was not too
dangerous a project. Much of the flight could be made over shallow
water in Currituck Sound. It would easily be possible to fly as far
as the scene of the naval review and out of sight on the return trip
before coming down.

They put an engine, with propellers attached to it, on pontoons, and
placed this experimental outfit on the river at Dayton for preliminary
trials. After a day or so of these tests it was evident that the plan
of mounting their machine on hydroplanes and pontoons and taking off
from the water was practical. But the inventors took aboard a passenger
who tried to be helpful. In his efforts to throw his weight where he
thought it would help the balance, he succeeded only in tilting the
machine so steeply that it dived below the surface. The propellers were
damaged. Before repairs could be made, something broke the dam in the
river. The Wrights had to abandon their plans for a prank that might
have been a national sensation.

Only a short time after the Wrights were planning their surprise
flight, in that spring of 1907, Herbert Parsons, a member of Congress
from New York, sent to President Roosevelt a clipping from the
_Scientific American_--whose editor now knew about the Wrights.
Roosevelt sent the clipping, with a note signed by his secretary, to
Secretary of War Taft. The note suggested a talk with Representative
Parsons to discuss the idea of experimenting with the Wright
flying-machine. Taft sent the clipping and White House note to the
Ordnance Board, with a note signed by his own secretary and headed
“Endorsement.”

The personnel of the Ordnance Board had changed, at least partly, since
the earlier correspondence with the Wrights. But the same attitude of
aloofness regarding flying-machines still existed. The Board could not,
however, ignore a letter from the office of the President of the United
States, Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy, with an endorsement
from the Secretary of War. It might have been expected that the Board
members would feel bound to investigate the reported flying-machine.
But they couldn’t bring themselves to go that far. All they did was to
send, on May 11, a brief letter to the Wrights, signed by Major Samson
M. Fuller, Recorder of the Board. The letter said:

    I am directed by the President of the Board to enclose
    copies of two letters referring to your aeroplane, for your
    information, and to say that the Board has before it several
    propositions for the construction and test of aeroplanes, and
    if you desire to take any action in the matter, will be glad to
    hear from you on the subject.

Accompanying the letter were copies of the notes from the White House
and the office of the Secretary of War. The Wrights believed they knew
why those copies were sent. It was to let them know that the Ordnance
Board was writing only because of orders from higher up.

Though the letter from the Board was standoffish enough, yet it did not
imply, as some of the earlier letters did, that the Wrights were a pair
of beggars, or cranks, seeking funds. The Wrights thought the letter
had been forced and that it really was a mere gesture, but nevertheless
they treated it as if the Ordnance Board might now be seriously
interested.

In their reply, May 17, the Wrights said they had some flying machines
under construction and would be glad to make a formal proposal to
sell one or more of them to the Government if the War Department was
interested. They said the machine would carry two men and a supply of
fuel for a flight of 200 kilometers; that a trial flight of at least 50
kilometers, at a speed not less than 50 kilometers an hour, would be
made before representatives of the Government before any part of the
purchase price was paid. They suggested a conference for the purpose
of discussing the matter in detail. And they said they were willing to
submit a formal proposition, if that was preferred.

In the next letter from the Ordnance Board, dated May 22, 1907, nothing
was said about the Wrights’ suggestion for a conference; but the
Wrights were requested to make a formal proposal incorporating the
specifications and conditions contained in their letter to the Board,
dated May 17.

The Wrights sent a formal proposal on May 31. In this proposal they
repeated all the specifications and conditions mentioned in their
letter of the 17th, and in addition agreed to the following: to teach
an operator to fly the machine; to return to the starting point in the
50 kilometer test flight; and to land without any damage that would
prevent the machine being started immediately upon another flight. The
price stated was $100,000 for the first machine; others to be furnished
at a reasonable margin above the cost of manufacture. They added that
they were willing to make the contract speed 40 miles an hour, provided
an additional sum would be allowed for each mile in excess of that
speed in the trial flight, with a forfeit of an equal amount for every
mile below. Again the Wrights made it plain that nothing was to be paid
to them until after a trial flight had met all contract requirements.

The next letter from the Ordnance Board dated June 8 said that $100,000
was more than the Board had available, and that such an amount could
not be obtained without a special appropriation by Congress at its next
session. Then the letter went on to ask what the price would include;
whether the United States would be granted exclusive use, or whether
the Wrights contemplated commercial exploitation of their machine, or
negotiations with foreign governments.

The Wrights wrote in reply explaining just what was included in the
price. They said it did not include any period during which the use
of the invention would belong exclusively to the United States, since
a recent contract precluded such an offer, and that it was their
intention to furnish machines for military use before entering the
commercial field. The letter repeated what the Wrights had said before,
that when a contract had been signed they would produce a machine at
their own expense and make flights as specified in the contract in the
presence of representatives of the War Department before any money
whatever was paid to them.

That was the last letter to pass between the Ordnance Board and the
Wrights for some time. But while the Wrights were in Europe, the Board
undoubtedly began to hear from military attachés and others about the
brothers’ negotiations abroad. At any rate, the Board began to show
signs of uneasiness and they wrote a letter, signed by Major Fuller,
October 5--received by the Wrights in Europe--to say that the Wright
proposal of June 15 had again been given consideration by the Board
at its meeting of October 3, 1907, but that nothing definite could be
done before a meeting of Congress, as Congressional action would be
necessary to accept the proposition, since the funds at the Board’s
disposal were insufficient.

The Wrights’ reply, from London, on October 30, made it clear that
if the price was the only thing in the way, that could probably be
satisfactorily adjusted.

Wilbur Wright started home from Europe ahead of Orville, but before
he left, it was agreed between the brothers that their price for an
airplane to the United States Government would be $25,000.



XI

EUROPE DISCOVERS THE WRIGHTS


Though the importance of the Wrights’ achievements was unrecognized in
the United States until long after their first power flights, reports
about their gliding prior to those flights had aroused much interest
abroad.

In the spring of 1903, the Wrights’ Chicago friend, Octave Chanute, had
gone to his native France in the interest of the St. Louis Exposition
to be held the next year. One purpose of his visit was to arrange with
Alberto Santos-Dumont, the Brazilian aeronaut, who lived in Paris, to
make flights at St. Louis with his dirigible balloon. While in Paris,
Chanute was invited by the Aéro Club to give a talk regarding aviation
in the United States. In this talk, on April 2, he told of his own
gliding experiments in 1896 and of those of the Wright Brothers in 1901
and 1902, illustrated by photographs. Then in the August, 1903, issue
of _L’Aérophile_ Chanute published an article on the same subject, with
photographic illustrations, scale drawings, and structural details of
the Wright 1902 glider. In the _Revue des Sciences_ of November, 1903,
he again published photographs and description of that machine. This
1902 glider far surpassed any that had ever been built before, and in
it the problem of equilibrium had practically been solved. That glider
was the basis of the specifications in the Wright patent. Chanute’s
revelations therefore were sensational. And they did not fall on deaf
ears.

Until this time, about the only man in France who was showing any
interest in aviation was Captain Louis Ferdinand Ferber of the French
army, who himself had made gliding experiments as a hobby while serving
in an Alpine artillery corps. As early as 1901 he had begun an exchange
of letters with Chanute, after having read in the _Illustrierte
Aeronautische Mitteilungen_, a German magazine devoted mainly to
ballooning, a brief article, supplied by Wilbur Wright, about the 1900
experiments at Kitty Hawk. A little later he wrote for information to
the Wrights themselves. But now after the Chanute speech, Ferber was
no longer alone among Frenchmen in thinking the Wrights’ experiments
might be significant. Though belief in the possibility of a successful
flying machine had been at lowest ebb in France, the information
now made available by Chanute caused a greatly revived interest.
Heretofore the Aéro Club had devoted its attention almost entirely
to balloons and dirigibles, but it considered the French as leaders
in every line pertaining to aeronautics. Immediately following the
Chanute address telling of the Wrights’ gliding experiments in America,
several members of the Aéro Club, led by Ernest Archdeacon, decided to
organize a special committee on aviation. Archdeacon also made a warm
appeal in favor of organizing contests for gliders to show that the
French did not intend to allow anyone to surpass them in any branch of
aeronautics. He subscribed three thousand francs for the organization
of such contests and for prizes. _L’Aérophile_, official organ of the
Club, which up to this time had published little about aviation, now
suddenly began to carry many articles and items of news concerning
projected experiments in gliding.

But it was some months before the French actually passed from the
“talking” to the “doing” stage in gliding. In the meantime a brief
dispatch about the Wrights’ power flights on December 17, 1903, had
appeared in French and other European daily papers. Though the reports
of these power flights were received with considerable skepticism,
nevertheless they created such a furore in French aeronautical circles
that before the end of January, 1904, no less than six gliders of the
Wright 1902 type were being built in France from data furnished by
Chanute.

Ernest Archdeacon, of the Aéro Club, placed an order with M. Dargent,
a model maker of Chalais-Meudon, to build a copy of the Wright 1902
glider. Early in 1904 (January 28), Captain Ferber delivered a lecture
at Lyon on the subject of gliding experiments, and a young man named
Gabriel Voisin, just finishing his course in a technical school, came
to him to ask advice about how to get into the field of aviation. He
said he wished to “consecrate his life” to aviation. Ferber suggested
that he should go to see Archdeacon. Voisin did so, and Archdeacon
employed him to test the glider built by Dargent. Ferber gave Voisin
his instructions in gliding. Then Archdeacon employed Voisin to build
still another glider like the Wright machine. That contact with
Archdeacon gave Voisin his start toward becoming a famous airplane
manufacturer. And it was from that glider “_du type de Wright_,” as the
French papers called it, tested by Voisin, that grew the first Voisin
machines, soon to be followed by those of other copyists. Here was the
real beginning of French--indeed of European--aviation.

Articles about the Wright power flights were appearing in the French,
English and German aeronautical magazines. A longer article about the
Kitty Hawk event was printed in the March, 1904, issue of _Illustrierte
Aeronautische Mitteilungen_ from Carl Dienstbach,[7] a musician in New
York, who as a side line was the magazine’s correspondent.

One copyist after another began to use devices and technical knowledge
invented or discovered by the Wrights. When Ferber received a letter
from the American publication, the _Scientific American_, asking for an
account of his own gliding experiments, he wrote to them that he was
simply a “disciple of the Wright Brothers.” But these copyists were not
content to follow the Chanute revelations and build gliders just like
that of the Wrights. Instead, they tried to improve upon the Wrights’
work. The “improvements” were not successful, because the builders did
not have the Wrights’ knowledge and wind-tunnel data, except that used
in the 1902 glider, to guide them. So great were their difficulties
that some of the experimenters began to place blame on Chanute.
They thought Chanute must have misrepresented what the Wrights had
done--maybe purposely. That was the only way they could account for
their failure to get the good results obtained by the Wrights.

Robert Esnault-Pelterie, a member of the Aéro Club, pointed out
that they had not put to a fair test the information on the Wright
glider that Chanute had given them, because, he said, in building
their gliders they had not strictly adhered to Chanute’s description
and specifications. Since they had all the data needed to reproduce
the glider that Chanute had reported as having been so successful,
Esnault-Pelterie said, the way to determine the value of the
information was to build a Wright glider exactly like Chanute had
described and then test it to see how it performed. He himself then
built such a machine, in 1904, and reported that he got the same
performance as had the Wrights.

While the French were carrying on these experiments with copies of the
1902 Wright glider, the Wrights themselves were busy with their power
machine with which they made more than 100 starts in 1904. It was not
until late October, 1906, or nearly three years after the Wrights’
first power flights, that a French power machine was flown. (This
machine, piloted by Santos-Dumont, was reported to have made a hop of
200 feet, about ten feet above the ground.)

Before long, Archdeacon and another member of the Aéro Club, Henri
Deutsch de la Meurthe, were offering aviation prizes, and doing all
they could to encourage someone to try to build a successful power
plane. But as Captain Ferber later made clear to Georges Besançon,
editor of _L’Aérophile_, in a letter Besançon published in his issue
of June, 1907, this revival of interest in aviation in France, and
whatever was accomplished, was all a direct outgrowth of information
about what the Wrights had done in America.

In October, 1905, reports about the long flights accomplished that
year by the Wrights with their power machine were received in France.
They created an even greater stir in French aeronautical circles
than had the earlier reports. Just at the time these reports reached
France an organization was formed there to be known as the Fédération
Aéronautique Internationale, the purpose of which was to verify and
record the truth about reported aeronautical flights. The Aero Club
of America, formed at about the same time, was made the official
representative of the F.A.I. in America. No flight had as yet been made
in France with a motor plane. Long afterward, many uninformed persons,
even in the United States, declared that the flights by the Wrights
prior to 1908 really should not count, as they had not been officially
witnessed by any representative of the F.A.I.--the organization that
came into being after the flights had been made!

As the tempo of interest increased, the Wrights were kept fairly busy
writing letters to France in reply to requests for information. At the
time of the first reports of the 1903 flights at Kitty Hawk, probably
the only person in France inclined to believe them was Captain Ferber.
Knowing what he did, from correspondence with Chanute, and with the
Wrights themselves, he was not too incredulous. If he had said at first
that he believed human flight might have occurred, he doubtless would
have been laughed at--especially by those who had been most busily
experimenting. But as early as May, 1905, Captain Ferber had written to
the Wrights, asking if they would sell a power plane and at what price.
They were not ready to discuss such a project at that time and, though
Ferber wrote a second letter prodding them, they did not reply until
October 9, four days after they had completed their most important
flying experiments for that year.

In that letter, after telling of their recent long flights, the
Wrights said they were prepared to furnish machines on contract, to
be accepted only after trial trips of at least forty kilometers, the
machine to carry an operator and enough supplies of fuel for a flight
of 160 kilometers. They said they would be willing to make contracts in
which the minimum distance of the trial trip would be more than forty
kilometers, but that the price of the machine would then be greater.
They were also ready, the letter added, to build machines carrying more
than one man. No figures as to price were given.

Hoping to have the French War Department buy a plane, Ferber went to
his chief, Colonel Bertrand, director of the laboratory of research
pertaining to military aeronautics. But Colonel Bertrand told him
the French Government could not commit itself to pay a sum “probably
enormous” for an invention not yet authenticated. All that it was
possible to do, said Bertrand, was to appoint and send a commission to
see the Wrights.

Again Ferber wrote to the Wrights, on October 21, asking what the price
for a machine would be. He said he didn’t think his government would
any longer be interested in paying so great a sum as it had been when
he had first asked for a price.

The Wrights replied, on November 4, saying they would consent
to reduce their price to the French Government to one million
francs--$200,000--the money to be paid only after the genuine value of
their discoveries had been demonstrated by a flight of one of their
machines in the presence of French Government representatives. Ferber
had not told in his letter what the French Government had been willing
to pay and the Wrights did not say what the price of one million francs
was reduced _from_! The price was to include a complete machine, and
instruction in the Wright discoveries relating to the scientific
principles of the art; formulas for the designing of machines of other
sizes and speeds; and personal instruction of operators in the use of
the machine.

At the time Captain Ferber was thus dickering for the possible purchase
of a Wright flying-machine, others in France who were interested in
aeronautics still doubted if such a machine existed.

About the middle of October, Frank S. Lahm, a member of the Aéro Club
of France, had a chance meeting with his friend Patrick Y. Alexander,
of the Aeronautical Society of Great Britain, who had visited the
Wrights as recently as the previous April. Alexander expressed to Lahm
his strong belief that the Wrights had actually been making power
flights in America.

Lahm was an American. After going to France from Mansfield, Ohio, many
years before, he had introduced the Remington typewriter to Europe. As
a hobby he had taken up ballooning and held a pilot’s license. It was
of more than casual interest to him that Alexander believed successful
flights had been made in America. Lahm then made an effort to learn the
facts from a source right in Dayton, Ohio. He wrote to Nelson Bierce, a
manufacturer there whom he knew, asking what sort of people the Wrights
were and what was known about their reported experiments. Bierce didn’t
make any investigation, but wrote to Lahm, late in November, that the
Wrights were considered men of good character, and that they were said
to be carrying on some kind of flying experiments near Dayton; but, he
said, no one seemed to know much about the nature of these experiments.

Before there was time for Bierce’s letter to reach him, Lahm got other
news about the Wrights. A letter they had sent on November 17, to
Besançon, editor of _L’Aérophile_, giving a detailed account of their
most recent experiments, had been published on November 30 in _L’Auto_,
a Paris daily dealing with sports. Besançon had given the letter to
_L’Auto_ because his own next monthly issue would not go to press for a
week or more and he was afraid a rival German publication might print,
before he could, similar information from the Wrights.

That letter to Besançon, containing much specific information, created
a sensation. There was much animated talk about its contents that night
of November 30 at the Aéro Club. Indeed, that date is noteworthy in
aeronautical history, for publication of the letter to Besançon led to
several important investigations.

News about the Wrights’ recent flights that the letter revealed was
taken up by one or two of the wire services and cabled back to the
United States where it reached various newspapers, including those in
Dayton. But Dayton editors couldn’t understand why the Wrights should
have stirred up so much excitement in France.

One investigation was started by Lahm, now determined to get the
facts. He had a brother-in-law in Mansfield, Ohio, Henry M. Weaver (a
manufacturer of cash carriers for department stores); and Weaver had a
son, Henry, Jr., perhaps not too busy to go to Dayton and find out all
about the Wrights. Immediately after leaving his friends at the Aéro
Club, Lahm sent this cable to the younger Weaver: “Verify what Wright
brothers claim necessary go Dayton today prompt answer cable.”

The young man in Mansfield, never having heard of the Wrights, supposed
the message must be for his father, then away on a business trip, and
he forwarded it to him at the Grand Pacific Hotel in Chicago. It was
received by the father on December 1, shortly after he had retired for
the night. Weaver, Sr., didn’t at once recall ever having heard of
the Wrights, but if they had a “claim” against his brother-in-law, he
would see what could be done about settling it. As the question must be
important he sent a wire to Dayton that very night. Having no street
address for them, he addressed it simply to “Wright Brothers.” This
message was not clear to the Wrights and their reply the next morning
was as puzzling to Weaver as his had been to them. To get down to
dots and make sure he was addressing the people he sought, Weaver then
sent another telegram asking the Wrights if they knew F. S. Lahm, of
Paris. The Wrights didn’t know Lahm but they knew _of_ him and replied:
“Yes Lahm French aeronaut.” When he noted that word “aeronaut,” Weaver
began to remember vaguely having heard some years previously about two
brothers who had experimented with a glider somewhere in the Carolinas.
The mystery seemed to be lifting. Doubtless the Wrights had made a
glider for Lahm and now there was some misunderstanding about the
price. He immediately telegraphed again to the Wrights, saying he would
arrive in Dayton the next morning (Sunday), and asking the Wrights to
meet him at the Algonquin Hotel.

When he reached the hotel in Dayton, Weaver discovered that there was
no firm of Wright Brothers in the telephone book or city directory.
The hotel clerk had never heard of them. Others whom he asked if they
knew of anyone in Dayton having a flying-machine looked at him blankly
and shook their heads. Well, these Wrights must be somewhere, Weaver
reflected, for they had replied to his two earlier telegrams. He may
have feared that their place of business was closed for the week end
before they could have received his telegram asking them to meet him.
At any rate, he went to the office of the telegraph company. There he
met the messenger boy who had delivered his message. The boy explained
that the brothers had their office at the Wright Cycle Company but
that, since it was Sunday, they could not be reached except at their
home. Weaver then returned to his hotel. There he found Orville Wright
waiting for him.

As soon as they began to talk, Weaver said: “You made a glider, I
believe, for Mr. Lahm, in Paris.”

Orville, of course, shook his head. No, he said, they had never made a
glider for Mr. Lahm.

“Then,” asked Weaver, even more puzzled, “what in the world can be the
meaning of this cable?” And he handed to Orville the message from Paris.

Orville then understood. Evidently, he said, Lahm, a member of the Aéro
Club of France, wished to find out if the report of their flights sent
to the Aéro Club by the Wright brothers was true.

As Weaver later reported in a letter to Lahm, he was already impressed
by this younger Wright brother. “His very appearance would disarm any
suspicion--with a face more of a poet than an inventor or promoter.
In contour, head and face resemble Edgar Allan Poe ... very modest in
alluding to the marvels they have accomplished ...”

Orville, somewhat amused, said if an investigation was desired, they
might as well get right at it. It was too late in the season for
flying, and the machine had been taken apart, but he could introduce
the visitor to many responsible people who had seen them fly.

Orville took him to the home of C. S. Billman, of the West Side
Savings and Loan Company. The Billmans were a fairly large family
and nearly all had seen the Wrights fly. When the callers were taken
into the sitting-room the first member of the family to appear was a
four-year-old boy. “Son,” asked Weaver jokingly, “have you ever seen a
flying-machine?” He wasn’t expecting to get evidence just yet; but the
boy began to run around the room, trying to imitate with his hands the
motion of a propeller and to make a noise like the machine.

Turning to Orville, Weaver laughingly observed: “I’m about convinced
already. That boy couldn’t be a bribed witness.”

They also went, by interurban car, to talk with the Beard family,
across from the flying field, and with Amos Stauffer, the nearest
farmer up the road.

As Weaver reported: “On October 5, he [Stauffer] was cutting corn
in the next field east, which is higher ground. When he noticed the
aeroplane had started on its flight he remarked to his helper: ‘Well,
the boys are at it again,’ and kept on cutting corn, at the same time
keeping an eye on the great white form rushing about its course. ‘I
just kept on shocking corn,’ he continued, ‘until I got down to the
fence, and the durned thing was still going round. I thought it would
never stop.’ I asked him how long he thought the flight continued, and
he replied it seemed to him it was in the air for half an hour.”

Then Orville and Weaver returned to Dayton and called on William Fouts,
West Side druggist, who had witnessed the long flight on October 5.

Later they went to the Wright home. Of that visit Weaver wrote: “The
elder brother, Wilbur, I found even quieter and less demonstrative than
the younger. He looked the scholar and recluse. Neither is married. As
Mr. Wright expressed it, they had not the means to support ‘a wife and
a flying-machine too.’”

Weaver was completely convinced before he left Dayton, and on December
3, cabled to Lahm: “Claims completely verified.” A few days later, on
December 6, back at his home in Mansfield, he rushed a letter to Lahm
giving his evidence of what the Wrights had done.

In a little more than a week after Weaver’s visit to Dayton, another
investigator appeared there, Robert Coquelle, representing _L’Auto_,
of Paris. He had been in New York attending the six-day bicycle races
and arrived in Dayton on December 12. Since his paper and _Les Sports_
had taken opposite sides regarding the possibility that the Wrights had
flown, and _L’Auto_ had been pro-Wright, Coquelle wished to report on
these “_deux marchands de cycles_” in a way to make a sensation. The
imaginative tale he wrote about how “mysterious” were the Wrights was
almost worthy of his compatriot, Dumas. The Wrights gave him names of
people who had witnessed flights but it is believed he didn’t bother to
consult many of them, evidently feeling sure he could invent a better
story than they could tell him. However, Coquelle was convinced that
the reports about the Wrights’ flights were not exaggerated and he
cabled a preliminary dispatch to his paper: Wright brothers refuse to
show their machine but I have seen some witnesses it is impossible to
doubt.

On December 13, the day after Coquelle’s visit to Dayton, the Wrights
sent another letter to M. Besançon, editor of _L’Aérophile_, in reply
to questions of his, and gave him details of their recent flights,
distances, height at which they flew, size of field, and so on.
Incidentally the closing paragraph of that letter contained a statement
in contradiction of a myth, still widely accepted:

    The claim often made in the 19th century that the lack of
    sufficiently light motors alone prohibited man from the empire
    of the air was quite unfounded. At the speeds which birds
    usually employ, a well-designed flyer can in actual practice
    sustain a gross weight of 30 kilograms for each horsepower of
    the motor, which gives ample margin for such motors as might
    easily have been built 50 years ago.

Before Besançon could have received this letter, with its details
of recent flights, Robert Coquelle arrived in Paris, having taken a
boat from New York only a day or two after his stay in Dayton, and
his sensational story was published. Much of this report seemed so
incredible that one member of the Aéro Club said it almost made him
wonder if the Wright brothers existed at all.

[Illustration: THE U. S. ARMY TEST. Preparing the Wright plane for a
test at Fort Myer.]

What Weaver had written in his letter seemed convincing enough to Lahm
and he prepared a French translation of it to read to the aviation
committee of the Aéro Club of France at a meeting on the night of
December 29, 1905. That meeting, as Lahm later told about it to
friends, and in an article he gave to the Mansfield (Ohio) _News_,
published October 24, 1908, was a memorable one. The skeptical members
of the committee, greatly in the majority, having heard of Weaver’s
telegram, assumed the more elaborate report would be favorable to the
Wrights, and were prepared to combat it. Characteristic of the French,
there was almost ceremonious politeness at the beginning of the
meeting because everyone supposed there might be less politeness as the
discussions went on.

[Illustration: AT FORT MYER. Lieutenant Frank P. Lahm and Orville
Wright with the Wright plane during the test at Fort Myer. Lieutenant
Lahm was the first army officer to fly as a passenger in a plane.]

By the time Lahm had finished reading the letter, everyone began to
talk at once. Archdeacon, who presided, was famous for a high-pitched
staccato voice and it could be heard calling for order as he also
rapped on the table before him with a flat metal ruler.

One member observed that they had seen nothing about the Wrights’
flights in American newspapers, recognized as enterprising. He found
himself incapable of believing, he said, that all the journalists in
America would permit so important a piece of news to escape them.

Another remarked that they had heard the Wright brothers were of
modest enough wealth. Who, he asked, is their financier? It would be
interesting to talk with him.

Lahm was hard put to it to explain the lack of news about the flights
in the American papers. He himself didn’t understand that. But he tried
to explain that since the brothers did most of the mechanical work on
their machine themselves they did not require financial assistance. His
voice, however, was drowned in the hubbub. As the discussion continued,
so vehement were the contradictions of the Weaver letter that Lahm,
Ferber, Besançon, and Coquelle, the only ones present who seemed to
believe it, hardly dared express themselves at all. Someone turned
to Coquelle and asked him if he really accepted the stories of the
Wrights’ flights.

“I do,” he said--but in a low voice.

All conceded that Lahm’s friend Weaver had doubtless been sincere
in what he wrote but they insisted that he had somehow been fooled.
They “knew” flight was impossible with a motor of only twelve
horsepower. Indeed, many had decided that power flight would always be
an impossibility. This belief was all the stronger because a number
present had personally done enough in attempts to fly to know the
difficulties.

One member after another strolled into an adjoining room where they
could argue without being called to order. Finally Archdeacon found
himself nearly alone. When, long after midnight, the meeting finally
broke up the one thing all were agreed upon was that human flight, if
true, was of vast consequence.

When the Wrights learned how great was the incredulity at the Aéro Club
in France they were only amused that the stories seemed to the French
too wonderful to be true.

On December 31 the Weaver letter to Lahm was published in full in
_L’Auto_. The next day it appeared in the Paris edition of the New York
_Herald_ and also in _Les Sports_, competitor of _L’Auto_.

Though the Aéro Club did not yet know it, Captain Ferber in November
had started still another investigation. He had written to the Wrights
on November 15, asking permission to send an “official” commission
to see them. The Wrights answered on December 5 that they thought
it highly advisable that the French Government send a commission to
make a thorough investigation of their claims, and that it should
be done at once. Eight days later the Wrights received a cable
from Ferber saying: “Friend with full powers for stating terms of
contract will sail next Saturday.” Ferber also sent a letter, a copy
of which, he said, would be carried by Arnold Fordyce as his means of
identification, but this letter did not reach the Wrights until after
the visitor had arrived. As Ferber only a few weeks before had asked
permission to send a military commission, the brothers supposed the man
en route to Dayton represented the War Ministry.

Arnold Fordyce, the French emissary, arrived in New York on the
_Lorraine_, and reached Dayton shortly after Christmas, 1905. He was
about thirty-five years old, formerly an actor, of characteristic
French politeness, and he spoke English. His first meeting with the
Wrights was in their office over the old bicycle shop.

To the Wrights’ surprise he told them, in reply to a question, that
he had no connection with the French War Ministry. He had come, he
said, on behalf of a syndicate of wealthy men who wished to buy a
flying-machine and to present it to the French Government for the
national defense. He said he was secretary to M. Letellier, member
of the syndicate and owner and editor of the Paris newspaper, _Le
Journal_. He went on to explain that Letellier and his associates in
the syndicate were presenting the plane to the Government with the hope
they might receive decorations of the Legion of Honor. His story seemed
to the Wrights a bit fishy. They thought it more probable that he was
really representing the French War Ministry, but that the War Ministry
did not wish to appear directly in negotiations for a flying-machine.
The Wrights went ahead, though, to give him the information he sought.
First of all, he wished to make sure that they really had a machine
that would fly. They arranged for him to meet a number of trustworthy
persons who had witnessed flights, among them bankers, other prominent
businessmen, and county officials.

Fordyce was soon convinced that the machine would do all that had been
claimed for it, and he wanted a contract to take back with him to his
principals. Though Ferber’s cable had stated that Fordyce was coming
with “full powers” he did not have a power-of-attorney to represent
his principals. Still believing that Fordyce’s true mission was in
the interest of the French War Ministry, the Wrights had no objection
to entering into a contract with him granting an option for a short
period. They made it clear, however, that they reserved the right to
deal with their own Government at any time, even though the United
States War Department had not seemed appreciative of their former
offers of exclusive rights to the aeroplane. They also made it clear
that Letellier and his associates in the “syndicate” would have no
rights whatever in the machine except the right to pay for it. The
machine would be delivered only to the French Government.

The Fordyce option was for the purchase of one flying-machine at a
price of 1,000,000 francs, or $200,000, the price the Wrights already
had set in a letter to Captain Ferber. The option was to become void
if the holder failed by February 5, 1906, to deposit in escrow with J.
P. Morgan & Co., New York, 25,000 francs ($5,000) to the joint credit
of the Wright brothers and Arnold Fordyce. It was provided that the
contract would become null and void if the holder failed to make a
further deposit in escrow with J. P. Morgan & Co. by April 5, 1906,
to bring the total to 1,000,000 francs. But if the holder failed to
deposit altogether 1,000,000 francs, as stipulated, then the first
deposit of 25,000 francs would belong to the Wright brothers. If on
the other hand the Wrights failed to carry out any part of their own
obligations under the contract they would receive nothing.

On February 5, 1906, the date stated in the option for the first
deposit, the Wrights received a telegram from Morgan, Harjes & Co.,
Paris, stating that 25,000 francs had been deposited with them in
escrow to the joint credit of the Wright Brothers and Arnold Fordyce.
This seemed to confirm the suspicion held by the Wrights that Fordyce
represented the French Ministry of War and not a syndicate. But this
suspicion later proved to be false.

Some time after the Wrights had given this option they heard an
entirely different story about the nature of Fordyce’s mission.
According to this story, Captain Ferber, unable to persuade his
superior officers in the War Ministry to send an official investigator
to Dayton, had hit on the idea of having an investigation made by a
Paris newspaper. He then went to see Letellier, owner of _Le Journal_.
Letellier saw the possibilities of prestige for his paper by being
able to print the facts about the Wrights. If they really had flown,
that would be of great interest, and if they were only “bluffers,” as
many in France thought they were, the truth about them would still
be worth publishing. Letellier could well have afforded the gamble of
sending an investigator to Dayton. Aside from his ownership of _Le
Journal_, he was a man of considerable wealth, having made his money as
a contractor. He had built the main fortresses at Liège.

Whatever the truth may have been, if Letellier had intended to publish
what Fordyce learned about the Wrights, he did not at once do so. He
took the Fordyce option and presented it to the War Ministry and he
received in return a letter from the Minister of War stating that if
a Wright plane were acquired by the Ministry the purchase would be
made through _Le Journal_. Thus _Le Journal_ not only would have a big
“scoop” on news of the purchase, but would receive credit and acclaim
for a big patriotic act. Perhaps the owner of the paper would be
decorated!

For some time war clouds had been gathering over Morocco and it looked
as if there might be trouble between France and Germany. If war should
come, a flying-machine for scouting purposes would be of great value.
But in spite of the fact that a Frenchman, Fordyce, had been to see
the Wrights and reported favorably about them, the French war chiefs
couldn’t bring themselves to accept as a certainty the existence of a
practical flying-machine. The story seemed too incredible. There must
be a “catch” somewhere. Still, the War Ministry was willing to risk
making the down payment of 25,000 francs.

But when M. Etienne sent the down payment of 25,000 francs to Morgan,
Harjes & Co., the Paris branch of the banking firm of J. P. Morgan &
Co., on the last day of the allotted time, he nearly lost the option,
for an unexpected reason. Morgan, Harjes & Co. did not wish to accept
the money. Though the bank was under American control, French procedure
prevailed, and its officers were reluctant to hold money in escrow.
They feared there might be a dispute as to whether it finally would
belong to the War Ministry that deposited it, or to the Wrights. It
required eight hours of perspiring persuasion on the part of a War
Ministry representative before the bankers agreed to accept the money
and the option became binding.

After the option was in force, but before the date set in the contract
for the final payment, the French War Ministry sent a commission to
Dayton for the purpose of obtaining some amendments to the contract,
pertaining to the test flights.

This commission, which sailed from Cherbourg on the _Saint Paul_, was
headed by Commandant Bonel, of the Army Engineer Corps. Another member
was Arnold Fordyce. They reached New York on March 18, 1906. The other
two members were Captain Fournier, military attaché of the French
Embassy at Washington, and Walter V. R. Berry, an American subject,
who was legal counselor to that embassy. Though Fordyce was by now
zealously pro-Wright, the men at the War Ministry had no fear of his
exerting too much influence on the others, because of the presence
of Commandant Bonel, who was outspokenly skeptical. He had witnessed
tests by the French Government of the unsuccessful machine designed
by Clement Ader, a few years previously, and was convinced that no
heavier-than-air machine had ever flown or ever could. Bonel would
hardly let the commission make a fool of itself. Since he was the only
one of the four who spoke no English, he would need to have everything
explained to him--all the more reason why he would not be easily
imposed upon.

Before the French quartet had been in Dayton long, however, Bonel was
the most enthusiastic convert of all. The visitors met dependable
witnesses of flights who had previously talked to Fordyce; and
photographs of the machine in flight could hardly be fakes. Most of
all, they were impressed by the obviously high character of the Wrights
themselves. In cables to France they strongly recommended that the deal
be closed.

But while the commission was still in Dayton, the European war crisis
had subsided. Even before the formal settlement of the dispute, at
the close of the conference at Algeciras, Spain, on April 7, it was
known that France would still have a favored position in Morocco,
and the need for a scouting plane by the French Army became less
pressing. The War Ministry now began to demand more and more in
airplane performance. They would cable asking if the plane could fly
at an altitude of at least 1,000 feet; if the speed could be greater
than hitherto mentioned. Then the next day there would be a request
for greater weight-carrying capacity. The Wrights, slow as always
to make rash promises, said frankly that they had never flown much
higher than 100 feet, but that the plane could fly at much more than
1,000 feet, though they would probably need additional practice before
making a demonstration. They could increase either the speed or the
weight-carrying capacity, too; but it would not be easy to do both in
the same machine--no more than one could produce a draft horse and a
race horse in the same animal.

The demonstrations of the machine the Wrights agreed to make were
already stiff enough, and if they failed on any one of them, within the
allotted time, even if only on account of delay caused by accident,
their contract would be broken; but they felt sure of what they could
do and were willing to take the chance.

When the time limit for the deposit of the rest of the 1,000,000 francs
with J. P. Morgan expired, on April 5, the commission was recalled.
Before leaving Dayton the visitors expressed their own vexation over
the rejection by the Paris officials of their recommendations.

The members of the commission still believed, though, that when Bonel
and Fordyce were back in Paris and presented all the facts to the War
Ministry, there would be an extension of time and the deal carried out.
But it never was. The French Minister of War agreed, however, that the
Wrights were entitled to receive the forfeit money of 25,000 francs
held in escrow by J. P. Morgan & Co.

Before leaving Dayton, the Frenchmen said they believed they knew what
was back of the failure to close the deal. They said frankly that it
was probably the present attitude of Captain Ferber, the man who had
been instrumental in starting the negotiations. Ferber, they thought,
with the Moroccan question no longer pressing, had now decided that
with his knowledge of the Wright plane he could build one himself, and
so become the French pioneer in aviation--a greater honor than being
merely the instrument of introducing the aeroplane into France.

During the time the Frenchmen were at their hotel in Dayton, it might
have been expected that their presence would become known to local
newspapermen and that the world would have learned of what was going
on. To avoid attracting attention they had taken the precaution to
avoid the Hotel Algonquin where Fordyce had stayed on his earlier
visit, and were at the Beckel House. They were unmolested there until
an employee of one of the telegraph offices “tipped off” a reporter
friend. The telegrapher had noticed various cables in code going to
France and felt sure the Frenchmen must be carrying on an important
deal. A reporter nabbed Fordyce and Bonel one evening in the hotel
lobby on their return from a theater. As Bonel spoke no English,
Fordyce parried the reporter’s questions. He thought a plausible
explanation of their presence would be that they were studying the
water system of a typical American city. But what he said was that they
were studying Dayton’s “water pipes.” That satisfied as well as amused
the reporter and nothing about the French commission got into the
papers.

The local newspapermen had failed to note that, after Fordyce’s
previous visit, the New York _Herald_ of January 4 had printed a brief
item about his having seen the Wrights to discuss a contract. It never
occurred to anyone in Dayton that the Wright brothers could have
attracted visitors from across the Atlantic, for the Wrights still were
not “news.” If the Frenchmen had made a statement that they were there
dickering with the Wrights for a $200,000 contract, it is possible
that the local papers would not have printed it. They might not have
believed such a tale.

Only a few days after the French commission had left Dayton, another
foreign visitor dropped in on the Wrights--the Englishman, Patrick Y.
Alexander.

After some casual talk, he inquired with seeming innocence, as if just
to make conversation: “Is the French commission still here?”

The Wrights were startled. So great had been the secrecy about the
visit of the Frenchmen that not many even in the French Government were
permitted to know about their trip to Dayton. How did this mysterious
Britisher know about it? The Wrights assumed that he must have been a
volunteer worker in the British secret service. It was now obvious that
he had crossed the Atlantic for no other purpose than to call on the
Wrights and had hoped to burst in upon them while the Frenchmen were
still there. After a stay of only one day in Dayton he hastened back
to New York to sail on the next boat. His call made it all the more
clear that the British were then more interested in what other European
governments were doing about planes than in acquiring an air fleet of
their own.

Incredulity about the Wrights’ power flights continued at the Aéro Club
and in newspaper circles in France. In November, 1906, the Wrights
received a visitor in Dayton, Sherman Morse, representing the New York
_Herald_. His introduction was a cabled message to his managing editor
from the owner of the paper, James Gordon Bennett, in Paris. The
message said: Send one of your best reporters to Dayton to get truth
about Wright brothers’ reported flights.

The reporter got the truth and wrote intelligent articles that
appeared in the New York _Herald_. These included reports of men who
had witnessed flights. Parts of the Morse articles appeared in the
_Herald’s_ Paris edition on November 22 and 23. But evidently those in
charge of the Paris _Herald_ still were not convinced by the reports
from Dayton by their own man. On November 28, the Paris _Herald_ had an
editorial about the Wrights which included the statement that in Europe
curiosity about their machine was “clouded with skepticism owing to the
fact that information regarding the invention is so small while the
results which its inventors claim to have achieved are so colossal.”
And the next day, the Paris _Herald_ gave space to a news item in which
Santos-Dumont was reported as saying that he “did not find any evidence
of their [the Wrights] having done anything at all.”

Late in 1906, Frank S. Lahm, who had cabled his brother-in-law, Weaver,
to make an investigation, was in the United States, and he, accompanied
by Weaver, went on November 22 to see the Wrights in Dayton. He was
convinced, of course, that their statements could be relied upon, but
he made further investigation of his own, interviewing witnesses not
previously seen by Weaver. After his return to Paris, he prepared a
long letter to the Paris _Herald_, in which he expressed his belief
in the reported flights. The newspaper devoted a column to the Lahm
letter on February 10, 1907. But having distrusted what their own
representative had written, it was not to be expected that the editors
would give full belief to what Lahm now told them. In the same issue
as his letter, was an editorial headed “Flyers or Liars.” “The Wrights
have flown or they have not flown,” the paper profoundly stated. “They
possess a machine or they do not possess one. They are in fact either
flyers or liars.... It is difficult to fly; it is easy to say ‘we have
flown.’”



XII

THE WRIGHTS IN EUROPE


The Wrights were at work in 1906 developing a new engine having
vertical instead of horizontal cylinders. Though they were doing no
flying, brief references to them occasionally appeared in newspapers.
These caught the attention of a New York businessman, U. S. Eddy, who
thought the Wrights and their patents might be of interest to Charles
R. Flint & Company, New York bankers and promoters. Eddy was a former
partner of Flint in a shipping line and knew that they were constantly
on the lookout for new inventions worthy of their consideration. Partly
to do a favor for an old friend and associate, he decided to go to
Dayton for a talk with the Wrights.

Eddy arrived in Dayton on Thanksgiving Day and saw the Wrights the next
day. They did not discuss business at this meeting. Eddy simply got
acquainted with them, and satisfied himself that any statements they
made about their invention could be depended upon; but he did tell them
he felt sure the Flint firm would be much interested in helping them to
develop the machine’s financial possibilities.

The Wrights left Dayton on December 5 for New York, to attend an
exhibit to be given by the newly formed Aero Club of America.
Before leaving New York they went with Eddy to meet F. R. Cordley,
a member of the Flint firm. At this time Flint was in Europe, but
the Wrights met him in New York not long afterward. Flint was often
over-enthusiastic about new projects, and Cordley was the more cautious
member of the firm. His job was to hold Flint in check. But he, as well
as Flint and other associates, was favorably impressed by the Wrights,
and they began to talk business. On December 26, 1906, George H.
Nolte, an employee of the firm, went to Dayton to work out preliminary
details. At first the Flints spoke of the possibility of buying all
European rights to the airplane; but the deal finally made was that the
Flints should be the Wrights’ business representatives, on a twenty
per cent commission basis, in all countries except the United States.
A year or two later it was agreed that the Wrights should manage their
own affairs also in Great Britain and its colonies.

The Flints proposed that they would have the Czar of Russia, and
certain other crowned heads, request private demonstrations of the
flying-machine. But the Wrights were not impressed by such suggestions
and in a letter to the Flints said they thought it would be better for
them to “look the ground over first before making arrangements with the
Czar.”

The Flints had an associate in Europe, Hart O. Berg, who, in 1899, had
helped to introduce American electric automobiles on the continent. He
had acted, too, for Simon Lake, inventor of the submarine, in dealing
with Russia and other foreign governments. They thought Berg might be
able to start negotiations for forming a European Wright company. But
Berg, not knowing the Wrights, and feeling scant confidence in what
they were reported to have done, was less than lukewarm over the idea.
Flint suggested that it would be well for at least one of the Wrights
to go to Europe, with expenses paid, to discuss their invention with
Berg and give him more faith in it. The Wrights themselves, said Flint,
could do more than anyone else to implant in Berg the wholehearted
enthusiasm he would need to convince possible buyers.

On May 15, 1907, a telegram came from the Flint office urging that one
of the Wrights should start to Europe at once. Wilbur “grabbed a few
things” and prepared to go to New York the next day, to sail on the
_Campania_. As he planned to tarry abroad only a short time--only long
enough to convince Berg--his baggage consisted of one suit case. He
would stop first in England for a brief stay before going to Paris.

Wilbur was to land in Liverpool on a Saturday. Berg, eager to see
one of the Wrights face to face and settle in his own mind if these
inventors were really dependable, went to London to meet him.

“I knew him the minute he stepped from the train,” said Berg long
afterward. “To begin with, it is always easy to spot an American among
Englishmen, and I saw no other American coming down the platform. But
even if there had been other Americans I’m sure I would have known
which one was Wilbur Wright. There was a modest self-assurance about
him that tallied with his character as I had heard about it.”

After the first greetings, Berg said: “Now let’s see about picking up
the rest of your luggage.”

But Wilbur smilingly explained that the one suit case was all he had
brought.

On the way to the hotel, Wilbur decided that it might be advisable for
him to buy a suit of evening clothes and they went at once to a tailor
shop on the Strand.

It didn’t take Berg long to convince himself that Wilbur Wright was no
slicker, but decidedly on the level, and that if he said his machine
would fly, then it must be true.

A day after their first meeting, Berg and Wilbur were joined by F. R.
Cordley, of the Flint firm, in Europe on a vacation trip, and the three
went to Paris together. They “descended,” as the French say, at the
Hotel Meurice, on the rue de Rivoli.

It was still broad daylight when they arrived and Berg almost
immediately led Wilbur across the street into the Tuileries gardens.
They strolled to the Place de la Concorde and looked up the length of
the magnificent Avenue des Champs Elysées to the Arc de Triomphe. The
horse chestnut trees were still in blossom, and Berg, a resident of
Paris during most of his life, was feeling happy over the opportunity
to show this stranger his first glimpse of the most beautiful city on
earth at its loveliest season.

Before he had been long in Paris, Wilbur attended a balloon meet at St.
Cloud, and a few days later made his first trip in a balloon.

A Paris _Herald_ reporter, who talked with Wilbur at St. Cloud, was
impressed by his reticence and made this statement: “Mr. Wright talked
carefully, as if all was mapped out in advance. It was obvious that
he feared to be caught in a trap concerning his remarkable machine
and what he wants to do with it. At the end of each question his
clean-shaven face relapsed into a broad, sphinx-like smile.”

It now seemed wise to try to form a company to buy European rights to
the airplane, or to sell the rights to a private financier, rather than
to deal with the Government, through politicians; and a wealthy man had
become interested: M. Henri Deutsch de la Meurthe, an oil magnate, who
had also been a patron of ballooning.

When Wilbur Wright met Deutsch de la Meurthe, the latter, a cautious
trader, said that before investing any money he wanted to make sure the
French Government would be interested in buying airplanes.

Wilbur then decided that it would be both discourteous and imprudent
not to have a talk with Letellier or Fordyce, with whom there
had been previous negotiations, and let them know what was going
on--particularly since Deutsch de la Meurthe was known to have close
relations with _Le Matin_, a rival of Letellier’s newspaper, _Le
Journal_. He got in touch with Fordyce, and told him a little of the
current situation. Shortly afterward, Letellier invited Wilbur to
lunch. Letellier seemed indignant that the Wrights had not resumed
negotiations with him. Wilbur told him he could doubtless be included
if a company should be formed. But that didn’t suit Letellier. He
didn’t care to join a company organized by Deutsch de la Meurthe; if
a company was formed he wanted to be the prime mover in it himself.
He said nothing, however, about interfering with efforts being made
to form a company--possibly because he thought they would not be
successful.

Deutsch de la Meurthe now went to call upon the Minister of Marine,
with whom he was well acquainted, and was escorted by him to meet the
Minister of War, General Picquart, a hero of the Dreyfus case.

General Picquart was not familiar with what had previously been
done regarding the possible purchase of a Wright machine, as the
negotiations had been carried on during the regime of his predecessor.
But he had Commandant Bonel bring the records to him and when he
looked them over was impressed by the fact that the Wrights’ invention
had been considered seriously. No less impressed was Deutsch de la
Meurthe. General Picquart said he realized the importance of the Wright
invention and was disposed to take favorable action toward buying
planes, provided the Wrights would guarantee that their machine could
fly at a height of 300 meters.

That was enough encouragement for Deutsch de la Meurthe. In fact,
he became highly enthusiastic over the outlook. He had not before
appreciated the seriousness of the previous negotiations. Now he began
to talk about details of the articles of incorporation of a proposed
company.

Commandant Bonel was elated over the news that his government might at
last be buying Wright airplanes. His pride and prestige had been hurt
by the failure of his recommendations to be accepted. Moreover, for
patriotic reasons, he wanted the French Army to be the first to adopt
what he regarded as an epoch-making new invention. Now that the outlook
was once again more favorable, he was in a communicative mood when he
chanced to meet Fordyce, with whom he had traveled to Dayton.

Fordyce showed his surprise at what Bonel told him. He went at once to
tell this news to his employer, M. Letellier. Now Letellier expressed
great indignation. He had an agreement in writing, he said, that if the
War Ministry bought any Wright airplanes the purchase should be made
through _Le Journal_, and any departure from that plan he must construe
as an unfriendly and illegal act. Immediately he went to the office of
the Minister of War where with great politeness he showed to General
Picquart a letter obtained from his predecessor.

Since the option the Wrights had given to Fordyce had expired, the
agreement between the War Ministry and Letellier was no longer in
force. But General Picquart, if he understood that, after a hasty
examination of the records, did not argue the point. Possibly he was
too practical a politician to enter a controversy with an influential
publisher. At any rate, he asked Deutsch de la Meurthe to withdraw from
the negotiations.

It was Deutsch de la Meurthe’s turn to be indignant. He believed at
first that the Wrights had simply used him for a tool. But later, when
he understood the facts and saw that the Wrights were not to blame for
what had happened, he once more was friendly with them.

The Wrights saw that their most promising opportunity for an immediate
contract was through Letellier and _Le Journal_. Consequently,
Fordyce, representing that newspaper, came back into the picture.
Within a day or two after negotiations were thus resumed, Fordyce came
to Berg in an apologetic mood, showing deep embarrassment. He said he
had been asked to submit a proposal that it hardly seemed worth while
to discuss at all; and yet he had no choice but to convey a message,
as had been requested of him, by a man high in government circles. The
deal might go through at once, said Fordyce, but there would have to be
a little re-wording of the contract. The Wrights must not ask 1,000,000
francs but 1,250,000 francs. Then they would receive their million
francs.

Berg knew well enough what would happen when he told this to Wilbur.

There would be no objection to having the contract call for more
money than the Wrights were to receive, said Wilbur calmly, _but_
the contract must give the name of the man who would receive that
additional sum.

Berg went to the office of the man who had communicated, by way of
Fordyce, the astounding suggestion. He hoped there had been some
misunderstanding. But to Berg’s astonishment and disgust, the man
said with shocking candor that he would indeed expect 250,000 francs
($50,000) as his reward for putting through the deal.

Before indignantly walking out of the man’s office, Berg told him the
Wrights would never be a party to such financial irregularity and that
the negotiations with the Minister of War would have to be carried on
without the co-operation of anyone in the Government who expected to
be paid for his efforts. (After the first World War that same man was
tried for treason.)

Meanwhile, Wilbur had cabled to Orville to join him in Paris. And with
the prospect that it might be necessary to make a demonstration of what
the Wright machine could do, a plane was crated and shipped from Dayton
to France.

Orville arrived in Paris around the first of August, and the Wright’s
chief mechanic, Charlie Taylor, came about a week later.

While crossing the Atlantic, Orville had a talk with another passenger
that illustrates his possession of a freakish kind of memory. An
Englishman had been introduced to him and, after a few moments of
conversation, Orville asked if they had not met before. No, the
Englishman said, they had not. He had no recollection of any previous
meeting, and he was sure if there had been one he would remember it.
The man’s face was not familiar, but there was something about his
voice and gestures that somehow stirred in Orville old memories.
Finally, Orville inquired:

“Were you by any chance at the World’s Fair in Chicago back in 1893?”

The Englishman nodded.

“And,” asked Orville, “did you ever have occasion to explain to a
bystander some kind of device at one of the exhibits?”

Yes, that also might have happened.

“There,” said Orville, much relieved that his memory had not played
him tricks, “must have been where I saw you. I felt sure I couldn’t be
mistaken about your voice.”

After Orville had joined Wilbur at the Hotel Meurice, the brothers
did not find their business affairs too pressing to do a lot of
sight-seeing. Neither one spoke French, but Orville had acquired a fair
reading knowledge of it. Oddly enough, Wilbur, who had learned Greek
and Latin easily, made no effort to learn French. He jokingly said it
was a convenience not to know it, as it saved him from a lot of talking.

As they went about their sight-seeing, Wilbur, always a reader of
history, was especially fascinated by all places of historic interest.
Orville found himself spending much time each day in the Louvre. Those
days gave him an appreciation of good paintings that he never lost.

Negotiations with the French Government dragged on. For weeks the
Wrights were kept in uncertainty. They never saw any of the people they
were dealing with. Their only contact with anyone at the War Ministry
was through Fordyce, and they had no way of knowing, except from what
he told them, whether any progress was being made.

Nothing came of the long negotiations. The Wrights were not alone in
being disappointed. Commandant Bonel, not long afterward, perhaps as
a consequence of the failure of his recommendations to be accepted,
resigned from the Army.

Late in the summer of 1907, the Wrights left Paris. Orville went first
to London, at the suggestion of Flint & Co. to have a talk with the
receiver of the Barnum & Bailey circus and the Buffalo Bill Wild West
Show, then in bankruptcy. The receiver wondered if the Wright plane
could be flown within an enclosure where an admission fee could be
charged.

Wilbur Wright had set out with Berg for St. Petersburg. They changed
their minds about going to Russia, however, and, instead, stopped at
Berlin where Orville shortly afterward joined them.

As the train on which Wilbur and Berg traveled was passing through
Belgium, Wilbur noticed a sign indicating that they were in the little
town of Jemappes. Then he recalled that a great battle took place there
back in 1792. He began to discuss the battle with an exact knowledge
of details that astounded Berg. Wilbur had read about it in his youth.
Over and over again, Berg and others who dealt with Wilbur Wright, were
similarly impressed not only by the range of his reading but by the
fact that no knowledge he had once acquired ever seemed to grow dim.

In Berlin, the brothers were able to gain direct contact with top
flight men--with the minister of the Kaiser’s war department,[8] and
also with the minister of the department of transportation. These
German officials were highly intelligent and not slow about recognizing
the tremendous importance of the Wright machine if it would perform as
the brothers said it could. The Wrights had proposed a contract in
which they would agree to furnish a machine capable of carrying, at a
speed of forty miles an hour, two men and a supply of fuel for a flight
of 125 miles, and to make a demonstration flight of one hour fulfilling
every requirement of the contract before one pfennig should be paid to
them. The German officials could not deny the fairness of this offer,
and could see no reason why the Wrights should have made it unless they
could carry it out. Besides, they were not altogether unacquainted
with the earlier work of the Wright brothers, accounts of whose glider
and power flights had been appearing for five or six years in German
technical publications. But in spite of all this the officials were
in a quandary. They could not bring themselves to believe that what
the Wrights now offered could be possible. They were afraid to sign
their names to a contract that generally would be considered as foolish
as a contract for a perpetual motion machine. They might become the
laughingstock of the world.

On the other hand, these officials did not want to let an invention of
such potentialities, if it really existed, slip through their fingers.
They therefore gave, instead of a signed contract, their solemn verbal
promise that if the Wrights would make a flight before them, such as
had been offered in the proposed written contract, they would buy
planes on the terms the Wrights had offered.[9]

The Wrights felt that these officials, being at the head of important
departments, could be relied upon, and they were willing to take their
verbal guarantee to buy planes upon the successful demonstration of the
machine. When they left Germany, they fully expected to return the next
March to make such a demonstration. (They could not foresee that they
would have too many other engagements in definite contracts elsewhere
before another four months had passed.)

Wilbur Wright returned from Europe in November of 1907. But Orville
remained a little longer to attend to having a number of engines built
in Paris by the firm of Barriquand & Marre. The Wrights wanted to
have in reserve duplicates of their American engine, at that time in
customs, at Le Havre, for use the next year. Barriquand & Marre were
manufacturers of precision instruments and had built light motors.
They doubted if the Wright motor gave as much power as was claimed for
it, but they felt sure that if it did, the copies they made of it--on
account of more careful workmanship--would give considerably more power
than the original. But as later events showed, they gave less. At that
time it was not known that when one motor is made as an exact copy, to
the thousandth of an inch, of another motor, of supposedly the same
steels and other metals, but from different foundries and mills, months
of experiment are required before the new motor can be made to work
properly.



XIII

A DEAL WITH THE U. S.


While in Paris, in 1907, the Wrights naturally had visits with Frank
S. Lahm, who had arranged with his brother-in-law, Henry Weaver, of
Mansfield, to investigate the reports from America of human flight.
Lahm invited the inventors to his home and there they met his son,
Lieutenant Frank P. Lahm,[10] who was recuperating from an attack of
typhoid fever. The younger Lahm, a former instructor at West Point, had
recently spent a year at the French Cavalry School at Saumur. He, as
well as his father, was much interested in aeronautics. The previous
October he had won the James Gordon Bennett balloon race by starting at
Paris and landing in England. Probably the only American Army officer
who recognized that the airplane should now be taken seriously, he was
delighted to meet the Wright brothers, with whom he now began a lasting
friendship. After he had learned a little about their negotiations in
France, he began to urge the United States War Department to take more
interest in the airplane.

It so happened that, in September, 1907, only a few weeks after this
meeting, Lieutenant Lahm was transferred by the War Department from
the Cavalry to the Signal Corps, to be stationed at Washington. His
first assignment was to make a tour of Europe, before returning to
Washington, and report on the situation regarding dirigible aircraft
in several countries. Soon afterward he returned to Washington. The
presence of a man in the War Department there who felt enthusiasm for
the airplane’s possibilities, and who had strong faith in the Wrights,
may have had its effect on his associates. At any rate, there was now
in the War Department a man who believed in the Wrights.

When Wilbur stopped in Washington shortly before Thanksgiving, 1907, en
route to Dayton, on his return from France, he had a talk with General
Crozier and Major Fuller of the Ordnance Department, and with General
Allen, head of the Signal Corps--the organization that would conduct
tests of the airplane and use it if the Ordnance Board sanctioned and
provided funds for its purchase. At this meeting Wilbur stated the
price the Wrights would accept ($25,000) and the performance of the
machine that they were willing to guarantee. These terms, agreed upon
between the brothers before Wilbur left France, were stiff enough, it
was thought, to bar any competition. The Ordnance Board was to have a
meeting on December 5, and Wilbur was invited to appear before it. He
did so; but the meeting did not inspire him with confidence that an
early contract could be obtained at the price of $25,000. The Wrights
were not willing to accept less, because they thought they had better
prospects abroad. However, the Signal Corps soon began drawing up
specifications, and, on December 23, advertised for bids.

Inasmuch as the Wright machine was the only one in existence that
could meet these requirements, and the price was understood in advance,
advertising for bids may have been superfluous; but it was considered
necessary to meet demands of red tape. Among specifications set forth
in the advertisement for bids were these: the plane must be tested
in the presence of Army officers; it must be able to carry for one
hour a passenger besides the pilot, the two weighing not less than
350 lbs.; it must show an average speed of forty miles an hour, in a
ten-mile test, and carry enough fuel for 125 miles. Also, the machine
must have “demountability”; that is, it should be built in such a way
that it could be taken apart, and later reassembled, without too much
difficulty, when necessary to transport it on an army truck from one
place to another.

Almost from the day the advertisements for bids appeared, the War
Department was subject to editorial attacks--not because it had been so
slow about interesting itself in the airplane, but because it had done
so at all!

The New York _Globe_ said:

    One might be inclined to assume from the following
    announcement, “the United States Army is asking bids for a
    military airship,” that the era of practical human flight had
    arrived, or at least that the government had seriously taken
    up the problem of developing this means of travel. A very
    brief examination of the conditions imposed and the reward
    offered for successful bidders suffices, however, to prove this
    assumption a delusion.

    A machine such as is described in the Signal Corps’
    specifications would record the solution of all the
    difficulties in the way of the heavier-than-air airship, and,
    in fact, finally give mankind almost as complete control of the
    air as it now has of the land and the water. It would be worth
    to the world almost any number of millions of dollars, would
    certainly revolutionize warfare and possibly the transportation
    of passengers; would open to easy access regions hitherto
    inaccessible except to the most daring pioneers and would,
    in short, be probably the most epoch-making invention in the
    history of civilization.

    Nothing in any way approaching such a machine has ever been
    constructed (the Wright brothers’ claims still await public
    confirmation), and the man who has achieved such a success
    would have, or at least should have, no need of competing in a
    contest where the successful bidder might be given his trial
    because his offer was a few hundred or thousand dollars lower
    than that of someone else. If there is any possibility that
    such an airship is within measurable distance of perfection
    any government could well afford to provide its inventor
    with unlimited resources and promise him a prize, in case of
    success, running into the millions.

The _American Magazine of Aeronautics_ (later called _Aeronautics_)
devoted its opening article in the issue of January, 1908, to pointing
out the absurdity of what the War Department was trying to do.

    There is not a known flying-machine in the world which could
    fulfill these specifications at the present moment, [declared
    the editorial].... Had an inventor such a machine as required
    would he not be in a position to ask almost any reasonable sum
    from the government for its use? Would not the government,
    instead of the inventor, be a bidder?... Perhaps the Signal
    Corps has been too much influenced by the “hot air” of
    theorizers, in which aeronautics unfortunately abounds, who
    have fathomed the entire problem without ever accomplishing
    anything; talk is their stock in trade and models or machines
    are beneath them because beyond their impractical nature....
    Why is not the experience with Professor Langley a good
    guide?... We doubt very much if the government receives any
    bids at all possible to be accepted.

To the surprise of nearly everyone, forty-one proposals were received.
Most of the bidders were the same kind of cranks the Ordnance Board had
at first supposed the Wrights to be; and their bids were rejected when
they failed to put up a required ten per cent of the proposed price
of the plane, as a sign of good faith. Two other bidders besides the
Wrights did make a ten per cent deposit. One of these, J. F. Scott, of
Chicago, had made a bid of $1,000, and promised delivery of a plane in
185 days. Another was A. M. Herring. His price was $20,000; delivery to
be in 180 days. The Wrights’ bid was $25,000, with delivery promised in
200 days.

Receipt of these unexpected bids created a problem. Everyone assumed
that none of the bidders except the Wrights had anything practical to
offer; and yet the government would be expected to accept the lowest
bid and let the winner show what he could do. No matter how dismally he
failed to meet requirements, dealing with him would take up time and
cause delays.

General Allen, of the Signal Corps, went to Secretary of War Taft
to inquire how the War Department might get around the difficulty.
Taft said they could accept all legal bids and as only the Wrights
could meet the requirements, the others would be eliminated. The only
difficulty was that even if no money would ever be paid to the other
bidders, yet it would be illegal to accept the bids unless enough money
to pay for whatever was ordered was known to be available. However,
Taft suggested a way around that. He knew that the President had at his
disposal an emergency fund to do with as he saw fit. If the President
wished to he could guarantee that all bidders would be paid if they met
the tests.

General Allen, accompanied by Captain Charles De Forest Chandler and
Lieutenant F. P. Lahm, Signal Corps officers, called upon President
Roosevelt who promptly agreed with Taft’s suggestion. He told them to
accept all bids and that he would place funds at their disposal to meet
legal technicalities. The Signal Corps then agreed to buy planes from
all three bidders if they met the necessary requirements.

One of those bidders soon eliminated himself by asking the Government
to return his ten per cent deposit. Though the government was not
obliged to return the deposit, it nevertheless did so. Herring, the
only remaining legal bidder besides the Wrights, hung on a while longer.

What A. M. Herring had in mind was simply to obtain the contract
in consequence of his lower price and then try to sublet it to the
Wrights. He even had the effrontery to go to Dayton to see the Wrights
and make such a proposal. Naturally, they were not interested.

[Illustration: THE WRIGHT PLANE IN FRANCE. The plane is being hauled
from one field to another, near Le Mans, France, in August, 1908.]

The Wrights’ bid was accepted on February 8, 1908.

As it happened, this was not the only important contract the Wrights
entered into at about that time. On March 3, three weeks after the
Signal Corps had accepted their bid, they closed a contract with
Lazare Weiller, a wealthy Frenchman, to form a syndicate to buy the
rights to manufacture, sell, or license the use of the Wright plane in
France. Upon completion of certain tests of the machine, the Wrights
were to receive a substantial amount in cash, a block of stock, and
provision for royalties. The French company would be known as La
Compagnie Générale de Navigation Aérienne. A member of the syndicate
was M. Deutsch de la Meurthe who had taken steps toward forming a
French company some time previously.

[Illustration: THE WRIGHTS AND WILBUR’S FRENCH PUPILS. Left to right,
Captain Lucas-Girardville, Comte Charles de Lambert, Orville Wright,
Wilbur Wright, and Paul Tissandier, at Pau, France, early in 1909.]

One provision of the U. S. War Department contract was that the
Government could deduct ten per cent of the purchase price for each
mile per hour that the machine fell short of the forty-mile goal. That
is, if it went only thirty-nine miles an hour, the Wrights would be
docked ten per cent; if only thirty-eight miles, another ten per cent,
and so on. If the machine did not do at least thirty-six miles an hour,
then the Government didn’t have to accept it at all. On the other hand,
the Wrights would receive a ten per cent bonus for each mile per hour
they attained above forty.

It was the intention of the Signal Corps, and the Wrights so understood
it, that these reduced or additional payments would be for either a
mile or a fraction of a mile. But a Government legal department made a
surprising interpretation of that part of the contract. If at the time
of the tests the plane went 40-99/100 miles, the Wrights would not be
paid for more than 40; but if the plane fell short of 40 miles an hour
by only 1/100 of a mile, or even less, then they would be docked for a
full mile.

(Orville did not learn of that astounding example of the legal mind
at work until after he arrived at Washington to prepare for the tests
and it was then too late to build a faster plane. But in the final
tests the next year, he had a plane that he knew would give the buyer
no opportunity to take advantage of what he regarded as a one-sided
interpretation of the contract.)

Though the Wrights had done no flying since October, 1905, they had
done much work on improving both plane and engine. Their newest engine,
capable of producing about thirty-five horsepower continuously, was
also so much better as to reliability that now long flights could be
made without danger of failure of the motive power.

During all their experiments at the Huffman pasture they had continued
to ride “belly-buster,” as a boy usually does when coasting on a
sled. Lying flat in that way and controlling the mechanism partly by
swinging the hips from one side to the other was good enough for the
experimental stages of aviation; but the Wrights knew that if a plane
was to have practical use the pilot must be able to take an ordinary
sitting position and do the controlling and guiding with his hands and
feet as in an automobile. It was not all fun lying flat for an hour at
a time with head raised to be on the lookout for possible obstacles. “I
used to think,” said Orville in later years, “the back of my neck would
break if I endured one more turn around the field.”

The brothers therefore had adopted a different arrangement of the
control levers, for use in a sitting position, and a seat for a
passenger. Moreover, the machine could be steered from either seat and
thus was suitable for training other pilots if occasion should arise.
The plane sent to France for possible trials in 1907 was thus equipped.
They revamped the machine they had used at the Huffman pasture in
1905, and installed their later improvements. It now had an engine
with vertical instead of horizontal cylinders. With this machine they
would go to Kitty Hawk and gain needed practice in handling their new
arrangement of the control levers.

The United States Government tests would be made at Fort Myer,
Virginia, near Washington. Delivery of the machine had to be made by
August 28, and the tests themselves were to begin shortly afterward, in
September. But at about that same time, one of the brothers would make
a demonstration in France. They had not yet decided which of them would
fly at Fort Myer and which should go to France. But both had to be well
prepared and there was no time to lose. They must be established at
Kitty Hawk as soon as possible.

Wilbur Wright set out for Kitty Hawk ahead of Orville and arrived there
April 9, 1908. He was joined within a week by a mechanic from Dayton,
Charles W. Furnas. First of all, it was necessary to do much rebuilding
of the camp. The buildings had not only suffered from storms, but
had been stripped of much timber by persons who supposed the Wrights
had permanently abandoned them. The plane was shipped in crates from
Dayton April 11, but had to be left for some time in a freight depot at
Elizabeth City until the new shed was completed at Kitty Hawk. Both
Orville and the plane reached there on April 25.

It might have been expected that with at least two governments now
showing interest in the Wright plane, each of the brothers would
have been besieged en route by reporters and others. But the general
public, including reporters, still seemed disinclined to believe in
human flight. At about the same time that the Wrights were preparing
to go to Kitty Hawk, a publisher brought out a new novel by H. G.
Wells, _Tono-Bungay_, in which the leading character built a gliding
machine “along the lines of the Wright brothers’ airplane,” and finally
a flying-machine. That stirred one or two American book reviewers
to chide the author for putting such fantastic material into a tale
otherwise plausible.

Because of the persistence of that kind of incredulity, the Wrights
did not expect many sightseers, least of all newspapermen, at Kitty
Hawk during their preparations for government tests. Therefore they
did not think it necessary to keep their plans secret. Though they
weren’t seeking reporters, neither were they trying to avoid them. They
simply went ahead without giving any thought to newspapermen one way or
another. But the Wrights were about to be discovered.

Not until May 6 did either of the brothers make a flight. But the
newspapers, instead of ignoring what the Wrights had done, now began
to report what they had _not_ done. On May 1, the _Virginian-Pilot_,
of Norfolk (the same paper that had reported, not too accurately,
the first flight of an airplane), carried a wild tale that one of
the Wright brothers had flown, the day before, ten miles out over
the ocean! Practically the same story was widely published the next
day. Katharine Wright on May 2 telegraphed her brothers that “the
newspapers” had reported a flight. As the Wrights later learned, the
_B. Z. Mittag_, in Berlin, carried a dispatch from Paris: “From America
comes the news that the Wright brothers for the first time have made
in public a controlled flight. The flight was made on April 30, at
Norfolk, Va., before a U. S. Government Commission.”

That same story must have reached London, for the Wrights received a
cablegram from Patrick Alexander: “Very hearty congratulations.”

Joseph Dosher, who had been the Weather Bureau man at Kitty Hawk in
1903, but was now stationed 30 miles north of Kitty Hawk, telephoned to
the Kill Devil life-saving crew, on May 2, seeking information about
the Wrights, presumably at the request of some newspaper. That same
day, the Greensboro (N. C.) _News_ published a telegram from Elizabeth
City, dated May 1, saying that the Wright brothers “of airship fame”
were at Nag’s Head with their “famous flying-machine.”

On May 1, the New York _Herald_ had wired to the Weather Bureau
operator at Manteo, on Roanoke Island, for information. And on May
2, the _Herald_ published an item with a Norfolk date line, that the
Wrights were reported to have flown “over the ocean.” This dispatch
appeared also in the _Herald’s_ Paris edition. Just below the report
in the Paris edition was an editorial comment that if the Wrights
had actually flown two miles, then they had broken the records of
Delagrange and Farman in France. The _Herald_ editor evidently was
still unaware that long before Delagrange, Farman, or other Wright
copyists abroad had even left the ground in flight, the Wright brothers
had flown twenty-four miles.

Inasmuch as the Wrights had not yet begun their flights of 1908, it
was not easy for the New York _Herald_ to obtain confirmation or more
details about the imaginary flight out over the ocean. No regularly
employed newspaperman at Norfolk wanted to go to Kitty Hawk on what
might be a wild goose chase. But D. Bruce Salley, a free lance reporter
at Norfolk, was willing to make the trip.

Salley reached Manteo on May 4, and the Wright brothers’ records show
that he came to their camp the next day. He told the brothers he had
been asked by a New York paper to investigate the story of their flight
over the ocean. The day after Salley’s visit, the Wrights did make
their first flight of the season, and though Salley did not see it,
he learned about it by phone from one of the men at the Kill Devil
life-saving station. His informant told him that one of the Wrights had
flown at least 1,000 feet, at about sixty feet above the ground.

Salley immediately sent a query from Manteo, giving briefly the gist
of the story, to a list of papers he hoped would be interested. Most
of the papers ignored the message; but the telegraph editor of the
Cleveland (Ohio) _Leader_ not only wasn’t interested but was indignant
that his intelligence should be insulted by the offer of so improbable
a tale. He declined to pay the telegraph toll for the short message,
even though at the night press rate of only one-third of a cent a
word the cost could hardly have been more than a dime. His only reply
to Salley was an admonition to “cut out the wild-cat stuff.” Salley,
now equally indignant, wired back offering to give names of well-known
persons who could testify to his reliability; but the Cleveland editor
paid no further attention.

When Salley’s query reached the office of the New York _Herald_, it put
the editors in a quandary. Though they had printed the brief report
about a flight that hadn’t occurred, now they were beginning to wonder
if all the reports about the Wrights weren’t fakes. Yet they knew
that the owner of the paper, James Gordon Bennett, living in Paris,
would almost certainly discharge any editor responsible for omitting
the story if it _were_ true. They decided, with misgivings, to print
the story and it appeared the next morning on the first page of the
_Herald_, though not in the most prominent position.

Then the editors determined to send a staff man to Kitty Hawk for the
facts. They picked for this job their star reporter, brilliant, lovable
Byron R. Newton--later to become Assistant Secretary of the Treasury,
and afterward Collector of Customs in New York--one of the ablest
newspapermen of his time. If the Wrights proved to be fakers no one
could do a better job than “By” Newton at exposing them.

Other editors, too, decided that the time had come to get the “lowdown”
on the Wright brothers. By the time Newton reached the little boarding
place, the Tranquil House, in Manteo, he had been joined by two other
correspondents: William Hosier, of the New York _American_, and P. H.
McGowan, of the London _Daily Mail_. The next day two others arrived:
Arthur Ruhl, writer, and James H. Hare, photographer, for _Collier’s
Weekly_.

The newly arrived correspondents, noting the desolate isolation of
Kitty Hawk, thought it probable enough that the Wrights must prefer to
be let alone. Perhaps, they thought, if intruders came, the Wrights
wouldn’t fly at all. They decided that if the Wrights were secretive,
they themselves would be no less so. They would hide in the pine woods,
as near as possible to the Wright camp, and observe with field glasses
what happened. That meant a short walk to a wharf on Roanoke Island,
five miles by sailing boat to Haman’s Bay, across the sound, and then
a walk of a mile or so over the sand to the place where they should
secrete themselves. They made a dicker with a boatman to take them all
back and forth each day and act as their guide. Provided with food and
water, field glasses, and cameras, they set out about 4 o’clock each
morning from May 11 to May 14 to keep their vigil. Hour after hour they
fought mosquitoes and woodticks and sometimes were drenched by rain.
But to their astonishment they several times witnessed human flight.

The first flight any of them witnessed was early in the morning of May
11. “For some minutes,” wrote Newton, “the propeller blades continued
to flash in the sun, and then the machine rose obliquely into the air.
At first it came directly toward us, so that we could not tell how fast
it was going except that it appeared to increase rapidly in size as
it approached. In the excitement of this first flight, men trained to
observe details under all sorts of distractions forgot their cameras,
forgot their watches, forgot everything but this aerial monster
chattering over our heads.”

However, “Jimmy” Hare got a good photograph of that flight.

On May 14, the correspondents saw what no person on earth had ever seen
before--a flying-machine under complete control carrying _two_ men.
First Wilbur made a short flight with Charles W. Furnas as passenger,
and then Orville flew with Furnas for nearly three minutes.

Newton predicted in his diary just after that: “Some day Congress will
erect a monument here to these Wrights.”[11]

The last flight on May 14, made by Wilbur Wright, ended in an accident.
Wilbur had pulled a wrong lever. Repairs would have taken a week, and
as the time the brothers could spare had elapsed, the experiments
stopped. But after removing the engine and other machinery for shipment
to Dayton, the Wrights left the plane in the shed at Kitty Hawk,
thinking they might return. The ending of these trials brought no grief
to the correspondents who had been getting up before daylight each
morning, and returning to Manteo late each afternoon, footsore and
tired, with their dispatches still to be written.

One night’s dispatches had brought unexpected trouble for “By” Newton.
Though his report had been filed ahead of McGowan’s, in plenty of time
to be relayed from his paper’s New York office to Paris and appear
in the next morning’s issue of the Paris edition, a needless delay
occurred in New York. In consequence, Newton, through no fault of his
own, was “scooped” by McGowan the next day in the continental edition
of the London _Daily Mail_. When James Gordon Bennett, proprietor of
the New York _Herald_, observed that his Paris _Herald_ failed to have
any account of the sensational flights at Kitty Hawk the day before,
as reported in the rival _Daily Mail_, he was furious. During the two
seasons when the Wrights had flown a total of 160 miles at Huffman
prairie, Bennett, with scores of reporters at his disposal, had failed
to learn the truth of what the Wrights had done. But now when he
thought a reporter had missed a story about them, he did not wait to
make inquiries but promptly sent a cable to New York ordering Newton
suspended from the staff. Under Bennett’s way of conducting his papers,
suspension usually was a preliminary to permanent discharge.

Though he was reinstated after he had sent to Bennett a review of the
facts, along with some affidavits, Newton, all the rest of his life,
felt a grievance against Bennett and the _Herald_.

Incidentally, McGowan’s “scoop” in the continental edition of the
_Daily Mail_ which had so disturbed Bennett, was not accepted as truth
by everyone who read it. Charles A. Bertrand, in one of the Paris
papers, May 15, published this comment: “He [McGowan] depicts the
flight in a manner that does honor to his imagination. If the Wrights
hadn’t been seen in Europe, one would be justified in believing their
very existence as uncertain as their apparatus.”

During the several days the correspondents were at Kitty Hawk, the
Wrights knew they were being observed. From time to time they caught
glimpses of men’s heads over the hilltop in the distance. Moreover,
they heard each day, from members of a life-saving crew, just how many
visitors had come. But they simply thought it was a good joke on the
mysterious observers, whoever they were.

Arthur Ruhl, of _Collier’s_, had met the Wrights in Dayton about a year
before. On May 14, before the final flight, he came over to the camp.
But he said nothing about being a member of the group that had been
observing the flights.

The Wrights invited Ruhl to stay for lunch. But he declined. He seemed
to the Wrights ill at ease and anxious to get away. At a meeting with
him some time afterward they learned why. He had come against the
wishes of the other correspondents and was afraid he might give away
the fact that they were in the near-by woods.

On May 15, the day after the crash, when it was evident that there
would be no more flights, McGowan, of the _Daily Mail_, went to the
camp, accompanied by still another correspondent who had just arrived,
Gilson Gardner, of the Washington office of the Newspaper Enterprise
Association. McGowan remarked that he had once visited Octave Chanute’s
camp at Dune Park, near Chicago, in 1897 for the Chicago _Tribune_.
Another visitor at the camp, a day or two before that, was a young man
named J. C. Burkhardt, dressed in a brand-new outfit of hunting togs.
He was a college boy who had come all the way from Ithaca just to
satisfy his curiosity.

“What would you have done,” Orville Wright was asked, afterward, “if
all those correspondents had come right to your camp each day and sat
there to watch you?”

“We’d have had to go ahead just as if they weren’t there,” he replied.
“We couldn’t have delayed our work. There was too much to do and our
time was short.”

That the Wrights would have treated the correspondents politely
enough was indicated in a letter from Orville Wright to Byron Newton,
dated June 7, 1908. Immediately after his return to New York, Newton
had written graciously to the Wrights, enclosing clippings of his
dispatches to the _Herald_, and expressing his admiration for them and
their achievements.

“We were aware of the presence of newspapermen in the woods,” wrote
Orville in reply; “at least we had often been told that they were
there. Their presence, however, did not bother us in the least, and I
am only sorry that you did not come over to see us at our camp. The
display of a white flag would have disposed of the rifles and shotguns
with which the machine is reported to have been guarded.”

After publication of many dispatches from these eyewitnesses at Kitty
Hawk and front page headlines, it might have been expected that the
fact of human flight would now be generally accepted. As Newton had
written to his paper, there was “no longer any ground for questioning
the performance of these men and their wonderful machine.” Ruhl in
_Collier’s_ had told how the correspondents had informed the world
that “it was all right, the rumors true--that man could fly.” Yet even
such reports by leading journalists still did not convince the general
public. People began to concede that perhaps there _might_ be something
in it, but many newspapers still did not publish the news. When Newton
sent an article, some weeks later, on what he had seen at Kitty Hawk,
to a leading magazine, it came back to him with the editor’s comment:
“While your manuscript has been read with much interest, it does not
seem to qualify either as fact or fiction.”



XIV

END OF DISBELIEF


The Wrights decided that Wilbur should go to France to make the
demonstrations there. Orville would stay in America to build the
machine for the United States Government and test it at Fort Myer, near
Washington. Wilbur did not return to Dayton from Kitty Hawk but went to
New York where he sailed for Europe on May 21.

Orville arrived at Fort Myer in August. Two mechanics, Taylor and
Furnas, who were to assist him, had reached there a few days earlier.
Army officers designated a shed on the Fort Myer grounds for use in
assembling and housing the plane.

Orville’s first flight was on September 3, 1908. He went from the
Cosmos Club, where he was staying, to Fort Myer by street car. It is
doubtful if any of the others on that car suspected that this fellow
passenger was on his way to perform a miracle. When he reached Fort
Myer, Orville got the impression that not all the Army officers present
thought he would succeed in meeting the tests required by the contract.
The area from which the flights would be made was only about 700 by
1,000 feet. Neither of the Wrights had ever before made flights within
so small a space.

Considering that this was an opportunity to see the outstanding
wonder of the century, the crowd that strung about the parade ground
was small. Theodore Roosevelt, Jr., estimated it for his father, then
President, at less than one thousand. Indeed, it was probably much less
than that.

Orville circled the field one and one-half times on that first test and
was in the air only one minute, eleven seconds; but the crowd “went
crazy.” “When the plane first rose,” said Roosevelt, Jr., in describing
the event, years afterward, “the crowd’s gasp of astonishment was not
alone at the wonder of it, but because it was so unexpected. I’ll never
forget the impression the sound from the crowd made on me. It was a
sound of complete surprise.”

When he landed after this flight it was Orville’s turn to be
astonished. Three or four supposedly “hard-boiled” newspapermen who
rushed up to interview him had been so stirred by witnessing the
“impossible” that each of them had tears streaming down his cheeks.

(Those who witnessed this flight might have been prepared for what
they saw and less surprised, since Wilbur Wright for more than a month
had been making flights in France--told about in a later chapter--and
some of these were reported in the newspapers. But the brief newspaper
accounts of Wilbur’s flights seldom if ever had first page display and
were not treated as important news. On August 9, the day after Wilbur’s
first flight, the New York _Times_ had no mention of the event, though
it gave first page space to a dispatch from Canton, Ohio, about a
balloon trip, and to a dispatch from Berlin about the German Kaiser
contributing to a fund for building another Zeppelin airship.)

Nor did newspapers show too much excitement about this great public
demonstration of practical aviation. It was not considered front page
news even by Washington papers. The New York _World_ account was on
page five and most of the report was not about the wonder of the
flying-machine, but about the behavior of the crowd, described as in
fear of being hit by what the _World_ called “the vessel.”

Many thousands were present on the second day of the tests when Orville
flew about three miles in four minutes, fifteen seconds. After one of
these flights, a reporter, it was said, got in touch with Professor
Simon Newcomb who, a few years before, had so irrefutably explained why
flying was impossible. The reporter wanted to know if Professor Newcomb
thought passenger planes would be the next step.

“No,” Newcomb was reported to have replied, “because no plane could
ever carry the weight of anyone besides the pilot.” It might have been
expected that by this time Professor Newcomb would have become more
cautious!

Orville made a short flight on September 7, and two flights the next
day; one of eleven minutes, ten seconds; the other of seven minutes,
thirty-four seconds. On the morning of September 9, he circled the
field fifty-seven times in fifty-seven minutes, twenty-five seconds.
Later in the day, he circled the field fifty-five times in one hour,
two and one-quarter minutes. Then he surprised and delighted his
friend, Lieutenant Frank P. Lahm, by inviting him to go with him for
a flight. They were in the air six minutes, twenty-four seconds, and
circled the field six and one-half times. All three of these flights
on the ninth established new world endurance records; two of them for
flights with pilot alone, and the third for pilot with passenger.
Orville made a flight of one hour, five minutes, fifty-two seconds on
September 10, rising to a height of 200 feet and exceeding the world
endurance record made by himself the day before. On the next day he
again broke the one-man endurance record by flying for one hour, ten
minutes, and twenty-four seconds, while circling the field fifty-seven
times and describing two figure eights. On the twelfth, he increased
the two-man endurance record by taking with him Major George O. Squier,
Acting Chief Signal Officer, for a flight of nine minutes, six seconds.
Immediately after that, Orville made a flight alone. He circled the
field seventy-one times in one hour and fifteen minutes--again breaking
the endurance record for one-man flight. It was estimated that he
reached a height of 300 feet.

The next and final flight, September 17, ended in tragedy. Lieutenant
Thomas Selfridge, a twenty-six-year-old West Point graduate, from
San Francisco, had been assigned at his own request to go along as
passenger. Before they had been in the air more than three or four
minutes, and while in the fourth round at a height of about 125 feet
over the field, Orville heard, or felt, a light tapping in the rear
part of the machine. He thought it was in the chain drive. A hurried
glance revealed nothing wrong there; but he decided to shut off the
power and descend. Hardly had he reached this decision when two big
thumps, which shook the machine violently, followed by the machine
swerving to the right, showed that something had gone wrong. He
immediately shut off the motor. Directly ahead was a gulley filled with
small trees, a dangerous landing spot. He decided on a half-circle
to the left, to land on the parade grounds, and it was then that he
discovered that the tail was inoperative. By twisting the wings to
give the greatest possible resistance to the left one, he did succeed
in turning the machine until it faced directly into the field. In this
maneuver the machine had descended about one-third of the way toward
the ground without any indication of serious trouble. Orville moved the
lever to straighten the wing tips, to proceed straight ahead. Then the
machine suddenly turned down in front. For fifty feet it was headed
almost directly toward the ground, although the front elevator was
turned to its limit. When about twenty-five feet from the ground the
machine began to right itself, and if there had been another twenty
feet to go, or possibly even ten feet, it might have landed safely.

But the recovery of control came too late. The machine hit the ground
with such impact that Lieutenant Selfridge was fatally injured and
died a few hours later. His skull had been fractured by a blow against
one of the wooden uprights of the framework. Orville, though at first
believed to be perhaps fatally hurt, had miraculously escaped with what
then appeared to be only a fractured left leg and four broken ribs. He
never lost consciousness and his first concern was about Selfridge.
(Not until twelve years later, after suffering severe pains, did
Orville learn, from a careful X-ray examination in a famous medical
clinic, that the Fort Myer accident had also caused three fractures in
the hip bones, besides a dislocation of one of them.)

Now that an airplane passenger had been killed, the Fort Myer
demonstrations at last reached the front pages of newspapers.

The day after the accident, the mechanics, Taylor and Fumas, brought
the broken propeller and some of the other broken parts to Orville’s
bedside. From these parts he was able to determine the cause of the
accident. A new pair of propellers, several inches longer than any
previously used, had been installed just before the flight. The trouble
started when a longitudinal crack developed in one blade of the right
propeller. This crack permitted the blade to flatten and lose much of
its thrust, with the result that the pressures on the two blades became
unequal, causing a severe vibration of the propeller shaft housing. The
vibration loosened one of the stay wires that held in position the tube
in which the propeller shaft turned. Then the propeller began to swing
sidewise and forward until a blade hit and tore loose the stay wire
to the vertical tail, permitting the tail to take a nearly horizontal
position. A pressure on the tail’s underside lifted the rear of the
machine, thus causing it to dart for the ground.

While Orville was recovering from his injuries, an acquaintance, C. H.
Claudy, visited him and asked:

“Has it got your nerve?”

“Nerve?” repeated Orville, not quite understanding. “Oh, you mean will
I be _afraid_ to fly again? The only thing I’m afraid of is that I
can’t get well soon enough to finish those tests next year.”

The cost had been high, but one result of those incomplete tests was
that widespread incredulity in the United States about the Wrights’
achievements now finally ceased. At last, everyone, including even
the most skeptical scientists, was convinced that a practical
flying-machine was a reality.



XV

WHEN WILBUR WRIGHT WON FRANCE


Wilbur Wright reached France in May, 1908, to fly the Wright machine
that for a year had been in its crate at the customs warehouse in
Le Havre. If he accomplished what he expected, final details of the
Wrights’ business arrangement with the recently formed French syndicate
would be carried out.

As during the previous stay, when both the Wright brothers were
in Europe, Wilbur kept in close touch with Hart O. Berg, European
associate of Charles R. Flint & Co., the Wrights’ business
representatives in all except the English-speaking countries. One of
the first questions to be settled was where the actual demonstration of
the Wright plane should take place. Naturally, there were not yet any
areas in Europe designated as flying fields.

The locality for the flights was determined in consequence of the
courtesies of Léon Bollée, an automobile manufacturer, who had a
factory at Le Mans, about 125 miles from Paris.[12] When Bollée learned
that Wilbur Wright was in France and looking for a suitable field, he
sent a message to Wilbur suggesting that a satisfactory place could
doubtless be found near Le Mans where there was a great stretch of
level country. He added that Wilbur would be welcome to use a wing of
the Bollée factory for assembling his plane. Wilbur Wright and Hart O.
Berg took a train to Le Mans where they spent several hours “looking
for a good pasture.” The most nearly ideal field for their purpose was
a large open area at Auvours, about five miles from Le Mans, used by
the French war department for testing artillery; but it was not then
available. Another place they noticed was the Hunaudières race track.
The oval field within the track appeared to be large enough for their
needs. There were a few trees, but Wilbur said he could easily steer
clear of them. The next day, in Paris, M. Nicolai, president of the
Jockey Club and principal owner of the Hunaudières race track, agreed
to the use of the field, at a monthly rental, for as long as needed.

Now the crated Wright plane was shipped from Le Havre to the Bollée
factory and, late in June, Wilbur set to work there. He assembled the
working parts and put the motor and cooling system to a series of
rigid tests. On July 4 Wilbur met with a painful accident. A rubber
connection in the cooling system burst and he was badly scalded on his
left arm by hot water. This was one of several unavoidable delays that
made many skeptics think it would be a long time before Wilbur would
attempt a public demonstration. One Paris newspaper said: “_Le bluff
continue_.” Wilbur had been quoted as saying that the tests would be
“child’s play,” and “_jeu d’enfant_” was often repeated, with sarcasm,
by the incredulous.

Painful as his burns were, Wilbur saw a funny side to the accident and
sent home a hilarious letter about the French doctor who came “with a
keg of oil” to apply to the blisters.

Shortly afterward, Wilbur wanted a coiled wire spring to insert in a
hose used in the cooling system, to prevent the hose from collapsing
from suction. A French mechanic who had been assisting him went with
him to a near-by factory to have the coil made. Not knowing any French,
Wilbur could not follow the long conversation he overheard, but they
came away without the coil. It seemed strange to Wilbur that the kind
of wire needed should not have been easily obtainable and he spoke of
this to the man who had been his interpreter.

But, said the Frenchman, the wire _was_ available.

“Then,” asked Wilbur, in surprise, “why didn’t we get it?”

Oh, explained the Frenchman, because when he and the man at the factory
talked it over it didn’t seem to them that using a coiled wire spring
in the way Wilbur had in mind was a sound idea!

While working on his machine at the Bollée factory, Wilbur did
something, probably just because it seemed the natural thing to do,
with no thought of the impression it would make, that delighted the
hearts of the factory employees. He kept the same hours that the others
did and his whole behavior was as if he were simply one more workman.
When the whistle blew for the noon hour, he knocked off along with
the others, and went, in overalls, to lunch. This lack of any sign of
aloofness caused much favorable comment.

Wilbur’s greatest admirer, however, was Léon Bollée himself. Though
they had no common language, they managed to exchange ideas and formed
a warm friendship. Bollée, a jolly rotund man with a saucy little
beard, was ever ready to be of any service. Incidentally, though Bollée
had no thought of personal gain when he generously offered the use of
space in his factory, the fact that Wilbur worked on his plane there
did not hurt the sale of Bollée cars.

But the work was soon transferred from the Bollée factory to the field
at Hunaudières where a hastily constructed hangar had been built.
Another item of preparation was the setting up of a launching derrick,
similar to the one the Wrights had first used in their experiments
at the Huffman pasture. Huge weights were attached at one end of a
rope which ran over pulleys and had a metal ring at the other end to
be caught on a hook at the front of the plane. When the plane shot
forward, the rope automatically dropped away. As at previous trials,
the plane when ready to take off rested on a small truck having two
flanged wheels that ran on a single-rail, iron-shod, wooden track,
about sixty feet long.

Not until August 8, did Wilbur attempt his first flight. A good-sized
crowd was present, the majority from Le Mans and the near-by
countryside, but it included many members of the Aéro Club of France
and various newspaper representatives from Paris.

In describing the scene, years afterward, Hart O. Berg said: “Wilbur
Wright’s quiet self-confidence was reassuring. One thing that, to me at
least, made his appearance all the more dramatic, was that he was not
dressed as if about to do something daring or unusual. He, of course,
had no special pilot’s helmet or jacket, since no such garb yet
existed, but appeared in the ordinary gray suit he usually wore, and
a cap. And he had on, as he nearly always did when not in overalls, a
high, starched collar.”

At least one man among the spectators felt certain the flight would not
be a success. That was M. Archdeacon, prominent in the Aéro Club. So
sure was M. Archdeacon that Wilbur Wright would be deflated that, as
the time set for the flight approached, he was explaining to those near
him in the grandstand just what was “wrong” about the design of the
Wright machine, and why it could not be expected to fly well.

Wilbur’s immediate preparations had been made with great care. First
of all, the starting rail had been set precisely in the direction of
and against the wind. The engine was started by two men, each pulling
down a blade of the two propellers and the plane was held back by a
wire attached to a hook and releasing trigger near the pilot’s seat.
After the engine was warmed up, Fleury, Berg’s chauffeur, took hold of
the right wing. Wilbur released the trigger and the plane was pulled
forward by the falling weights. Fleury kept it in balance until the
accelerating speed left him behind. By the time it had reached the end
of the rail, the plane left the track with enough speed to sustain
itself and climb.

At some distance, directly in front of Wilbur as he started to rise,
were tall trees, but they gave him no concern. He bore off easily to
the left and went ahead in a curve that brought him back almost over
the starting point. Then he swung to the right and made another great
turn. Most of the time he was thirty or thirty-five feet above the
ground. He was in the air only one minute and forty-five seconds, but
he had made history.

The crowd knew well they had “seen something” and behaved accordingly.
In the excited babel of voices one or two phrases could be heard again
and again. “_Cet homme a conquis l’air!_” “_Il n’est pas bluffeur!_”
Yes, truly Wilbur had conquered the air, and he was no bluffer. That
American word “bluffer” had been much used during the time that
reports from the United States about the Wrights had been stirring
controversy in France. Now “_bluffeur_” became, more than ever, a part
of the French language. “To think that one would call the Wrights
‘_bluffeurs_’!” lamented the French press over and over again.

For the next few minutes after Wilbur landed, Berg was kept busy
laughingly warding off agitated Frenchmen who sought to bestow a formal
accolade by kissing Wilbur in the French manner on both cheeks. He
suspected that Wilbur might consider that carrying enthusiasm too far.

One of the skeptical members of the Aéro Club, Edouard Surcouf, a
balloonist, had arrived at the field late, barely in time to see Wilbur
in the air. Now he was about the most enthusiastic of all. He rushed
up to Berg, exclaiming: “_C’est le plus grand erreur du siècle!_”
Disbelieving the claims of the Wrights may not have been the biggest
error of the century, but obviously it _had_ at least been a mistake.

The only person who offered criticism or minimized the brilliance
of his feat was Wilbur Wright. When asked by a reporter for the
Paris edition of the New York _Herald_ if he was satisfied with the
exhibition, he replied, according to that paper: “Not altogether. When
in the air I made no less than ten mistakes owing to the fact that I
have been laying off from flying so long; but I corrected them rapidly,
so I don’t suppose anyone watching really knew I had made any mistake
at all. I was very pleased at the way my first flight in France was
received.”

A crowd of Aéro Club members and other admirers were insistent that
Wilbur should go back to Paris with them to celebrate the achievement
at the best dinner to be obtained in that center of inspired cooking.
But Wilbur just thanked them and said he wished to give his machine a
little going over. Early that evening, so the newspapers reported, “he
was asleep at the side of his creation.”

The French press the next day not only treated the flight as the
biggest news, but was unsparing in its praise, as were various rivals
in the field of aviation who were quoted. All admitted that there was
a world of difference between the best French plane yet produced and
the one Wilbur Wright had just demonstrated. The _Figaro_ said: “It was
not merely a success but a triumph; a conclusive trial and a decisive
victory for aviation, the news of which will revolutionize scientific
circles throughout the world.” _Le Journal_ observed that: “It was the
first trial of the Wright airplane, whose qualities have long been
regarded with doubt, and it was perfect.”

Louis Bleriot, member of the Aéro Club, wealthy manufacturer of
automobile headlights, and himself a flyer, was quoted in _Le Matin_
as saying: “The Wright machine is indeed superior to our airplanes.”

As early as May, 1908, when the Wrights were still at Kitty Hawk, the
Frenchman, Henri Farman, had issued a challenge to them to participate
in a flying contest, for $5,000--later raised to $10,000. But the
challenge, made only in public prints, was never sent directly to
the Wrights. It may have been simply what today would be called a
“publicity stunt.” (Farman’s best straightaway flight of about a mile
and a quarter had been made at Issy, France, on March 21, 1908.)
Nothing more was heard of the Farman challenge now. A French paper
commented that the Farman plane and also that of Léon Delagrange were
approximate copies of the Wright plane but that the Wright machine
“seems more solid, more controllable, and more scientific.”

Two days after that first demonstration, on August 10, Wilbur made
two more short flights, the first one a figure eight, and the other,
three complete circles. He flew on August 11 for 3 minutes 43 seconds;
the next day, 6 minutes 56 seconds; and on August 13, 8 minutes 13.2
seconds. This time he did seven wide “_orbes_,” as the French described
them. In landing that day Wilbur broke the left wing of his plane
and repairs kept him from flying until August 21. He took time out
on August 24 to attend an agricultural fair where reporters observed
that he seemed much interested in pigs and cattle and, as one paper
expressed it, “talked much more freely about them than about aviation.”

After those first few flights, the army officer in charge of the
artillery testing grounds at Auvours let it be known that the military
people at Paris would be proud to have Wilbur Wright’s further
demonstrations carried on there. As the military field was larger
than that at Hunaudières, Wilbur was glad to make the change. The
Hunaudières hangar--which Wilbur persisted in calling the “shed”--was
torn down and rebuilt within twenty-four hours at Auvours. As the two
fields were only about ten miles apart, Wilbur could have flown the
plane to the new location; but with so much at stake he was taking no
chances. The plane was placed longitudinally on two wheels fastened
behind Léon Bollée’s automobile and towed to the Auvours field without
removing the wings. Within a month after setting up operations at
Auvours, Wilbur was flying many times the distance between the two
fields.

All parts of France were now flooded with souvenir post cards bearing
pictures of Wilbur or of his plane in flight. And the French people
gave him all the hero-worship of which they were capable. There was
talk of a public subscription for a testimonial to him. When the French
ambassador to the United States reached New York a short time later he
declared that Wilbur Wright was accepted as the biggest man in France.
It wasn’t alone his achievements in the air that won the people, but
also his modesty, decency, and intelligence. The French papers made
enthusiastic comment on the fact that in conversation he seemed to be
exceptionally well informed not only about scientific work, but also on
art, literature, medicine, and affairs of the world.

Newspapermen liked Wilbur because he always made it plain that they
were welcome. They probably liked him all the more because, as a joke,
he usually put them at manual work, to fetch tools, or help drag the
plane in and out of the hangar.

Those who had access to the hangar were impressed by the orderliness of
the place. Wilbur’s canvas cot was hauled up by ropes toward the roof
during the day, and the space where he slept was divided from another
section of the building by a low partition made of wood from packing
cases. Wilbur explained that one room was his bedroom, the other his
dining-room. Another trait that appealed to the French was Wilbur’s
punctuality at all appointments. No one ever had to wait even a minute
on him.

Nothing Wilbur was overheard to say by French journalists seemed too
trivial to be recorded. One day he said “fine” to an assistant, by
way of commendation, and the next day a Paris paper explained that
Wilbur meant “_C’est beau_.” “Boys, let’s fix these ropes” was promptly
translated as “_Allons, jeunes gens, allez disposer les cordes_.”

Wilbur was flooded with letters of all kinds. Some were from scientists
seeking information, and hundreds came from women who desired to make
his acquaintance. He tried his best to answer all sensible questions
from scientists; the others went into the stove. He was equally
considerate of scientific-minded people--including those who might be
considered rivals in aviation--who came in person. To all who had real
interest he patiently explained any detail of his machine. But he
was capable of quiet sarcasm toward the ill-informed who started to
enlighten him about aerodynamics.

It now became the fashionable thing for Parisians to take a train down
to Le Mans and drive from there to the Champ d’Auvours to see Wilbur
fly. Amusing episodes grew out of that. Since the flights were not
often announced in advance, those who made the sight-seeing trip had
to take their chances. But some of the callers felt almost a personal
affront if Wilbur made no flight on the day they happened to be there.
One American society woman living in Paris was bitterly resentful when
she was told that Monsieur Wright was taking a nap and therefore would
not fly that afternoon. “The idea,” said she, petulantly, “of his being
asleep when I came all the way down here to see him in the air!”

Cabmen at Le Mans found the sudden influx of visitors so profitable
that they tried to make the most of it and encouraged people who had
been disappointed to come again the next day. They would always say:
“He is sure to fly tomorrow. We have it on good authority.”

So grateful to Wilbur were members of the “Le Mans-Auvours Aeroplane
Bus Service” for the profitable trade he had created, that they wanted
to give a banquet in his honor.

News of Wilbur’s flights at Le Mans naturally caused talk in England.
Members of the Aeronautical Society of Great Britain, one after
another, went to Le Mans in doubt about the flights being as wonderful
as reported, but returned convinced that the age of practical
flying-machines had come.

One of the first to go from England to investigate was Griffith
Brewer, who had been making balloon ascensions since 1891. Half
apologetically, lest he be thought over-credulous, he confided to an
old associate of his in ballooning, Charles S. Rolls, founder of the
Rolls-Royce motor car firm, that he was going to France to see Wilbur
Wright fly. Rolls laughed and said he had just returned from seeing him
fly.

On his arrival at Le Mans, Brewer walked to the shed at the edge of the
field. Opposite the shed, in the middle of the field, was Wilbur Wright
tuning up his machine. As a crowd was about Wilbur, Brewer hesitated to
add to it, but sat down by the shed to smoke his pipe. When a mechanic
came from the machine over to the shed for a tool, Brewer handed him a
calling card with the request that he give it to Wilbur Wright. Wilbur
glanced at the card, nodded to Brewer, and went on with his work. There
was no flight, but it was some time before Wilbur returned to the shed;
and as he stayed inside for what seemed a long time, Brewer began to
think there might be an indefinite wait. Then Wilbur came out, putting
on his coat, and said: “Now, Mr. Brewer, we’ll go and have some dinner.”

They went to Madame Pollet’s inn near by for a simple meal and Brewer,
eager though he was to discuss aviation, wondered if the inventor might
not appreciate a rest from the subject of flying. He therefore talked
to him of affairs in America. Wilbur liked that, and they formed a
friendship.

[Illustration: THE OLD AND THE NEW IN TRANSPORTATION. Two views of the
Wright plane in flight at Pau, France, in 1909.]

On September 12, Wilbur was guest of honor at a dinner in Paris given
by the Aéro Club of the Sarthe (the governmental department in which Le
Mans was located). It was understood that he would not be expected
to make a speech, but Baron d’Estournelles, member of the Senate from
Le Mans, who presided, did nevertheless call upon him. Wilbur then,
in justification of his unwillingness to say much, made a remark that
became famous.

[Illustration: DEMONSTRATION AT PAU. Wilbur Wright explaining the
plane’s mechanism to Alfonso XIII of Spain.]

“I know of only one bird, the parrot, that talks,” he was quoted as
saying, “and it can’t fly very high.”

For the first time in France, Wilbur, on September 16, took up a
passenger, a young French balloonist, Ernest Zens.

Two days later, in the early morning of September 18, as he was about
to make a flight, Wilbur got word about the tragic accident at Fort
Myer the day before, when Lieutenant Selfridge was killed and Orville
Wright injured, it was not yet known how seriously.

Within a few hours cables brought word that Orville would recover, and
Wilbur was able to fly again the next day. Two days later, on September
21, he flew about forty miles, in 1 hour 31 minutes 25.4 seconds. News
of that proved to be better medicine for Orville, in Washington, than
anything the attending physician could do.

Many passengers now made short flights with Wilbur. They included, on
October 3, Mr. Dickin, of the Paris edition of the New York _Herald_,
and Franz Reichel, of the Paris _Figaro_. Reichel was so enthusiastic
over his flight of nearly an hour, that on landing he threw his arms
about Wilbur.

Léon Bollée had his first flight on October 5, and the next day Arnold
Fordyce flew with Wilbur for 1 hour 4 minutes and 26 seconds, the
longest flight yet made in an airplane with a passenger.

Now that Wilbur was carrying much weight and on longer flights, the
Paris edition of the New York _Herald_ became impressed with future
possibilities for carrying mail by plane. It predicted that the time
might come when there would be special stamps for “aeroplane delivery.”

A witness to several of these flights in early October was Major B. F.
S. Baden-Powell, President of the Aeronautical Society of Great Britain
(and a brother of the founder of the Boy Scouts). He was so impressed
by what he saw that he sounded a warning to his fellow countrymen.
Major Baden-Powell was quoted as follows in the Paris edition of the
New York _Herald_ on October 6, 1908:

    If only some of our people in England could see or imagine
    what Mr. Wright is now doing I am certain it would give them a
    terrible shock. A conquest of the air by any nation means more
    than the average man is willing to admit or even think about.
    That Wilbur Wright is in possession of a power which controls
    the fate of nations is beyond dispute.

Hart O. Berg, on October 7, went for a flight, his first, lasting three
minutes and twenty-four seconds. Immediately afterward Wilbur took Mrs.
Berg for a flight, of two minutes, three seconds, the first ever made
anywhere in the world by a woman. (One or two women were reported to
have been in planes that made short hops, but Mrs. Berg was certainly
the first woman to participate in a real flight.)

Berg tied a rope about the lower part of his wife’s skirt to keep it
from blowing. A Paris dressmaker who was among the spectators noted
that Mrs. Berg could hardly walk, after landing, with that rope above
her ankles. There, thought the _couturière_, was a suggestion for
something fashionable. A costume with skirt thus drawn between the
ankles and the knees to make natural locomotion difficult should appeal
to any customers who happened to be both stupid and rich. Thus was born
the “hobble skirt” which, for a short time, was considered “smart.”

The next day, October 8, her royal highness, Margherita, the dowager
queen of Italy, who was touring France, came to see a flight.

“You have let me witness the most astonishing spectacle I have ever
seen,” was her comment to Wilbur Wright.

On that same October 8, Griffith Brewer, making his second visit to Le
Mans, won the distinction of being the first Englishman ever to fly.
He was followed almost immediately by three other British Aeronautical
Society members, C. S. Rolls, F. H. Butler, and Major Baden-Powell.

One of the Englishmen remarked: “How decent it is of Wilbur Wright
never to accept a fee for any of these flights, when there are scores
of persons who would gladly pay hundreds of pounds for the privilege.”

Wilbur continued until the end of the year to take up passengers at
Auvours. Among them, on October 10, was M. Painlevé, of the French
Institute. As they were taking off, M. Painlevé gaily waved his hand
at the crowd and in so doing accidentally pulled a rope overhead
that Wilbur used for stopping the engine. After another start, the
flight lasted one hour, nine minutes, forty-five seconds, and covered
forty-six miles, a world record for both duration and distance for an
airplane carrying two persons. Two other women besides Mrs. Berg had
short flights--Mesdames Léon Bollée and Lazare Weiller. A passenger
on October 24 was Dr. Pirelli, leading tire manufacturer in Italy.
Later, in November, F. S. Lahm, one of the first in Europe to believe
the Wrights had flown, had his first ride in a plane. Among the
distinguished people who made passenger flights were two destined
to die by assassins’ bullets: Paul Doumer, member of the French
parliament, afterward President of France; and Louis Barthou, Minister
of Public Works and Aerial Communications, afterward Premier.

Under the terms of the contract between the Wrights and the newly
formed French company, one of the Wright brothers was to train three
pilots. Wilbur began this training at Auvours. The students were Count
Charles de Lambert, Paul Tissandier, and Captain Lucas de Girardville.
Both Tissandier and de Lambert had made flights as passengers on
September 28, but did not begin their training until later. Captain
Lucas de Girardville went up as a passenger for the first time on
October 12. The first to receive a lesson at piloting was Count de
Lambert on October 28.

The Aéro Club of France had offered a prize of 2,500 francs for an
altitude of twenty-five meters. But there was a “catch” to that offer.
A little clique in the Aéro Club, a bit over-chauvinistic, wanted
a native experimenter to win, and that was why the altitude to be
attained was fairly low. It was stipulated that anyone competing for
the prize must start without use of derrick or catapult. The French
experimenters had wheels on their machines and could get as long a
start as necessary before leaving the ground. But the Wright machine,
designed for the rough, sandy ground at Kitty Hawk, and the somewhat
bumpy Huffman field, still had skids instead of wheels. Thus the rules
for the contest seemed to be aimed to prevent Wilbur Wright from
winning the prize. Members of the Aéro Club of the Sarthe thought their
compatriots in the Aéro Club of France were being unsportsmanlike, and
they offered a prize of 1,000 francs for an altitude record of thirty
meters. Wilbur won it on November 13. In doing so he went three times
as high as required, reaching an altitude of ninety meters. Then Wilbur
decided that he might as well win the prize of the Aéro Club of France,
and do so on their own terms. He arranged for a longer starting track
than usual, and, five days after taking the prize for thirty meters,
he started without the use of derrick or catapult and won the prize
for twenty-five meters. To the delight of his friends in the Aéro Club
of the Sarthe, he purposely did not throw in much altitude for good
measure and went only high enough to clear safely the captive balloon
that showed the height required.

On December 16, Wilbur astounded the spectators by shutting off the
motor at an altitude of about 200 feet and volplaning slowly down. And
on December 18, he flew for 1 hour 54 minutes 53.4 seconds. Later that
same day he won another prize offered by the Aéro Club of the Sarthe
for an altitude of a hundred meters. Wilbur went ten meters higher than
required. This was a new world’s record for altitude. Then on December
31, the last day he ever flew at Auvours, he made what was then an
almost incredible record of staying continuously in the air 2 hours
20 minutes 23.2 seconds. For this feat he won the Michelin award of
$4,000, or 20,000 francs.

As the weather at Le Mans was no longer ideal for flying, it was
necessary to seek a warmer climate, and at the suggestion of Paul
Tissandier, Wilbur decided to go to Pau, a beautiful winter resort city
of 35,000, at the edge of the Pyrenees. The city of Pau provided a
field and a hangar.[13]

At about the same time, Orville Wright, now rapidly recuperating
from his injuries at Fort Myer, arrived in Paris with their sister,
Katharine, for a reunion with Wilbur. Then Wilbur went on down to Pau,
and his brother and sister joined him there a week or two later. En
route to Pau, their train met with an accident near the town of Dax,
in which two persons were killed. The Wrights escaped injury, but
Orville was a bit startled for another reason. When the crash came,
his mattress tipped up on one side at the same time that his watch,
pocketbook and other articles slid off a stand or shelf beside the bed.
His valuables thus got themselves hid beneath the mattress and, until
he chanced to find them, it looked as if he had been robbed.

As at Le Mans, Wilbur lived at the hangar, where he had a French cook
the hospitable Mayor de Lassence, of Pau, had selected. His brother
and sister lived at the Hotel Gassion, not far from the famous old
château where Henry IV was born, and within a short stroll from the
Place near the center of the city that affords what Lamartine has
called the finest land view in all the world. The Wrights were not
long in discovering that life here should be ideal. Wilbur’s French
cook proved to be competent enough at preparing regional and other
choice dishes--though Katharine Wright did not think he had quite
the best technique with a broom for keeping the quarters clean. A
London newspaper photographer gave Orville a photograph of his sister
demonstrating to that Frenchman how to handle a broom.

By coming to Pau the Wrights had unintentionally played a joke on James
Gordon Bennett, owner of the New York _Herald_ and Paris _Herald_.
A few years previously, when Bennett was spending the winter there,
he had a tally-ho party and someone in the party had attracted the
attention of the police. The episode was reported in local newspapers.
Bennett was so indignant that he laid down a rule for both his papers
to say as little as possible about Pau. But now, with Wilbur Wright
flying there, the town could hardly be ignored. Pau date lines were
again frequent in the Bennett papers.

Wilbur did not attempt any new records at Pau, but devoted most of his
time to teaching the young pilots for the French Wright company.

Count Charles de Lambert continued his training, and his wife, almost
equally enthusiastic over aviation, made a passenger flight. Another
woman to make a flight at Pau was Katharine Wright herself. It was her
first trip in a plane, though, as she laughingly remarked, she had
_heard_ plenty about aviation.

An American multi-millionaire from Philadelphia, spending some time at
Pau, announced, with the self-confidence money sometimes gives, that
he intended to make a flight with Wilbur. When told that Wilbur was
not taking up any passengers, he replied: “Oh, I daresay that can be
arranged.”

“I’d like to be around when you do the arranging, just to see how it’s
done,” observed Lord Northcliffe, owner of the London _Daily Mail_,
who had recently arrived and become acquainted with the Wrights. The
American went away without having had his ride.

In February, King Alfonso of Spain came to Pau with his entourage, and
the Wrights were formally presented to him at the field. “An honor and
a pleasure to meet you,” said the king.

Alfonso showed more boyish enthusiasm about the plane than almost
anyone. He was eager to fly, but both his queen and his cabinet had
exacted a promise that he would not. However, he climbed aboard
the plane and sat there for a long time fascinated while Wilbur
painstakingly explained every detail.

A little later, on March 17, still another king arrived. Edward VII of
England came by automobile with his suite from near-by Biarritz. The
presentation of the brothers and their sister was made at the field and
Edward showed his customary graciousness. He did not seek any technical
details about the machine, but was much interested in seeing the
flights themselves and in meeting the Wrights.

It was during the stay of King Edward that Miss Katharine Wright made
her second trip in an airplane.

Other famous personages continued to come to Pau, among them Lord
Arthur Balfour, former Prime Minister of England. Sometimes when Wilbur
was preparing for a flight, visitors would pull on the rope that raised
the weights on the launching derrick. Balfour insisted that he must
not be denied this privilege of “taking part in a miracle” and did his
share of yanking at the rope. Another man who shared in handling the
rope that day was a young English duke.

“I’m so glad that young man is helping with the rope,” said Lord
Northcliffe to Orville Wright, with a motion of his head toward the
duke, “for I’m sure it is the only useful thing he has ever done in his
life.”

Northcliffe, after his meeting with the Wrights at Pau, became one of
their most enthusiastic supporters in England.

Long afterward, he publicly made this comment:

“I never knew more simple, unaffected people than Wilbur, Orville, and
Katharine. After the Wrights had been in Europe a few weeks they became
world heroes, and when they went to Pau their demonstrations were
visited by thousands of people from all parts of Europe--by kings and
lesser men, but I don’t think the excitement and interest produced by
their extraordinary feat had any effect on them at all.”



XVI

FURTHER ADVENTURES IN 1909


Shortly after they were established at Pau, the Wrights received a call
from a German, Captain Alfred Hildebrandt. This was not the first time
he had tried to see them. He had stopped in Dayton, on his way homeward
after attending the international balloon races at St. Louis, in 1907;
but on reaching Dayton he learned that the Wrights were in Europe.
Captain Hildebrandt came to Pau on behalf of a newspaper publisher.
His principal was Herr Scherl, owner of the _Lokal Anzeiger_, a
leading paper in Berlin. Scherl thought it would be a great stroke
of advertising for his paper if he could arrange for a big public
demonstration of a Wright machine, with the general public invited to
be the paper’s guests. It was arranged that one of the Wrights should
make a series of flights at Berlin, later that year, for a substantial
fee. The brothers later decided that the Berlin flights should be made
by Orville.

A move had been started in Italy to have demonstrations of the Wright
plane in Rome. Dr. Pirelli, Italian tire manufacturer, who had flown
with Wilbur Wright at Le Mans, was believed to have made the first
suggestion that led to organizing an aviation club at Rome to buy a
Wright plane. This “club” was supposed to be backed at least partly by
the Italian Government, and the arrangement with the Wrights provided
for the training of two lieutenants, one from the Navy, the other from
the Army.

Parts and material for six new planes had already been shipped to
Europe from Dayton, and the parts for one of these were sent to Pau,
where they were built into a complete machine. The machine was then
taken down in sections and shipped to Rome. (The one used in the French
flights became the personal property of Lazare Weiller, organizer of
the French Wright company, and later it went to a museum in Paris.)

In April the Wrights returned from Pau to Paris, and after a brief stay
there Wilbur went to Rome. He was joined there later by Orville and
Katharine, who went to a hotel opposite the Barberini Palace. Count and
Countess di Celleri, of the Italian nobility, had a cottage adjoining
their villa near the flying field at Centocelle, and they offered it to
Wilbur. Countess di Celleri later felt more than repaid when she had a
passenger flight in the Wright plane.

When the machine shipped from Pau in sections arrived in Rome it was
reassembled in an automobile factory, just outside the city limits, on
the Flaminian Way. It was then moved across the city on a truck drawn
by a magnificent team of gray horses to a military field in Centocelle.
As the strange-looking machine was carried through Roman streets past
ancient ruins, it is doubtful if amazed beholders had ever seen a
greater contrast between old and new.

Almost immediately after his arrival, Wilbur began the training of the
Italian flyers, naval Lieutenant Calderara and Lieutenant Savoia, of
the army engineering corps. (Calderara was afterward the air attaché
at the Italian Embassy in Washington; and Lieutenant Savoia became the
head of the well-known Italian aviation company of that name.)

King Victor Emmanuel came to witness flights. As he strolled about the
field with a folding camera suspended from his shoulder, he might have
been mistaken for just one more tourist. Other sightseers who came to
the field were the elder J. P. Morgan and the famous railroader, James
J. Hill. Among those who made flights with Wilbur were Lloyd Griscom,
the American Ambassador, and Sonnino, former Premier of Italy. Soon
after that, for the first time, an operator took a motion picture from
an airplane in flight.

While at Rome the Wrights established friendship with another German,
Captain von Kehler, whom they had already met in Berlin, and he played
an important part in steps toward forming a Wright company in Germany.

Captain von Kehler was managing director of the Studien Gesellschaft,
an organization for the study of aeronautics, that had been formed
after a meeting between certain outstanding German industrialists and
the Kaiser, back in 1906. The Kaiser had called the representatives of
the Krupps and other powerful industrialists to Potsdam to give them
a big banquet at the close of which he said he thought Germany should
be looking into the possibilities of the development of the airship
(lighter-than-air). Just what should be done he did not pretend to
know. That problem, he said, he would turn over to them. They knew
what he meant. They, as a patriotic duty, must provide money for
research and experimentation in the lighter-than-air field or else lose
standing with their Kaiser. Thus did the Studien Gesellschaft come into
being. The organization began experiments by building a dirigible known
as the Parseval, named for its designer, Major Parseval. The Parseval
turned out to be an expensive experiment. At the end of two years
the subscribed funds were nearly exhausted and the project far from
completion. The subscribers began to fear another invitation to dinner.
Just at this time they began to hear reports about the aeroplane
flights of the Wrights in France, and they became much interested. It
occurred to them that experiments with the new flying-machine would
perhaps be less expensive than experiments with a dirigible, and that
prospects for the aeroplane might be greater than for the dirigible.

Captain von Kehler went to Rome to talk with the Wrights. He told them
that some of the wealthy men in the Studien Gesellschaft would like
to form a German Wright company. Before he left Rome, a preliminary
contract was signed. Its terms provided that the brothers should
receive cash, a block of stock in the company, and ten per cent royalty
on all planes sold. The final contract was closed in August, 1909.

After leaving Rome the Wrights made a brief stay in Paris and went to
Le Mans to receive a bronze art piece presented by the Aéro Club of the
Sarthe. The work in bronze, by Louis Carvin, showed the Wright brothers
at the edge of a chasm gazing upon an eagle in flight. Above them was
a winged figure--the spirit of aviation.

From France the Wrights went to London. There they received gold medals
from the Aeronautical Society of Great Britain and from the Aero Club
of the United Kingdom at formal banquets. Before going to these dinners
Griffith Brewer was describing to Wilbur some of the people he would
meet. Of one man he said: “You’ll readily recognize him, as he is the
ugliest man in the Aeronautical Society.” To which Wilbur replied:
“He’ll lose that distinction on this occasion, because now there will
be a pair of us.”

On their arrival in New York the Wrights attended a luncheon in their
honor given by the Aero Club of America. The Aero Club had awarded
medals to the Wrights and these were formally presented a month later
by President Taft at the White House.

After an absence of many months, the Wrights arrived in Dayton early in
May. Five weeks later the city had a great celebration in their honor.
The home town had now recognized the Wrights’ importance. This “home
coming” for the Wrights lasted two days, June 17 and 18.

At 9 o’clock on that morning of June 17, they heard a deafening sound.
It did not at once occur to them what it was. Every factory whistle in
Dayton was blowing and every bell ringing--all in their honor. This
continued for ten minutes. Bands were playing and cannons booming. At
10 o’clock the brothers rode in a carriage, escorted by bands, to the
opening events. Ed Sines, boyhood chum of Orville, and Ed Ellis, long a
friend of Wilbur, were in the carriage with them. Sines and Ellis, as
a practical joke, gleefully shook hands, as if _they_ were the heroes,
with all who tried to greet the Wrights along the route, and few knew
the difference.

After reviewing a parade in their honor that afternoon, the Wrights
returned to their shop. That night they had opportunity to see a
display of fireworks that included their own profiles, eight feet high,
entwined with an American flag.

During these two days, practically all business in Dayton was
suspended--except the sale of souvenir postal cards showing the Huffman
pasture, the Hawthorne Street home, the flying field at Le Mans,
France, and the parade ground at Fort Myer.

On the second day, the inventors’ father, Bishop Wright, gave the
invocation preceding the presentation of medals to his sons. One medal
that had been ordered by act of Congress was presented by General
James Allen, chief signal officer of the Army; another, by the Ohio
legislature, was presented by Governor Harmon; and a third from the
city of Dayton was presented by the Mayor. The Wrights were alongside
of 2,500 school children, dressed in red, white and blue, to represent
an immense American flag. Patriotic fervor ran high.

The home folk knew now that the Wrights could fly; they knew, too, that
international fame had not changed them. They were the same unassuming
pair they had always been.

Before the celebration was quite over, Wilbur and Orville took a train
to Washington. The time for completing those Government trials at Fort
Myer was approaching and there was much to be done.

Orville made his first flight on June 28, and finished on July 30.
One of the most memorable of the flights in this series was on that
final day when Orville, with an Army officer, Lieutenant Benjamin D.
Foulois, for passenger, made the first cross-country trip yet made in
an airplane, a total distance of about ten miles to Alexandria and
return--without any suitable landing spots if trouble had occurred.
This was the speed test. The machine now used was capable of about four
miles an hour greater speed than the one in the tests the previous
year. The turning point in Alexandria was at Shuter’s Hill, where a
Masonic temple now stands. A captive balloon floated above the hill,
and a telegraph line had been run to the top of the hill where an
operator was stationed to give a signal when Orville had passed that
point. But a strong wind that day blew down the telegraph line and also
kept the balloon so close to the ground that Orville could not see the
turning point in advance and covered more than the required distance.
As the plane passed out of sight for a time on the return trip, the
crowd feared the worst; but when it reappeared, headed back toward the
parade ground, the honking of automobile horns and excited cheering
indicated that everyone knew they had all seen an extraordinary
event. The time for the ten miles was fourteen minutes, or just under
forty-three miles an hour. Thus the Wrights got a bonus of $5,000 more
than the basic price agreed upon--ten per cent for each complete mile
per hour more than forty--and they received $30,000 for the machine.

Almost immediately after the Fort Myer trials and formal acceptance
of the machine, on August 2, by the United States Government, Orville
Wright, accompanied by his sister Katharine, set out for Berlin.
Orville would start training a flyer for the German Wright company
immediately after giving the exhibition arranged for by Captain
Hildebrandt on behalf of the _Lokal Anzeiger_.

These first flights in Germany were to be made at Tempelhof field,
then a military parade ground, at the outskirts of Berlin. On the day
set for the initial flight, there was a terrible wind and Captain
Hildebrandt, who accompanied Orville to the field, was torn between his
desire not to disappoint the crowd and his fear of seeing Orville take
too great a risk. Orville said he would follow Hildebrandt’s wishes.

“No,” said Hildebrandt, “don’t go up.”

The next day even more people were present. Orville made a flight of
fifteen minutes. When he landed it was difficult to keep the crowd from
almost smothering him with adulation. People clamored for a chance
not only to look at him up close, but to _touch_ him. Men, women, and
children struggled to lay gentle hands on him, even to touch his sleeve
or the hem of his coat. Evidently it was some kind of belief in the
desirability of physical contact with a miracle man.

After a later flight, when Orville stayed in the air fifty-five
minutes, the crowd about him and Katharine, who were accompanied by Mr.
and Mrs. Charles R. Flint, was so dense that Orville felt duty bound to
move as fast as he could away from his party, to relieve the pressure
on them. Thereafter a hollow square of German soldiers kept the crowd
at a safe distance.

The German Crown Prince, Frederick Wilhelm, sought to get in touch with
Orville to ask the privilege of seeing a flight. He telephoned to the
Wrights’ suite at the Hotel Esplanade, and the call was answered by a
young German woman whom Katharine Wright had employed as interpreter
when shopping.

When the girl discovered that the voice over the phone was that of a
member of the royal family, she dropped the telephone receiver and
almost fainted. Members of the hotel staff were not much less agitated
when they learned that royalty might be calling on two of their guests.

Orville Wright and his sister were invited by Kaiser Wilhelm himself
to be present--the only civilian guests--on August 29, when Count von
Zeppelin would make the first trip in his latest model airship from
Friedrichshafen, and land at Tegel field, Berlin.

When he met Count von Zeppelin, Orville offered to take him for
an airplane ride the next day. The Count, after expressing his
appreciation, pleaded lack of time. But he invited Orville to accompany
him in the airship on a trip, September 5, from Frankfort to Mannheim,
and Orville accepted. In the course of that trip, Orville, by using a
stop-watch in his pocket and counting telephone poles, was able to tell
if the reported speed of the ship was correct. (When the Wrights were
in Europe in 1907, they had seen flights by government-owned dirigibles
in more than one country, and had noted that the German ship, _Der
Gross_, was the only one that made the speed claimed for it. All they
needed to learn was the length of the airship. Then by sighting on the
corner of a building, while using a stop-watch, they could tell to the
fraction of a second how long it took for the ship to travel its own
length.)

On the airship’s arrival at Mannheim, the crowd was so great that
Orville soon became separated from Captain Hildebrandt, who had come
along as his interpreter. Here he was, not knowing much German,
supposed to be guest of honor at a luncheon, and he didn’t even recall
the name of the hotel where the affair was to be held. A member of
the committee in charge of the luncheon decided that Orville would
doubtless make his way to the center of the city, in search of the
right hotel, and that there was just one way to locate him--to drive
about the principal streets until he caught sight of him. This man had
never met Orville but he felt sure he would recognize him from pictures
he had seen. The plan, to Orville’s immense relief, succeeded.

On September 16, Orville raised the world’s altitude record from 100 to
172 meters. Two days later, he made a new world’s record for a flight
with a passenger. Accompanied by Captain Paul Englehardt, he flew for
one hour, thirty-five minutes, forty-seven seconds.

Toward the end of his stay in Germany, Orville’s flights were at
Bornstedt field, near Potsdam. It was there that he trained two pilots
for the German Wright company--Captain Englehardt and Herr Keidel.

Since his first meeting with Orville, the German Crown Prince had
made no secret of his eager desire to fly as a passenger. As early as
September 9, Orville had made a special flight of fifteen minutes for
the Crown Prince to witness. Though he was willing enough to oblige
the Crown Prince by taking him for a passenger flight, he hesitated
to do so, lest it might be disapproved by the Kaiser, and he made one
excuse after another for delay. He had been warned that if he took
the Crown Prince as passenger against the Kaiser’s wishes, then he
might immediately become _persona non grata_. The prudent thing to do,
it seemed to Orville, was to give members of the royal family plenty
of notification. Different members of the family came to Bornstedt
field from time to time, and when he met any of them Orville was sure
to remark that he and the Crown Prince were going to have a flight
together before long. As no one made any objection, the German Crown
Prince finally became, on October 2, the first member of a royal family
ever to ride in an airplane. On landing, the Crown Prince handed to
Orville, as a token of appreciation, a jeweled stick-pin--a crown set
in rubies, with a “W” in diamonds. (The “W” was not for Wright, but for
Wilhelm, the Crown Prince’s name.)

On that same day, Orville ascended 1,600 feet for a new--though
unofficial--world’s altitude record.

Orville’s farewell ascent in Germany was a twenty-five-minute flight,
October 15, for Kaiser Wilhelm to see. The Kaiser was enthusiastic and
frankly so. He was outspoken in expressing his belief that the airplane
might revolutionize warfare, and talked about the different military
uses to which the machine could be put. One thing that impressed him
was the maneuverability of the plane. Orville had made complete turns
within a space not much more than 100 feet wide.

Now, during the time that Orville was making these sensational
demonstrations in Germany, Wilbur Wright, in America, had been doing
his share to glorify the brotherly partnership. On September 29, in
connection with the Hudson-Fulton Celebration, Wilbur made spectacular
flights witnessed by millions of people. Two of these were over
Governors Island; and another was from Governors Island around the
Statue of Liberty and back again. On October 4, Wilbur flew twenty-one
miles from Governors Island up the Hudson River beyond Grant’s Tomb and
back to the starting point. It was one of the most daring flights yet
made in an airplane, and Wilbur had taken the precaution to buy a red
canoe which he roped to the lower part of the plane. The part of the
canoe ordinarily open was covered with canvas to make it water-tight.
Wilbur’s idea was that if anything went wrong the canoe might possibly
serve as a buoy, or pontoon, to keep the machine afloat. In going up
the river he flew over ferryboats, and hot gases from the smokestacks
did cause the plane to make what looked like dangerous plunges.

A second flight was planned for that afternoon, and everyone who could
exert influence had applied for a pass to the military reservation on
Governors Island. But they were disappointed, for the engine blew a
cylinder and that brought the series of flights to a close.

Almost immediately after his flights for the Hudson-Fulton Celebration,
Wilbur began preparations to train two Army Signal Corps officers, as
provided for in the contract for the sale of a plane to the United
States Government. This was done at College Park, Maryland, near
Washington. The men trained were Lieutenants Frank P. Lahm and Frederic
E. Humphreys. Their instruction began on October 8 and was completed
October 26. Lieutenant Lahm, who had been the first army officer
ever to fly as a passenger in a plane, received the first lesson in
pilotage. But Humphreys made the first solo flight, a few minutes
before Lahm’s.

Wilbur also gave some lessons to Lieutenant Benjamin D. Foulois between
October 23 and 27.

Orville and Katharine Wright sailed from Europe on the _Adriatic_, due
in New York November 4. After leaving Germany, Orville had investigated
the outlook of the recently formed French company. Already it appeared
that this company would be a disappointment. Count de Lambert had given
the company the best kind of advertising by flying a Wright plane over
Paris, around and above the Eiffel Tower. But the French Wright company
evidently was depending more on political influence and on entertaining
important people than on sound salesmanship. The War Ministry hesitated
to buy planes for fear of public criticism. General Picquart, the Army
officer who had stood for justice in the Dreyfus case, had become
Minister of War. He once inquired of the Wrights if it would be
possible to buy their planes directly from them in the United States.

That would have been against provisions of the contract with the
company in France, but there was another reason why it could not be
done. The Wrights were not yet organized to produce planes in great
numbers. Though there were now two commercial companies for the
manufacture of Wright planes in Europe, no such company yet existed in
America.



XVII

IN AVIATION BUSINESS


After companies to manufacture the Wright brothers’ invention had
been organized in France and Germany, and a plane had been sold in
Italy, it might have been expected that important business people in
the United States would see commercial possibilities in the Wright
patents. The inventors had, indeed, received offers. One proposal had
come from two brothers, in Detroit, influential stockholders in the
Packard Automobile Company, Russell A. and Frederick M. Alger--who some
time before had been the first in the United States to order a Wright
machine for private use. But the first American company to manufacture
the plane was promoted by a mere youngster.

That was Clinton R. Peterkin. He was barely twenty-four and looked even
younger. Only a year or two previously he had been with J. P. Morgan &
Company as “office boy”--a job he had taken at the age of fifteen. But
he had intelligently made the most of his opportunities by spending all
the time he could in the firm’s inner rooms, and had learned something
of how new business enterprises were started.

Now, recently returned from a stay in the West because of ill health,
Peterkin wished to be a promoter, and he wondered if the Wright
brothers would agree to the formation of a flying-machine company. By
chance he learned that Wilbur Wright was spending a few days at the
Park Avenue Hotel in New York, and in October, 1909, he went to see him.

Wilbur was approachable enough and received Peterkin in a friendly
way, though he didn’t seem to set too much store by the young man’s
proposals. In reply to questions, Wilbur said that he and his brother
would not care to have a company formed unless those in it were men of
consequence. They would want names that carried weight. Then Peterkin
spoke of knowing J. P. Morgan, whom he might be able to interest.

Without making any kind of agreement or promise, Wilbur told him he
could go ahead and see what he could do--doubtless assuming that he
would soon become discouraged. But Peterkin saw J. P. Morgan who told
him he would take stock and that he would subscribe also for his friend
Judge Elbert H. Gary, head of the United States Steel Corporation.

After seeing Morgan, Peterkin was enthusiastically telling of his
project to a distant relative of his, a member of a law firm with
offices in the financial district. The senior partner in that law firm,
DeLancey Nicoll, chanced to overhear what Peterkin was saying and
grew interested. He suggested that perhaps he might be of help. That
was a good piece of luck for Peterkin. He could hardly have found a
better ally, for DeLancey Nicoll had an exceptionally wide and intimate
acquaintance among men in the world of finance. All he needed to do to
interest some of his friends was to call them on the telephone.

In a surprisingly short time, an impressive list of moneyed men were
enrolled as subscribers in the proposed flying-machine company. A
number of them were prominent in the field of transportation. The
list included Cornelius Vanderbilt, August Belmont, Howard Gould,
Theodore P. Shonts, Allan A. Ryan, Mortimer F. Plant, Andrew Freedman,
and E. J. Berwind. Shonts was president of the New York Interborough
subway. Ryan, a son of Thomas F. Ryan, was a director of the Bethlehem
Steel Corporation. Plant was chairman of the Board of Directors of
the Southern Express Company, and Vice President of the Chicago,
Indianapolis & Louisville Railroad. Berwind, as President of the
Berwind-White Coal Mining Company, had accumulated a great fortune
from coal contracts with big steamship lines. Freedman had made his
money originally as a sports promoter and then in various financial
operations. (He later provided funds for founding the Andrew Freedman
Home in New York.)

The Wrights wanted to have in the company their friends Robert J.
Collier, publisher of _Collier’s Weekly_, and the two Alger brothers of
Detroit. Those names were promptly added.

But the names of J. P. Morgan and E. H. Gary were not in the final list
of stockholders. The truth was that some of the others in the proposed
company did not want Morgan with them because they believed--probably
correctly--that he would dominate the company; that where he sat
would be the head of the table. One of them phoned to Morgan that
the stock was oversubscribed. When he thus got strong hints that his
participation was not too eagerly desired, Morgan promptly withdrew
his offer to take stock for himself and Gary.

On November 22, 1909, only about a month after Peterkin’s first talk
with Wilbur, The Wright Co. was incorporated. The capital stock
represented a paid-in value of $200,000. In payment for all rights
to their patents in the United States, the Wright brothers received
stock and cash, besides a provision for ten per cent royalty on all
planes sold; and The Wright Co. would thenceforth bear the expense of
prosecuting all suits against patent infringers.

From the Wright brothers’ point of view, the one fly in the ointment
was that they now found themselves more involved than ever before
in business affairs. It had been their dream to be entirely out of
business and able to give their whole time to scientific research.

The company opened impressive offices in the Night and Day Bank
Building, 527 Fifth Avenue, New York, but the factory would be in
Dayton. In January, 1910, Frank Russell, a cousin of the Algers, who
had been appointed factory manager, arrived in Dayton and went to
see the Wrights at their office over the old bicycle shop. As the
brothers had no desk space to offer him, they suggested a room at the
rear of a plumbing shop down the street where he might make temporary
headquarters. According to Russell, Wilbur Wright came there a day or
two later carrying a basket filled with letters, directed to The Wright
Co., that had been accumulating.

“I don’t know what you’ll want to do about these,” Russell has reported
Wilbur as jokingly saying; “maybe they should be opened. But of course
if you open a letter, there’s always the danger that you may decide
to answer it, and then you’re apt to find yourself involved in a long
correspondence.”

At first The Wright Co. rented floor space in a factory building, but
almost immediately the company started to build a modern factory of
its own, and it was ready for use by November, 1910. Within a short
time after the company started operations in its rented space it had a
force of employees at mechanical work and was able to produce about two
airplanes a month.

The Wrights well knew that the time was not yet for the company to
operate profitably by selling planes for private use. Their main
opportunity to show a good return on the capital invested would be from
public exhibitions. Relatively few people in the United States had yet
seen an airplane in flight and crowds would flock to behold this new
miracle--still, in 1910, almost incredible.

As soon as they decided to give public exhibitions, the Wrights got in
touch with another pioneer of the air, Roy Knabenshue, a young man from
Toledo, who had been making balloon flights since his early teens, and
was the first in the United States to have piloted a steerable balloon.
They had previously become acquainted with Knabenshue. Because of his
curiosity over anything pertaining to aerial navigation, he had once
subscribed to a press-clipping bureau which sent him anything found
in the papers about aeronautics; and in this way he had been able to
read an occasional news item about the two Dayton men said to have
flown. With a fairly irresistible impish grin, Knabenshue never had
much trouble making new acquaintances, and he decided to call upon the
Wrights.

That was before the Wright flights at Fort Myer and in France, and the
brothers were not then interested when Knabenshue suggested that they
sell him planes for exhibitions.

“Well,” he said, “I have been making airship flights at the big state
fairs, besides promoting public exhibitions, and I know how to make
the proper contacts. You may have heard about my flights in a small
dirigible at the St. Louis World’s Fair. If you ever decide to give
exhibitions, just let me know.”

Though exhibitions had been farthest from the Wrights’ thoughts at
the time of that first meeting with Knabenshue, now the situation was
different. Roy Knabenshue would probably be the very man they needed.
They sent a telegram to him and he received it at Los Angeles. He wired
back that he would see them as soon as he returned to Ohio. This he
did soon afterward. The result of their conversation was that Roy took
charge of the work of arranging for public flights. He had need of a
competent secretary and an intelligent young woman, Miss Mabel Beck,
came to take the job. This was her first employment and she seemed a
bit ill at ease, lest her work might not be satisfactory; but almost
immediately she became an extraordinarily good assistant--so good, in
fact, that Wilbur Wright afterward selected her to work with him in
connection with suits against patent infringers, and after his death
she became secretary to Orville Wright, in which position, at this
writing, she still is.

By the time Knabenshue had started planning for public exhibitions,
Orville Wright had begun the training of pilots to handle the
exhibition planes being built. The weather was still too wintry for
flying at Huffman field, now leased by The Wright Co., and it was
necessary to find a suitable place in a warmer climate. The field
selected was at Montgomery, Alabama. (Today known as Maxwell Field, it
is used by the United States Government.)

Shortly after his arrival at Montgomery, early in 1910, Orville Wright
had a new experience in the air. While at an altitude of about 1,500
feet he found himself unable to descend, even though the machine was
pointed downward as much as seemed safe. Brought up to have faith in
the force of gravity, he didn’t know at first what to make of this.
For nearly five minutes he stayed there, in a puzzled state of mind
bordering on alarm. Later it occurred to him that the machine must have
been in a whirlwind of rising air current of unusual diameter, and
that doubtless he could have returned quickly to earth if he had first
steered horizontally to get away from the rising current.

The first pilot Orville trained was Walter Brookins of Dayton.
“Brookie” was a logical candidate for that distinction, for since the
age of four he had been a kind of “pet” of Orville’s. After Orville
had left Montgomery and returned to Dayton on May 8, Brookins himself
became an instructor. He began, at Montgomery, the training of Arch
Hoxsey, noted for his personal charm and his gay, immaculate clothes;
and also that of Spencer C. Crane.

On his return to Dayton, Orville opened a flying school at the same
Huffman field[14] the Wright brothers had used for their experiments in
1904–5. Here he trained A. L. Welsh and Duval LaChapelle. When Brookins
arrived there from Montgomery, near the end of May, he took on the
training of Ralph Johnstone and Frank T. Coffyn, besides completing the
training of Hoxsey. Two others trained at the same field later in the
year were Phil O. Parmalee and C. O. Turpin.

Orville Wright continued to make frequent flights until 1915,
personally testing every new device used on a Wright plane. (He did not
make his final flight as a pilot until 1918.) More than one person who
witnessed flights at the Huffman field (or at Simms station, as the
place was better known) has made comment that it was never difficult to
pick Orville Wright from the other flyers, whether he was on the ground
or in a plane. Students, and instructors too, would be dressed to the
teeth for flying, with special suits, goggles, helmets, gauntlets, and
so on; but Orville always wore an ordinary business suit. He might put
on a pair of automobile goggles and shift his cap backward, and on cold
days he would turn up his coat collar; but otherwise he was dressed as
for the street. When he was in the air anyone could recognize who it
was--from the smoothness of his flying. And when he wished to test the
control and stability of a plane, he would sometimes come down and make
figure eights at steep angles with the wing tip maybe not more than a
few feet from the grass.

The public was no longer unaware of the significance of the flights at
Huffman field. Sightseers began to use every possible pretext to come
as close to the planes as possible. One evening as Orville Wright was
standing near the hangar, a bystander edged up to him.

“I flew with Orville Wright down at Montgomery,” he declared, “and he
told me to make myself at home here.”

Never before having seen Orville, he had mistaken him for an employee.

[Illustration: TWO ACES AND KING. Orville Wright, Wilbur Wright, and
Edward VII of England at Pau, France, March 17, 1909.]

Three flights at Huffman field in May, 1910, were especially
noteworthy. A short one by Wilbur--one minute twenty-nine seconds--on
May 21, was the first he had made alone since his sensational feats
starting from Governors Island. And it was the last flight as a pilot
Wilbur ever made. But on May 25 he and Orville flew for a short time
together--with Orville piloting--the only occasion when the Wright
brothers were both in the air at the same time. Later that same day,
Orville took his father, Bishop Milton Wright, then eighty-two years
old,[15] for his first trip in a flying-machine. They flew for six
minutes fifty-five seconds, most of the time at about 350 feet. The
only thing that Bishop Wright said while in the air was a request to go
“higher, higher.”

The average charge by The Wright Co. for a series of exhibition flights
at a county fair or elsewhere was about $5,000 for each plane used. At
Indianapolis, the scene of the first exhibition, five planes were used.
The weather was not ideal for the Indianapolis event, but the crowd was
much impressed. Another early exhibition was at Atlantic City, where,
for the first time, wheels were publicly used on a Wright machine for
starting and landing.

[Illustration: THE WRIGHT HOME AND SHOP. The original Wright homestead
and Wright bicycle shop, brought from Dayton and restored at Greenfield
Village, Dearborn, Michigan.]

Roy Knabenshue knew from his experience in making public airship
exhibitions, that it was not enough to go where a fair or carnival was
to be held and suggest airplane flights as a feature. To get all the
business possible for his company he must promote exhibition flights
in places where no such big outdoor events were yet contemplated.
He particularly desired to have flights made in large cities where
newspaper reports of the event would attract attention over a large
area and aid him in making further bookings. With this in mind he went
to Chicago and started inquiries to learn whether public-spirited
citizens there would be willing to underwrite a big public
demonstration of aviation along the lake front. Several people told
him the man he should see was Harold McCormick, one of the controlling
stockholders in the wealthy International Harvester Company. He went
at once to McCormick’s offices in the Harvester Building. But when he
reached the outer office, he discovered that it was not easy to get any
farther.

“What was it you wished to see Mr. McCormick about?” asked a secretary.

“I don’t wish to sell him anything,” Roy explained, smiling in a manner
that should have won confidence, but didn’t. “Please just say to him
that there’s a man here who has an important suggestion for him.”

“But if you’ll tell me what the suggestion is,” the secretary proposed,
“then he can let you know if he is interested.”

“No, I’ll tell you what you do,” countered Roy. “Please hand my card to
him and let him decide if he wishes to see me.”

The secretary reluctantly took Roy’s card which indicated that he
represented The Wright Co. of Dayton, Ohio. A moment later the
secretary returned to say that Mr. McCormick was too busy to see anyone.

Roy walked out of the building into Michigan Avenue, discouraged.

“No matter how good an idea you’ve got,” he reflected, “and no matter
how much some of these big executives might be interested, you don’t
get a chance to tell them about it.”

As he strolled along, his eye chanced to fall on a big sign that read:
“Think Of It. The _Record-Herald_ Now One Cent.” Then he remembered
that the Chicago _Record-Herald_, rival of the _Tribune_ in the morning
field, had recently reduced its price and was making a big bid for
increased circulation. He also recalled that H. H. Kohlsaat, owner of
the _Record-Herald_, had known his father. Using his father’s name
for an introduction, he had little difficulty, a half hour later, in
gaining access to Kohlsaat’s private office to tell him what was on
his mind. The publisher grew interested. Yes, it might be a good idea
to have some airplane flights along the lake front and invite the
public to see them as guests of the _Record-Herald_. Before he left the
office, Roy had the preliminary arrangements all made.

On the opening day of the big event, when Walter Brookins, as pilot,
was about to take off on the first flight, Knabenshue remarked to him:
“That corner window on the fourth floor of the Harvester Building is in
the office of a man I hope will see what’s going on.”

The next day Knabenshue appeared once again at Harold McCormick’s
office in the Harvester Building and presented his business card to the
same secretary he had met on his previous visit.

After looking at the card, the secretary, without waiting to consult
anyone, said: “Oh, yes, you’re with The Wright Company. I’m sure Mr.
McCormick will wish to see you. Just step this way.”

Roy had made this call partly as a kind of practical joke--for the
satisfaction of entering an office where he had once been denied. But
as a result of the talk he then had with McCormick, it was arranged
that a committee of Chicago citizens should sponsor, the next year,
another aviation meeting there, to be the biggest thing of the kind
ever held.

Meanwhile, on the final day of the 1910 exhibitions at Chicago,
Brookins made the first long cross-country flight, 185 miles, to
Springfield, Illinois. It was not, however, a non-stop flight. He made
one landing in a cornfield, and it was necessary to obtain permission
from the farm owner to cut a wide strip across the field to provide
space for the plane to take off.

In that same year, 1910, Dayton people saw the first flight over the
city itself. Thousands had now seen flights at the Huffman field, Simms
station, but no flight had ever been made nearer than eight miles to
the home town where successful flying was conceived. The Greater Dayton
Association was holding, in September, an industrial exhibit, but
it was operating at a loss. Those in charge of the exhibit saw that
something would have to be done to arouse interest. Orville Wright was
asked if he would start at Simms station, fly to Dayton and circle
over the city. He agreed and the newspapers announced the flight for
the next day. It was stirring news--even to Katharine Wright. She
had started to Oberlin to attend a college meeting, but, when on her
arrival there she happened to see a newspaper item about Orville’s
flight scheduled for the next day, she hastened home at once.

Another premier event in 1910 was when an airplane for the first
time in the world was used for commercial express service. The
Morehouse-Martin Co., a department store in Columbus, Ohio, arranged to
have a bolt of silk brought from Huffman field to a driving park beyond
Columbus. The distance of more than sixty miles was covered at better
than a mile a minute, then considered fast airplane speed; and the
“express fee” was $5,000, or about $71.42 a pound. But within a day or
two the store had a good profit on the transaction, for it sold small
pieces of the silk for souvenirs, and the gross returns were more than
$6,000.

Then, at Belmont Park, New York, in late October, 1910, Wright planes
participated in a great International Aviation Tournament. All other
planes taking part were licensed by The Wright Co.

Orville Wright now devoted his time mainly to supervision of
engineering at the factory of The Wright Co. Wilbur was kept busy
looking after the prosecution of suits against patent infringers and
in March, 1911, he went to Europe in connection with suits brought by
the Wright company of France. From France he went to Germany and while
there called at the home of the widow of Otto Lilienthal to offer his
homage to the memory of that pioneer in aviation whose work had been an
inspiration to the Wrights.

After Wilbur’s return to America, Orville spent several weeks in
October, 1911, at Kitty Hawk, where he went to do some experimenting
with an automatic control device and to make soaring flights with a
glider. In camp with him were Alec Ogilvie of England, who flew a
Wright plane, Orville’s brother Lorin, and Lorin’s ten-year-old boy,
“Buster.” On account of the presence of a group of newspapermen who
appeared and were at the camp each day during his entire stay at Kitty
Hawk, Orville never tested the new automatic device; but before his
soaring experiments were over he had made, on October 24, a new record,
soaring for nine minutes forty-five seconds. (This was to remain the
world’s record until ten years later when it was exceeded in Germany.)

That same year, 1911, The Wright Co. benefited from another aviation
record. Cal P. Rodgers, who had received some of his flying training
at the Wright School, made--between September 11 and November 5--the
first transcontinental airplane trip, from New York to California.

New as their line of business was, The Wright Co. was profitable from
the start--especially so during the first year or two when the sight
of a flying-machine was still a novelty and contracts for exhibition
flights were numerous. (It might have been more profitable if the
Wrights had not insisted that no contracts be made to include flights
on Sunday.) But inevitably the exhibition part of the business began
to taper off--and such profits as might still have come from it were
reduced by the persistent illegal competition of patent infringers.
More and more, the company’s dealings were with the United States Army
and Navy and with private buyers of planes. The first private plane
sold had gone to Robert J. Collier, and others seeking the excitement
or prestige of owning a plane had been making inquiries. The retail
price of a plane was $5,000.

With aviation thus becoming more practical, the Wrights were receiving
from their invention a form of reward they had never expected. They
would now have wealth, not vast, but enough to enable them to look
forward to the time when they might retire and work happily together
on scientific research. They were making plans, too, for their new
home on a seventeen-acre wooded tract they had named Hawthorn Hill,
in the Dayton suburb of Oakwood. But tragic days were ahead. Early
in May, shortly after visiting the new home site with other members
of the family, Wilbur was taken ill. What at first was assumed to
be a minor indisposition proved to be typhoid fever. Worn out from
worries over protecting in patent litigation the rights he knew were
his and his brother’s, he was not in condition to combat the disease.
After an illness of three weeks, despite the best efforts of eminent
specialists, early in the morning of Thursday, May 30, 1912, Wilbur
Wright died. He was aged only forty-five years and forty-four days.

Messages of condolence and expressions of the world’s loss poured in
from two hemispheres, among them those from heads of governments.

Orville Wright succeeded his brother as president of The Wright Co.

In June, 1913, Grover Loening, a young man who had become acquainted
with Wilbur at the time of the Hudson-Fulton exhibition flights, came
to The Wright Co. as engineer, and then became factory manager. Loening
had the distinction of being the first person in the United States to
study aeronautical science in a university.

Business affairs had been complicated earlier that year by the fact
that Dayton had the worst flood in its history. The Wright factory
was not under water but not many of the employees could reach the
building. Among the hundreds of houses under water was the Wright home
on Hawthorne Street. To Orville a serious part of the loss there was
the damage to photographic negatives showing his and Wilbur’s progress
toward flight. But the negative of the famous picture of the first
power flight was not much harmed.

Accompanied by his sister, Orville made his last trip to Europe in
1913, on business relating to a patent suit in Germany. At about the
same time he sanctioned the forming of a Wright company in England.
Before Wilbur’s death, there had been opportunities for a company
in England, but the brothers had held back because all the offers
appeared to be purely stock promotions in which the names of members
of the English nobility would appear as sponsors. The British company
as finally organized did not make planes itself, but issued licenses
for use of the patents. Within a year after it was formed the English
company accepted from the British Government a flat payment for all
claims against the government, for use of the Wright patents up to
that time and during the remainder of the life of the basic patents.
Though the amount paid was no trifling sum, the settlement was widely
applauded by prominent Englishmen, among them Lord Northcliffe, as
showing a generous attitude on the part of the patent owner--about
as little as could have been compatible with full recognition of the
priority of the Wrights’ invention.

By this time, The Wright Co. had more applications to train student
pilots than they could handle. Even a few young women wished to become
pilots.

Two capable students, of a somewhat earlier period, destined to go
far in aviation, were Thomas D. Milling, later General Milling, of
the United States Army Air Corps; and Henry H. Arnold, who during the
Second World War was Lieutenant General Arnold, Commanding General of
the Army Air Forces and Deputy Chief of Staff for Air.

One unfortunate student pilot, who had begun his training at the Wright
School in 1912, later got himself into much trouble. This man became
one of the best flyers in the United States. As he had plenty of money
he bought a plane of his own, and he used to give free exhibitions at
his estate near Philadelphia. In one way or another he did much for
aviation. But in 1917, when the United States entered the First World
War, that young pilot refused to register in the draft and became
notorious as a draft evader. His name? Grover Cleveland Bergdoll. The
early Wright plane he had bought is today on exhibition at the Franklin
Institute in Philadelphia. It is believed to be the only authentic
Model B--the first model built by The Wright Co.--in existence.

In 1914, Orville Wright had bought the stock of all other shareholders
in The Wright Co., except that of his friend, Robert J. Collier, who,
for sentimental reason, wished to retain his interest. Orville’s motive
in acquiring almost complete ownership of the company had been as a
step toward getting entirely out of business. Both he and Wilbur Wright
had agreed to stay with the company for a period of years, not yet
expired, and he could not honorably dispose of his own holdings so long
as those with whom he had made the agreement were still in the company.
But almost immediately after buying the shares of the others, he let it
be known that he might be willing to sell his entire interest. To this,
Collier, the only other shareholder, agreed. In 1915, Orville received
an offer and gave an option to a small group of eastern capitalists
that included William Boyce Thompson and Frank Manville, the latter
president of the Johns-Manville Co. The deal was closed in October,
1915.

Just after Orville had given his option to the eastern syndicate,
Robert J. Collier came to tell him an important piece of news, and to
urge him not to sell just yet.

Collier had been having some talks with his friend, the wealthy Harry
Payne Whitney, and had urged upon him the idea of doing what Collier
thought would be a wonderful piece of philanthropy that would mean
much for the future of aviation in the United States. What Collier
wanted him to do was to buy the stock of The Wright Co., thus gaining
ownership of the Wright patents, and then immediately make the patents
free to anyone in the United States who wished to manufacture airplanes.

Whitney was willing to carry out the Collier suggestion. To do so he
was also ready to pay more for the stock of The Wright Co. than the
syndicate had offered.

But Orville explained to Collier that the option already given was
legally drawn and the holders presumably wished to exercise it.

Collier’s daring idea and Whitney’s generous acceptance of it had come
just a little too late.



XVIII

PATENT SUITS


The Wrights had found that patents covering the basic features of
their invention were not enough protection against infringers. Indeed,
having the technical details on file in the Patent Office, where anyone
who desired might see them, was, in a way, to the advantage of those
who would help themselves to an inventor’s work and ideas. Only a
decision in the courts could determine the justice of an inventor’s
claims. But the courts work slowly and legal procedure is expensive.
Except for their good fortune--never contemplated when they started--in
realizing substantial sums from their invention, the brothers might
not have been financially able to carry on the fight that finally gave
them world-wide recognition as the first to contrive a successful
flying-machine.

Altogether the brothers had active part in a dozen different suits in
the United States against infringers--and there were suits in France
and Germany in each of which about a dozen infringers were involved.
Most of the suits in the United States did not go beyond the early
stages, as the infringers were not disposed to continue after a
preliminary injunction had been issued. But three suits were of special
importance. One of these was against Louis Paulhan, French aviator,
who was about to give exhibitions in the United States, using planes
made in France. Another was against Claude Grahame-White, English
aviator, also about to give exhibitions in the United States with
planes that infringed the Wright patents. The most important suit of
all was against the Herring-Curtiss Co. and Glenn H. Curtiss. This
case was bitterly contested and was carried up to the U. S. Court of
Appeals. It was brought by the Wright brothers, late in 1909, but
The Wright Co., formed shortly afterward, succeeded the brothers as
complainants.

Because of the importance of this suit in aviation history, it is worth
while to examine the background of the relations between the Wrights
and Glenn Curtiss. The Wrights’ personal acquaintance with Curtiss
began in May, 1906, when he wrote to them in regard to the light motors
of which he was a manufacturer. Then in early September, 1906, Curtiss
visited the Wright office and workshop. He was brought there by his
friend, Captain Thomas S. Baldwin, a well-known aeronaut, who was
giving exhibition flights in Dayton with his dirigible balloon on which
he used a motor he had persuaded Curtiss to build for him. It was to
make repairs on that motor that Curtiss had come to Dayton.

After that meeting, the four men, Curtiss, Baldwin, and the Wrights,
were together much of the time for several days. When in response to
questions about their work, the Wrights showed a number of photographs
of their flights made at the Huffman pasture during the two previous
years, Curtiss seemed much astonished. He remarked that it was the
first time he had been able to believe anyone had actually been in the
air with a flying-machine.

Long afterward, in an interview in the New York _Times_ (February 28,
1914), Baldwin recalled the many talks he and Glenn Curtiss had with
the Wrights in that fall of 1906. “I sometimes suggested to Curtiss,”
Baldwin told the interviewer, “that he was asking too many questions,
but he kept right on. The Wrights had the frankness of schoolboys in
it all and had a rare confidence in us. I am sure Curtiss at that time
never thought of taking up flying.”

A year after the Wrights’ first meetings with Curtiss, in October,
1907, the Aerial Experiment Association was formed by Alexander Graham
Bell and others, with headquarters first in Nova Scotia and later
at Hammondsport, N. Y., where Curtiss lived. He became “Director
of Experiments.” This was the first time Curtiss had been directly
connected with aviation except as a manufacturer of motors, and three
months later, a letter he wrote to the Wrights indicated that motors
rather than aviation were still his chief interest. “I just wish to
keep in touch with you,” he wrote, “and let you know that we have been
making considerable progress in engine construction.” After listing
and describing the various engines he was building, he proposed to
furnish to the Wrights “gratis” one of his fifty-horsepower engines.
But the offer was not accepted. The letter mentioned that Captain
Baldwin was a “permanent fixture in this establishment”--a fact not
without importance, considering information that Baldwin was later to
reveal. Further on in the letter, Curtiss told of Dr. Bell’s reading
to the members of the Aerial Experiment Association the United States
Government’s specifications for the purchase of a flying-machine, and
added: “You, of course, are the only persons who could come anywhere
near doing what is required.”

About a fortnight after receipt of that letter from Curtiss, the
Wrights got another letter dated January 15, 1908, written on Aerial
Experiment Association stationery, and signed by Lieutenant T.
Selfridge, whose name appeared on the letterhead as secretary of the
association. (This was the same Selfridge who was killed a few months
later in the tragic airplane accident at Fort Myer.) In that letter,
Selfridge, on behalf of the Experiment Association, said:

    I am taking the liberty of writing you and asking your advice
    on certain points connected with gliding experiments, or rather
    glider construction, which we started here last Monday.

    Will you kindly tell me what results you obtained on the travel
    of the center of pressure both on aerocurves and aeroplanes?

    Also, what is a good, efficient method of constructing the
    ribs of the surfaces so that they will be light and yet strong
    enough to maintain their curvature under ordinary conditions,
    and a good means of fastening them to the cloth and upper
    lateral cords of the frame?

    I hope I am not imposing too much by asking you these questions.

Supposing the information would be used only for scientific purposes,
the Wrights obligingly replied at once as follows:

    You will find much of the information you desire in the
    addresses of our Mr. Wilbur Wright before the Western Society
    of Engineers, published in the Journals of the Society of
    December, 1901, and August, 1903.

    The travel of the center of pressure on aeroplanes is from
    the center at 90 degrees, toward the front edge as the angle
    becomes smaller. The center of pressure on a curved surface is
    approximately at its center at 90 degrees, moves forward as the
    angle is decreased until a critical angle is reached, after
    which it reverses, and moves toward the rear edge. The critical
    angle varies for different shaped curves, but is generally
    reached at some angle between 12 and 18 degrees. With the
    angles used in gliding flight the travel will be between the
    center of the surface and a point one-third back from the front
    edge.

    The methods of construction used in our gliders are fully
    described in an article by Mr. Chanute in the _Revue des
    Sciences_ in 1903 (we do not remember the month) and in the
    specifications of our United States patent, No. 821,393.

    The ribs of our gliders were made of second growth ash, steamed
    and bent to shape.

Selfridge replied in a few days saying he had been able to obtain a
copy of the patent and would endeavor to get the other references the
Wrights had supplied.

The data must have been useful to the Aerial Experiment Association for
early the following summer, Glenn Curtiss, “Director of Experiments”
had a power-driven airplane, called the “June Bug,” in which he
made a flight on July 4, 1908, at Hammondsport. That flight created
the belief in the minds of many who were not fully informed that
the Aerial Experiment Association must have done an amazing job of
original research. This belief was encouraged by the fact that after
the Aerial Experiment Association began building and experimenting
with flying-machines, using much information they had obtained from the
Wrights, they neglected, in public statements about their work, to so
much as mention the Wright brothers.

Soon after the report of the flight of the “June Bug,” there appeared
in the press a statement that the Aerial Experiment Association was
disbanding, and that Glenn H. Curtiss was going to engage in exhibition
flying. That news led Orville Wright to send to Curtiss the following
letter:

    I learn from the _Scientific American_ that your “June Bug”
    has movable surfaces at the tips of the wings, adjustable to
    different angles on the right and left sides for maintaining
    the lateral balance. In our letter to Lieutenant Selfridge of
    January 18th, replying to his of the 15th, in which he asked
    for information on the construction of flyers, we referred
    him to several publications containing descriptions of the
    structural features of our machines, and to our U. S. patent
    No. 821,393. We did not intend, of course, to give permission
    to use the patented features of our machine for exhibitions or
    in a commercial way.

    This patent broadly covers the combination of sustaining
    surfaces to the right and left of the center of a
    flying-machine adjustable to different angles, with vertical
    surfaces adjustable to correct inequalities in the horizontal
    resistances of the differently adjusted wings. Claim 14 of our
    patent No. 821,393 specifically covers the combination which
    we are informed you are using. We believe it will be very
    difficult to develop a successful machine without the use of
    some of the features covered in this patent.

    The commercial part of our business is taking so much of
    our time that we have not been able to undertake public
    exhibitions. If it is your desire to enter the exhibition
    business, we would be glad to take up the matter of a license
    to operate under our patents for that purpose.

Curtiss replied that, contrary to newspaper reports, he did not expect
to do anything in the way of exhibitions; that his flights had been in
connection with the Aerial Experiment Association’s work. The matter
of the patents he had referred, he said, to the Secretary of the
Association.

A few weeks later, when Orville went to Washington in preparation for
the Fort Myer tests of the Wright machine, Captain Baldwin was there
teaching Army officers to operate a new dirigible balloon for which
Curtiss had furnished the motor. In speaking of the experiments in
aviation being carried on by Curtiss and other members of the Aerial
Experiment Association at Hammondsport, Baldwin said warningly to
Orville: “I hear them talking.” He went on to caution Orville that the
work those men were doing would infringe the Wright patents.

By the following year, Curtiss had formed a commercial company, The
Herring-Curtiss Co., to make or exhibit airplanes.

On January 3, 1910, Judge John R. Hazel, of the Federal Circuit Court,
at Buffalo, New York, granted a temporary restraining order against
The Herring-Curtiss Co. and Glenn H. Curtiss to prevent them from
infringement of the Wright patents. In handing down his decision, Judge
Hazel said:

    It appears that the defendant Curtiss had notice of the success
    of the Wright machine, and that a patent had been issued
    in 1906. Indeed, no one interfered with the rights of the
    patentees by constructing machines similar to theirs until
    in July, 1908, when Curtiss exhibited a flying-machine which
    he called “The June Bug.” He was immediately notified by the
    patentees that such machine, with its movable surfaces at the
    tips, or wings, infringed the patent in suit, and he replied
    that he did not intend to publicly exhibit the machine for
    profit, but merely was engaged in exhibiting it for scientific
    purposes as a member of the Aerial Experiment Association.
    To this the patentees did not object. Subsequently, however,
    the machine, with supplementary planes placed midway between
    the upper and lower aeroplanes, was publicly exhibited by
    the defendant corporation, and used by Curtiss in aerial
    flights for prizes and emoluments. It further appears that
    the defendants now threaten to continue such use for gain
    and profit, and to engage in the manufacture and sale of
    such infringing machine, thereby becoming an active rival of
    complainant in the business of constructing flying-machines
    embodying the claims in suit, but such use of the infringing
    machine it is the duty of this Court on the papers presented to
    enjoin.

Then, in February, 1910, Judge Learned Hand, in the Federal Circuit
Court, at New York, issued an injunction to prevent the French aviator,
Louis Paulhan, from making exhibitions in the United States unless he
would put up an indemnity to the amount of $25,000. The Court declared
that both the Bleriot and Farman planes that the defendant was planning
to use were infringements of the Wright patents.

Not until January 13, 1914, did the U. S. Circuit Court of Appeals hand
down its decision in the Wright suit against Curtiss. The decision was
in favor of The Wright Co.

In his interview in the New York _Times_, already quoted from,
published in the New York _Times_, February 28, 1914, Captain Thomas
S. Baldwin, though a close associate of Curtiss, heartily endorsed the
final decision in the Wright _vs._ Curtiss case. Referring to that
decision he told the interviewer:

“It is high time for all the rest of us to step up and admit that not a
one of us ever would have got off the ground in flight if the Wrights
had not unlocked the secret for us.

“I want to go on record as saying that the Wrights are fully entitled
to the decision they have at last received....

“Mr. Curtiss is a friend of mine today,” said Baldwin, “and I have
served in his companies as a director. But it is due to the Wrights as
a simple matter of justice to have the story of the actual genesis of
flight fully established.”

By that time, Captain Baldwin had abandoned the dirigible balloon for
the airplane, and thus he, too, had been an infringer of the Wright
patent. But as his public statements indicated, he showed an attitude
quite different from that of most other infringers. Glenn Martin was
another, like Baldwin, who acknowledged indebtedness to the Wrights.

After the Wrights had won their important suit against Curtiss in the
Circuit Court of Appeals, Curtiss made no secret of the fact that
he still hoped to find a possible loophole to get around the Wright
patent. Since the decision of the Court enjoined him from using two
ailerons operating simultaneously in opposite directions, he thought
perhaps he could escape penalty by using just one aileron at a time,
while the other remained inoperative. This, however, was covered
by Claim 1 of the Wright patent, if the claim were given a liberal
interpretation, as the Court had said the Wright Patent was entitled
to, on account of the Wrights being the pioneers in the art of flying.
But Claim 1 had not been cited in the former suits, and so had not as
yet been adjudicated. If Curtiss could just show, or seem to show,
in some way that the Wrights were not exactly pioneers, that some
other machine capable of flight antedated the Wright machine, then
he would be in a stronger position to defend himself against Claim 1
if it should be cited against him. Anticipating a suit, Curtiss took
astounding means to prepare for combating it--as will appear.

But after all the evidence was taken in that case and just before
the case was to come to trial, Orville Wright sold his interest in
The Wright Co. to New York capitalists. Curtiss then contrived to
gain delay after delay by approaching the new owners with proposals
of settlement. These negotiations dragged on until the United States
entered the First World War, and the Manufacturers Aircraft Association
was organized for cross-licensing manufacturers who were building
machines for the United States Government. Through this cross-licensing
agreement, The Wright Co. received royalty on all planes manufactured
for the Government. Consequently, this last case against Curtiss never
came to trial.

The Wrights won their patent suits, too, in the highest courts of both
Germany and France. The court in Germany made the comment in its oral
decision that their discovery that a rear rudder was a balancing device
rather than a steering device should entitle them to a basic patent.

Without going into too much detail about the various patent suits,
the important point is that the priority of the Wright patents was
sustained by the courts in both the United States and Europe. Every
airplane that flies, in any part of the world, even today, does so by
use of devices and discoveries first made by the Wright brothers.

These patent suits were a terrible ordeal for the attorneys and judges
concerned, for aviation was so new that many of the technical terms
were beyond the knowledge of nearly everyone. It was as if lawyers and
judges had to learn a new language and take a course in the theoretical
side of aeronautical engineering as they went along.

In a case against a foreign aviator, Wilbur Wright was called upon
in Court to explain the function and operation of a rudder when an
aeroplane is making a circle. Wilbur got hold of a piece of string and
a fragment of chalk and went to a blackboard, where he made it clear to
the Judge that when a machine is making a turn the pressure is on the
opposite side of an aeroplane rudder from what it is on a ship’s or a
dirigible’s rudder when they are making the same turn.

After the Judge had issued a temporary restraining order, at the end of
the day’s proceedings, Clarence J. Shearn, attorney for the defendant,
gloomily remarked: “If it hadn’t been for Wright and that damned piece
of string, we would have won.”

One bit of testimony in another case was in regard to the accuracy of
observations of men who fly airplanes. To show the inaccuracy of most
people’s observations on phenomena having to do with physical laws,
Wilbur used for illustration what a man thinks happens when riding a
bicycle.

“I have asked dozens of bicycle riders,” said Wilbur, “how they turn
a bicycle to the left. I have never found a single person who stated
all the facts correctly when first asked. They almost invariably said
that, to turn to the left, they turned the handlebar to the left and
as a result made a turn to the left. But on further questioning them,
some would agree that they first turned the handlebar a little to the
right, and then as the machine became inclined to the left, they turned
the handlebar to the left and made the circle, inclining inwardly. To
a scientific student it is very clear that without the preliminary
movement of the handlebar to the right, a movement of the handlebar to
the left would cause the bicycle to run out from under the man, who
would continue headlong in his original direction. Yet I have found
many people who would deny having ever noticed the preliminary movement
of the handlebar to the right. I have never found a non-scientific
bicycle rider who had particularly noticed it and spoke of it from
his own conscious observation and initiative. I found the same
condition among aviators with whom I have flown. Some have almost no
consciousness of whether the machine is rising a little or descending
a little, or whether it is sliding somewhat to the right or to the
left. The ability to notice these things, even in small degrees, is
the main quality which distinguishes skilled aviators from novices and
born flyers from men who will never be able to handle flying-machines
competently.”

Even though the Wrights won all their patent suits, collecting
royalties proved to be something else!



XIX

WHY THE WRIGHT PLANE WAS EXILED


Why was the original Wright airplane, the first flying-machine in the
world capable of flight, deposited in the Science Museum at South
Kensington, London, England, rather than in the United States National
Museum, administered by the Smithsonian Institution, at Washington?
Why should Exhibit A of one of the greatest of all American scientific
achievements be in exile?

For the answer to these questions, puzzling to a vast number of
patriotic Americans, we must trace events back a number of years.

It will be remembered that Dr. Samuel P. Langley, while Director
and Secretary of the Smithsonian, with a $50,000 government fund
at his disposal for experiments (besides $20,000 from the Hodgkins
fund), had failed in his attempts to build a successful man-carrying
flying-machine. At each trial, in 1903, his machine promptly fell from
its launching platform into the Potomac. Doubtless Langley’s failure
was a bitter disappointment to him--all the more so because he was
derided in the public press for having even tried what was commonly
believed to be impossible. But when the Wrights flew, only nine days
after Langley’s final unsuccessful trial, they in a measure saved the
Langley reputation. No one could any longer say that he was a “crank.”
The Wrights had vindicated his belief that man could fly.

Langley uttered no word to minimize the importance of the Wrights’
feat. Nor was anything unfriendly toward Langley ever said by either of
the Wrights. On the contrary, the Wrights more than once gave Langley
credit for having been a source of inspiration to them, from the simple
fact that he, an eminent scientist, considered human flight possible.
Indeed, the Wrights took advantage of an opportunity to save the
Langley name from being made ridiculous. After Dr. Langley’s death, the
Smithsonian Regents ordered the erection in the Smithsonian building
of a tablet in his memory. The plan was to inscribe on the tablet the
“Langley Law,” as Langley’s chief contribution to aeronautical science.
Dr. Charles D. Walcott, who succeeded Dr. Langley as Secretary of the
Smithsonian, sent the proposed inscription to the Wrights for their
opinion of it. Wilbur Wright replied that it would be both unwise and
unfair to Langley to rest his reputation in aerodynamics especially on
that so-called Langley Law or upon the computations which gave rise
to it. The Wrights knew at that time, as all aeronautical engineers
know today, that the Langley Law was simply a mistake and not true.
Because of what Wilbur Wright pointed out in his letter, the Langley
Law was omitted from the memorial tablet. But, having eliminated the
discredited Law that _was_ Langley’s, Dr. Walcott then put in its
place on the tablet an inscription crediting Langley for a discovery
that _was not_ his! The inscription claimed for Langley that he had
“discovered the relations of speed and angle of inclination to the
lifting power of surfaces moving in the air.” (His tables of air
pressures had been antedated by both Duchemin and Lilienthal.)

This tendency to claim for Langley what was not his was destined to
show itself in a more pernicious form in later acts of Dr. Walcott.
If Langley had lived, the relations between the Smithsonian and the
Wrights would doubtless have continued to be marked by mutual respect
and consideration. But after Dr. Langley’s death, the attitude of the
Smithsonian began to change. The Institution started a subtle campaign
to belittle the Wrights, to try to take from them much of the credit
for having both produced and demonstrated the first machine capable of
flight, and for having done the original research that made the machine
possible. Indeed, the Institution even went so far as to issue false
and misleading statements.

One of these was in connection with the first award of a Langley medal,
publicly presented to the Wrights in February, 1910. In referring to
that presentation, the Annual Report for the year 1910 (page 23),
by the Secretary of the Institution, quoted Wilbur Wright as making
a statement not made by him on that occasion at all, but used in
a different connection at another time. The improper use of that
quotation helped to create a false impression over the world that the
Wrights had acknowledged indebtedness to Langley’s scientific work.
The truth was that Wilbur Wright had in a private letter mentioned
indebtedness to Langley, not for scientific data but for the fact that
it was encouraging to know that the head of a scientific institution
believed human flight to be possible. (Langley’s published work in the
field of aerodynamics dealt with measurements of air pressures on flat
surfaces only--and later experiments proved even that to be incorrect.)

The Smithsonian has more than once mentioned the award of the Langley
medal to the Wrights as a proof of the Institution’s disposition to
honor them. But the truth is that the Langley medal was established
to honor Langley, not the Wrights. Neither in the award nor in the
presentation of the medal to the Wright Brothers was there any
suggestion that the Wrights were the first to fly.

In 1910, Dr. Walcott made it evident that the Institution actually did
not want the original Wright plane of 1903 as an exhibit. This could
be seen in letters he sent to Wilbur Wright in the spring of 1910. The
first of these, dated March 7, said:[16]

    The National Museum is endeavoring to enlarge its collections
    illustrating the progress of aviation and, in this connection,
    it has been suggested that you might be willing to deposit one
    of your machines, or a model thereof, for exhibition purposes.

    The great public interest manifested in this science and the
    numerous inquiries from visitors for the Wright machine make it
    manifest that if one were placed on exhibition here it would
    form _one of the most interesting_ specimens in the national
    collections. It is sincerely hoped that you may find it
    possible to accede to this request.

Wilbur Wright replied as follows:

    My Dear Dr. Walcott: ... If you will inform us just what your
    preference would be in the matter of a flier for the National
    Museum we will see what would be possible in the way of meeting
    your wishes. At present nothing is in condition for such use.
    But there are three possibilities. We might construct a small
    model showing the general construction of the aeroplane, but
    with a dummy power plant. Or we can reconstruct the 1903
    machine with which the first flights were made at Kitty Hawk.
    Most of the parts are still in existence. This machine would
    occupy a space 40 feet by 20 feet by 8 feet. Or a model showing
    the general design of the latter machine could be constructed.

The peculiar attitude of the Smithsonian then began to appear. In his
next letter to Wilbur Wright, dated April 11, 1910, Dr. Walcott wrote:

    ... The matter of the representation of the Wright airplane
    has been very carefully considered by Mr. George C. Maynard,
    who has charge of the Division of Technology in the National
    Museum. I told him to indicate what he would like for the
    exhibit, in order that the matter might be placed clearly
    before you and your brother. In his report he says:

    “The following objects illustrating the Wright inventions would
    make a very valuable addition to the aeronautical exhibits in
    the Museum:

    “1. A quarter-size model of the aeroplane used by Orville
    Wright at Fort Myer, Virginia, in September, 1908. Such a model
    equipped with a dummy power plant, as suggested by the Wrights,
    would be quite suitable.

    “2. If there are any radical differences between the machine
    referred to and the one used at Kitty Hawk, a second model of
    the latter machine would be very appropriate.

    “3. A full-sized Wright aeroplane. Inasmuch as the machine
    used at Fort Myer[17] has attracted such world-wide interest,
    that machine, if it can be repaired or reconstructed, would
    seem most suitable. If, however, the Wright brothers think
    the Kitty Hawk machine would answer the purpose better, their
    judgment _might_ decide the question.

    “4 If the Wright brothers have an engine of an early type
    used by them which could be placed in a floor case for close
    inspection that will be desirable.”

    The engine of the Langley Aerodrome is now on exhibition in a
    glass case and the original full-size machine is soon to be
    hung in one of the large halls. The three Langley quarter-size
    models are on exhibition. The natural plan would be to install
    the different Wright machines along with the Langley machines,
    making the exhibit illustrate two very important steps in the
    history of the aeronautical art.

    The request of Mr. Maynard is rather a large one, but we will
    have to leave it to your discretion as to what you think it is
    practicable for you to do.

                         Sincerely yours,
                                     CHARLES D. WALCOTT,
                                                Secretary.


If Dr. Walcott’s suggestions, that the Wrights provide a reproduction
in model size of their 1908 plane and the 1908 plane itself, had
been accepted, then the proposed exhibits in the National Museum
of models and full-size machines by Langley and the Wrights could
easily have been of a nature to give a wrong impression. Surely a
good many uninformed visitors to the museum would hardly have known,
or stopped to think, that it is one thing to build and fly a small
model plane, but an altogether different problem to build and fly a
plane, of the same design, large enough to carry a man. Small models of
flying-machines were flown by the Frenchman, Pénaud, as early as 1871.
But a larger machine of the same design could not be flown--as the
Wrights themselves in early boyhood had found out. Likewise, the fact
that Langley flew a steam-driven model in 1896, and a gas-driven model
in 1903, would not indicate to anyone who understands such matters
that a full-size machine of the same design as either of the models
could support itself in the air. Langley’s own experiments had proved
how great is the gap between success with a model and with a larger
machine. His full-size machine of 1903, of the same design as the model
flown earlier that year, collapsed the moment it was launched. But
suppose an uninformed visitor noticed, side by side, a Langley model
plane of 1903, and a reproduction in model size of the Wright machine
flown with a pilot in 1908. If he hadn’t read the labels carefully, or
if the labels didn’t go into enough detail to make the facts clear,
couldn’t he easily have received the false impression that Langley
had been at least five years ahead of the Wrights? And if the visitor
didn’t know that the Langley full-size machine of 1903 never flew,
wouldn’t the sight of it, alongside the Wright machine flown in 1908,
have seemed to confirm the wrong impression? Perhaps, however, that was
the impression Dr. Walcott wanted museum visitors to receive!

The Walcott letter said, it may be noted, that if there were “any
radical differences” between the first Wright machine and the
one flown in 1908, then a “model” of the first machine might be
appropriate. But since there were no radical differences between the
1903 and 1908 machines, not even a small-sized model of the first
machine ever to be flown was being asked for. The Wrights took the
letter to mean that the Smithsonian did not want an exhibit that would
emphasize the fact of their having flown a successful, man-carrying
machine as early as 1903. They thought it was significant that the
letter did not say that the Wrights’ own opinion would decide which
machine was more suitable, but only that their judgment “might” decide
the question. Because of their strong belief that the Smithsonian was
showing a prejudiced attitude, they made no reply to the Walcott letter.

There was no further correspondence on this subject between the
Smithsonian and the Wrights until six years later. In 1916, the
original Wright plane was exhibited at the dedication of the new
buildings of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Dr. Alexander
Graham Bell, a Regent of the Smithsonian Institution, saw the plane and
expressed astonishment. It was the first he knew that it was still in
existence. Shortly afterward, in a conversation with Orville Wright, he
asked why the plane was not being exhibited by the Smithsonian.

“Because,” replied Orville, “the Smithsonian does not want it.”

“Indeed the Smithsonian does want it!” exclaimed Dr. Bell. He was
sincere in thinking so and requested Dr. Walcott to get in touch with
Orville Wright.

Walcott on December 23, 1916, wrote what Orville considered a
perfunctory letter saying: “... the importance of securing for the
National Museum the Wright aeroplane which was exhibited at the opening
of the new buildings of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology _has
been suggested to me_.”

Orville Wright replied that he would be glad to take up the question
with Dr. Walcott in a personal interview. A few days later the two met
in Washington, but it was soon evident to Orville that Dr. Walcott’s
attitude had not changed; that he did not want that original Wright
machine which had flown exhibited beside the Langley machine which had
failed to fly.

When Orville found that Walcott’s attitude had not changed in the six
years since the former correspondence, he gave the question no further
consideration.

Meanwhile, in 1914, after the Federal courts had upheld the Wright
patents in the suits against Glenn H. Curtiss and others, and
recognized the Wrights as “pioneers” in the practical art of flying
with heavier-than-air machines, an astounding thing happened.

A few days after the final court decision had been delivered, Lincoln
Beachey, a Curtiss stockholder, telegraphed to Secretary Walcott,
of the Smithsonian, asking permission to attempt a flight with the
original Langley machine. That proposal was not accepted; but two
months later, when Glenn H. Curtiss himself said he would like to
test the Langley machine, his request was granted. The Smithsonian
entered into a deal with Curtiss in which he was to receive a payment
of $2,000, and was permitted to take the original Langley plane from
the Smithsonian to his shop at Hammondsport, New York. There he made
numerous vital changes in the machine, using knowledge of aerodynamics
discovered by the Wrights but never possessed by Langley. No
information is available to indicate that the Smithsonian offered any
objection to these alterations being made. The Smithsonian’s official
observer, in connection with the tests of the machine, was Dr. A. F.
Zahm, who had been technical expert for Curtiss in the recent lawsuits
and was to serve again in that capacity in another suit soon to follow.
No one officially representing any disinterested scientific body was
present during the time the changes in the machine were made nor during
the time it was tested.

It seems highly improbable that Dr. Walcott could have been so
unintelligent or so uninformed as not to know about the recent decision
of the U. S. Court of Appeals against Curtiss; and equally improbable
that he could have been unaware of Zahm’s relations with Curtiss as
expert witness and adviser. One may well wonder, too, if Dr. Walcott
could have failed to understand why Curtiss had recently become
interested in testing the Langley plane. In hundreds of pages of direct
testimony in the lawsuits, neither Curtiss nor Zahm had mentioned
Langley’s name, though they had more than once referred to Chanute,
Maxim, Henson, Marriott, Boulton, Pilcher, Harte, and other pioneers.
One may further wonder if Walcott could have been unaware when, in
1913, the Smithsonian awarded the Langley medal to Curtiss, that he had
already been pronounced an infringer of the Wright patents by a Federal
court, and that another decision in a higher court was pending. It
almost looked as if there might have been an intent to try to influence
that decision.

Curtiss had a strong motive for wanting to make it appear that the
Langley plane could have flown. The United States Court of Appeals had
held that the Wrights were pioneers in the field of heavier-than-air
flying-machines, and that therefore their patent claims were entitled
to a “liberal interpretation.” If Curtiss could demonstrate, or seem
to demonstrate, that a machine capable of flight had been built
before the Wright machine, then he could weaken their claims, to his
financial advantage, in a patent suit he expected to have to defend. In
consequence of the important changes that were made, Curtiss finally
was able to make several short hops, of less than five seconds, with
the reconstructed machine, in May and June, 1914, over Lake Keuka, at
Hammondsport, N. Y. Then the Smithsonian, in its annual report of the
U. S. National Museum for that year, falsely stated that the original
Langley plane had been flown “without modification”! And the annual
report of the Smithsonian Institution for 1914, with equally glaring
falsity, said: “It [the Langley machine] has demonstrated that _with
its original structure and power_, it is capable of flying with a
pilot and _several hundred pounds of useful load_. It is the _first
aeroplane_ in the history of the world of which this can truthfully be
said”! (Italics supplied.)

The Institution’s annual report for 1915 continued to repeat such
untruths. “The tests thus far made have shown that former Secretary
Langley had succeeded in building the first aeroplane capable of
sustained free flight with a man.”

Similar misstatements were made in the Institution’s reports for 1916,
1917, 1918, and afterward.

Altogether here had been something probably unique in scientific
procedure. A test was made purporting to determine if the original
Langley plane was capable of flight; but the test was not made with
the machine as designed and built by Langley, nor with an exact copy
of it. No disinterested official observer was present. Misstatements
were published about the results, and no information was furnished,
regarding the changes made, to enable anyone to learn the truth.
To have made one more honest test of the Langley plane that had
immediately crashed each time it was launched over the Potomac would
have been permissible. But for a scientific institution officially to
distort scientific facts, and in collaboration with a man who stood
to gain financially by what he was doing, has been called worse than
scandalous.

After the Langley machine had been restored as nearly as possible to
its original state, it was placed on exhibition by the Smithsonian.
Soon afterward it bore a label that falsely proclaimed it to be “the
first man-carrying aeroplane in the history of the world capable of
sustained free flight.”

But neither in connection with the exhibit of the Langley plane nor
in any report of the Smithsonian Institution was there any hint of
the fundamental changes made at Hammondsport, without which the plane
could not possibly have carried its weight. One of these changes had to
do with the supporting posts on the wings. Professor Langley had not
known--indeed, no one knew until the Wrights’ wind-tunnel experiments
established the facts--where the center of the air pressure would
be on a curved surface, and consequently he had failed to place his
wing-trussing posts where they were most needed. In the attempts to fly
the machine over the Potomac, in 1903, the wing that bore the greater
part of the weight had each time collapsed at the moment the apparatus
left the starting platform. (Lacking the knowledge about curved
surfaces that later was available, those in charge of the 1903 trials
had blamed the trouble on the launching apparatus.) At the Hammondsport
tests, the trussing posts were moved thirty inches rearward. This
brought the guy posts almost exactly in the same plane with the center
of pressure on the wings and thus eliminated the backward pull that had
wrecked the machine in the 1903 tests.

Three fundamental changes were made in the design of the wings
themselves: (1) The camber was greatly changed; (2) the shape of the
leading edge was entirely different; (3) the aspect ratio--the ratio
of span to chord--was increased. These three features are the most
important characteristics in determining the efficiency of a wing.
The change of the camber of itself may increase the efficiency of a
wing by thirty per cent. And not only were the wings changed as to
design, but they were strengthened by various means of reinforcing and
trussing not used by Langley. Even the cloth on the wings was improved
by varnishing, to make the wings more efficient. Langley had not used
varnish on the cloth.

Numerous changes were made in other parts of the machine. The large
fixed vertical keel surface, situated below the main frame in 1903,
was entirely omitted in 1914. This omission improved the machine’s
stability. A different kind of rudder was used. The position of the
“Pénaud tail” used by Langley was raised about ten inches to increase
the stability of the machine, and was connected to a modern steering
post, to give better control. The forward corners of the original
Langley propellers were cut off in the manner of the early Wright
propellers to increase their efficiency. As the system of control
Langley had used was not adequate, the aileron system, covered by
Wright patents, a system unknown to Langley, was added.

How did all these changes become known? Orville Wright called attention
to them in an affidavit in 1915 in the Wright-Curtiss lawsuit. One
way to learn most of the facts is astonishingly simple. All that
is necessary to any observer who knows what to look for is to make
careful comparisons of the Smithsonian photographs of the original
Langley machine with Smithsonian photographs of the machine tested at
Hammondsport.

It was learned, too, that even the engine used by Langley was changed
in several respects. A modern type carburetor, a new intake manifold, a
magneto ignition, and a modern radiator were installed.

Though all these changes and many others were made in the machine
at Hammondsport, the Smithsonian published only a few of them--the
less important. It did not tell of the fundamental changes. And the
Institution made statements that, by implication, practically amounted
to a denial that any changes of importance had been made.

By omitting from its published reports at the time and for many
years afterward, the facts about the changes in the Langley machine,
the Smithsonian Institution succeeded in deluding the public. If
the stories about these fake tests had been issued by Curtiss, who
conducted them, or by an organization less well known than the
Smithsonian, they might not have been taken seriously. But when
false and misleading announcements were backed by the prestige of a
famous scientific institution, it was possible to have the fraudulent
character of the experiments pass generally unsuspected. When the
reports of Secretary Walcott of the Smithsonian Institution said the
“_original_” Langley machine had made “flights,” and when the report of
the National Museum said the Langley machine had been flown “without
modification,” such statements, untrue though they were, naturally
carried weight. Indeed, the misstatements were so widely accepted as
fact that they began to find their way into school text-books and into
encyclopedias.

Griffith Brewer, the English aeronaut, delivered a lecture before the
Royal Aeronautical Society in London, in October, 1921, and exposed
the fraudulent nature of the Hammondsport tests. In this lecture he
mentioned many of the vital changes made in the Langley plane before
any attempt was made to fly it. Dr. Walcott made a statement in reply
to Brewer. Up to this time Orville Wright had thought that Walcott
could have been ignorant of those changes; but after reading the
Walcott statement he was convinced that there was nothing accidental
or unintentional about the misstatements published by the Smithsonian
regarding the tests at Hammondsport.

While the Kitty Hawk plane rested in its storage place, subject to
possible fire hazards, officials of the Science Museum at South
Kensington, London, England, had made requests to have the machine
for exhibition there. After Orville Wright became convinced that none
of the Members or Regents of the Smithsonian Institution or any other
influential persons were enough interested in establishing the facts
in controversy to go to the trouble of making an investigation, he
reluctantly decided, in 1923, to accede to the requests from London. In
reply to letters deploring this decision, he has expressed his reasons
as follows:

    I believe my course in sending our Kitty Hawk machine to a
    foreign museum is the only way of correcting the history of the
    flying-machine, which by false and misleading statements has
    been perverted by the Smithsonian Institution.

    In its campaign to discredit others in the flying art, the
    Smithsonian has issued scores of these false and misleading
    statements. They can be proved to be false and misleading from
    documents. But the people of today do not take the trouble to
    examine this evidence.

    With this machine in any American museum the national pride
    would be satisfied; nothing further would be done and the
    Smithsonian would continue its propaganda. In a foreign museum
    this machine will be a constant reminder of the reason of its
    being there, and after the people and petty jealousies of
    this day are gone, the historians of the future may examine
    impartially the evidence and make history accord with it.

    Your regret that this old machine must leave our country can
    hardly be so great as my own.

Reluctant to carry out his intention to send the Kitty Hawk plane out
of the country, Orville Wright in 1925 proposed that the controversy
be settled through the investigations of an impartial committee. But
the suggestion got no response. He wrote a letter, on May 14, 1925, to
Chief Justice William Howard Taft, as Chancellor of the Smithsonian
Institution, in the hope that it might yet be possible to have an
impartial hearing. In this letter, after reviewing the relations of the
Wrights and the Smithsonian, he said:

    It was not until 1921 that I became convinced that the
    officials of the Smithsonian, at least Dr. Walcott, were fully
    acquainted with the character of the tests at Hammondsport. I
    had thought up to that time that they might have been ignorant
    of the fundamental changes which had been incorporated in the
    machine before these tests were made, and that when these
    changes were pointed out to them they would hasten to correct
    their erroneous reports. They did not do this, but have
    continued to repeat their early statements. By these the public
    has been led to think that flights were made in 1914 with the
    original Langley machine, with no changes, excepting such as
    were necessary to attach floats for the new system of launching.

    When the proofs on both sides concerning these changes are
    shown, I do not think it will take you five minutes to make up
    your mind whether the changes were made and whether they were
    of importance.

    It seems to me possible that you as Chancellor of the
    Smithsonian Institution may wish me to present personally to
    you my evidence on these points and to have Dr. Walcott present
    at the same time to give his proofs to the contrary. It may be
    a way of cutting short a long and bitter controversy.

Chief Justice Taft replied that his position as Chancellor and head of
the Smithsonian was purely nominal; that his other duties were such
that he did not have the time to give any real attention to questions
that have to be settled by the Institution’s Secretary.

A similar preference to stand aside was shown by others nominally in a
position to exercise authority over the acts of the Smithsonian. That
Institution has as its members the President of the United States, the
Vice President, the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, and members
of the President’s cabinet. Its Board of Regents is made up of the
Chief Justice, the Vice President, three members of the Senate, three
members of the House of Representatives, and six citizens appointed by
joint resolution of Congress. Any one of these members of the Board of
Regents could doubtless have forced an investigation of any reported
injustice committed by the Smithsonian. But all had other duties to
occupy their time and, like Chief Justice Taft, they were willing
to let the Secretary of the Smithsonian act as he saw fit. Thus the
Secretary of the Smithsonian, which administers several important
government bureaus besides the National Museum, could exercise great
influence. That is how it came about that the attempt to mislead the
public regarding the epochal achievements of the Wrights went so long
unchecked by official action. And as Orville Wright once said he had
discovered, “Silent truth cannot withstand error aided by continued
propaganda.”

After the exchange of letters with Chief Justice Taft, Orville Wright
still delayed sending the Kitty Hawk plane to England. There was
nothing impetuous about what he did. Not until early in 1928, or
fourteen years after the fraudulent tests at Hammondsport, with the
Smithsonian still showing no intention to correct its false record
of those flights, did he send the machine to the Science Museum at
South Kensington. The arrangement he made with the Science Museum
was that the plane should stay there for not less than five years,
and permanently unless brought back to the United States within his
lifetime.

Early in 1928, a bill was introduced in Congress to ascertain which
was the first heavier-than-air flying-machine. Shortly afterward the
Smithsonian adopted a resolution declaring that “to the Wrights belongs
the credit of making the first successful flight with a power-propelled
heavier-than-air machine carrying a man.”

That resolution was, of course, superfluous, for there had never been
any question, even by the Smithsonian, as to the first machine to
make a sustained flight. But the Smithsonian continued to claim for
Professor Langley credit for the _invention_ of the first machine
_capable_ of flight.

Dr. Charles G. Abbot became the Secretary and Director of the
Smithsonian Institution in 1928, succeeding Dr. Walcott, who had
died in 1927. Soon after he became the head of the Institution, Dr.
Abbot invited Orville Wright to go to lunch with him at the Carlton
Hotel in Washington. In the course of their talk Dr. Abbot expressed
the wish that they might come to an agreement by which the Kitty
Hawk plane could be returned to America and placed under the care
of the Smithsonian in the National Museum. Orville Wright said that
this could easily be done. All that he asked for, he said, was a
correction in the Smithsonian publications of the false and misleading
statements previously made in those publications. Dr. Abbot expressed
a willingness to do so, provided this could be accomplished without
injuring the reputation of his predecessor or the prestige of the
Institution.

But the painful fact was that the Smithsonian, however spotless its
previous reputation, had committed a reprehensible act, and its
reputation and prestige were bound to suffer when its guilt became
known. Having committed a serious offense, one or the other of two
courses were open to it: (1) to confess its guilt and make a full,
frank correction; or (2) to try to keep the misdeed concealed.
Unfortunately, the Institution adopted, at the beginning, the latter
course, evidently in the belief that its great prestige, acquired
through an honorable past, could crush any imputation against it.
Indeed, that course did prove successful up to the time Orville Wright
sent the Kitty Hawk plane abroad.

Dr. Abbot had not been responsible for the disgraceful situation he
inherited when he became Secretary of the Smithsonian and found himself
in the unenviable position of having to make an embarrassing decision.
But it seemed as if he could not quite muster the courage to break
away from the course the Institution had been following. Instead, he
at first tried to justify the Institution’s previous attitude, though
he did concede that it was not true that the Langley plane had been
flown at Hammondsport “without modification” as the Smithsonian had
published. There were “many differences,” he admitted. “Some of the
changes were favorable, some unfavorable, to success,” he declared.
“Just what effects, favorable or unfavorable, the sum total of these
changes produced can never be precisely known.” Orville Wright, on the
other hand, insisted that the “effects, favorable or unfavorable” could
easily be determined by experts if only the changes were made known to
them.

But Dr. Abbot still failed to publish the changes.

Since then Orville Wright more than once let the Smithsonian know what
he thought should be done to settle the controversy. In a letter he
sent to Dr. Abbot on December 23, 1933, he wrote:

    The points involved in the straightening of the record are not
    on matters of mere opinion. They are on matters of fact, which
    at this time can be easily and definitely established. All that
    I have demanded in the past has been that there be an impartial
    investigation of the matters in controversy and that the record
    then be made to agree with the facts.

    The suggestion made by me in 1925, three years before the plane
    left this country, that a committee be appointed to make an
    impartial investigation and settle the controversy, received
    from the Smithsonian no response. Nevertheless, I shall be
    most happy now to join with you in the selection of such a
    committee, with the understanding that the committee will
    fully investigate the matters in controversy and will make a
    full report of its findings.

In a letter a few weeks later, Dr. Abbot suggested that, if it were
agreeable to Orville Wright, he would ask three public officials each
to name an expert to serve on “an impartial committee” of three to
investigate and report on the experiments at Hammondsport in 1914,
and their bearing on the capacity of the Langley machine for flight
in 1903. But all three of the Government officials that he mentioned
were members of the Smithsonian. If the suggested plan had been
followed, presumably Dr. Abbot himself would have had the naming
of the investigating committee, for in organizations, such as the
Smithsonian, appointing of committees by members is usually referred
to the Secretary. (Chief Justice Taft, Chancellor of the Smithsonian,
had written that because he did not have the time, he let questions
regarding the Institution be settled by the Secretary.) It appeared
to Orville Wright that Dr. Abbot did not have too much confidence
in the findings of a committee, even if wholly appointed by the
Smithsonian, for Abbot specified just what questions the committee was
to investigate. And most of these were wholly irrelevant.

A little later, Orville Wright, in reply to a letter from Dr. Abbot,
made this suggestion: That the Smithsonian publish a paper presenting
a list of specifications in parallel columns of those features of
the Langley machine of 1903 and of the Hammondsport machine of 1914
in which there were differences, along with an introduction stating
that the Smithsonian now finds it was misled by the Zahm report of
1914; that through the Zahm report the Institution was led to believe
that the aeroplane tested at Hammondsport was “as nearly as possible
in its original condition”; that as a result of this misinformation
the Smithsonian had published erroneous statements from time to time
alleging that the original Langley machine, without modification, or
with only such modifications as were necessary for the addition of
floats, had been successfully flown at Hammondsport in 1914; that
it ask its readers to disregard all of its former statements and
expressions of opinion regarding the flights at Hammondsport in 1914,
because these were based upon misinformation as the accompanying list
of changes would show. (The accuracy of the list of changes was to be
settled before publication by the Smithsonian, Orville Wright and a
mediator.)

But the suggestion was not followed.

It will be noted that Orville Wright did not even ask that the
Smithsonian should say it did not believe the original Langley machine
could fly. All he asked was that the facts regarding the Hammondsport
trials be made public by the Smithsonian. It has been his contention
that if this information had not been withheld, then anyone having a
knowledge of the science of aviation could form for himself an opinion
regarding the importance of the differences between the original
Langley machine of 1903 and the Zahm-Curtiss-Langley machine of 1914.
He has been willing to stake his and his brother’s reputation on the
conclusion that a committee of competent disinterested scientists
would reach if they had all the facts.

Dr. Abbot, in the years 1933 to 1942, proposed a number of times to
issue a statement by the Smithsonian for the declared purpose of
correcting the record. All these statements, however, except the final
one, would have left the record as confusing as it was before. The
first statement proposed was to contain: (1) A history of Langley’s
work up to December, 1903, which was entirely irrelevant to the
controversy and would have filled hundreds, if not thousands, of pages
of print; (2) a history of the Langley machine from 1903 to 1914,
which, likewise, had no part in the controversy; (3) A. F. Zahm’s
report of the tests of the Langley machine at Hammondsport in 1914,
with no correction by the Institution of its many misrepresentations
of fact about those tests; (4) Orville Wright’s list of changes
made in the Langley machine at Hammondsport in 1914, without any
acknowledgement by the Smithsonian of its accuracy. (The accuracy of
the list was later acknowledged by the Institution.) (5) A long list of
“amendments” by A. F. Zahm to Orville Wright’s list of changes. (These
“amendments,” or comments, had the appearance of being corrections of
errors in Orville Wright’s list, though a careful reading will disclose
that they were not corrections.)

Dr. Abbot’s proposed statement thus would have dealt almost entirely
with matters not involved in the controversy. About all that did
touch on questions in the controversy would have been contradictory
statements by Zahm and Wright. The reader, having no way of knowing
which one was telling the truth, would have been more confused than
ever.

All the publications proposed later, except the final one, were
similar to the first, though less voluminous. None of them would have
clarified the situation any more than the first. Not until September,
1942, did Dr. Abbot submit a statement which, with some amendments,
was satisfactory to Orville Wright. That statement, published by the
Smithsonian on October 24, 1942, is given here verbatim, as follows:

    THE 1914 TESTS OF THE LANGLEY “AERODROME”[18]

    BY C. G. ABBOT

    _Secretary, Smithsonian Institution_

    NOTE--This paper has been submitted to Dr. Orville Wright,
    and under date of October 8, 1942, he states that the paper
    as now prepared will be acceptable to him if given adequate
    publication.

  It is everywhere acknowledged that the Wright brothers were the
  first to make sustained flights in a heavier-than-air machine at
  Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, on December 17, 1903.

  Mainly because of acts and statements of former officers of
  the Smithsonian Institution, arising from tests made with the
  reconditioned Langley plane of 1903 at Hammondsport, New York,
  in 1914, Dr. Orville Wright feels that the Institution adopted
  an unfair and injurious attitude. He therefore sent the original
  Wright Kitty Hawk plane to England in 1928. The nature of the acts
  and statements referred to are as follows:

  In March 1914, Secretary Walcott contracted with Glenn H. Curtiss
  to attempt a flight with the Langley machine. This action seems
  ill considered and open to criticism. For in January 1914, the
  United States Court of Appeals, Second Circuit, had handed down a
  decision recognizing the Wrights as “pioneers in the practical art
  of flying with heavier-than-air machines” and pronouncing Glenn H.
  Curtiss an infringer of their patent. Hence, in view of probable
  further litigation, the Wrights stood to lose in fame and revenue
  and Curtiss stood to gain pecuniarily, should the experiments at
  Hammondsport indicate that Langley’s plane was capable of sustained
  flight in 1903, previous to the successful flights made December
  17, 1903, by the Wrights at Kitty Hawk, N. C.

  The machine was shipped to Curtiss at Hammondsport, N. Y., in
  April. Dr. Zahm, the Recorder of the Langley Aerodynamical
  Laboratory and expert witness for Curtiss in the patent litigation,
  was at Hammondsport as official representative of the Smithsonian
  Institution during the time the machine was being reconstructed
  and tested. In the reconstruction the machine was changed from
  what it was in 1903 in a number of particulars as given in Dr.
  Wright’s list of differences which appears later in this paper.
  On the 28th of May and the 2d of June, 1914, attempts to fly were
  made. After acquiring speed by running on hydroplane floats on
  the surface of Lake Keuka the machine lifted into the air several
  different times. The longest time off the water with the Langley
  motor was approximately five seconds. Dr. Zahm stated that “it was
  apparent that owing to the great weight which had been given to the
  structure by adding the floats it was necessary to increase the
  propeller thrust.” So no further attempts were made to fly with the
  Langley 52 HP engine.

  It is to be regretted that the Institution published statements
  repeatedly[19] to the effect that these experiments of 1914
  demonstrated that Langley’s plane of 1903 without essential
  modification was the first heavier-than-air machine capable of
  maintaining sustained human flight.

  As first exhibited in the United States National Museum, January
  15, 1918, the restored Langley plane of 1903 bore the following
  label:

                        THE ORIGINAL, FULL-SIZE
                     LANGLEY FLYING MACHINE, 1903

  For this simple label others were later substituted containing the
  claim that Langley’s machine “was the first man-carrying aeroplane
  in the history of the world capable of sustained free flight.”

  Though the matter of the label is not now an issue, it seems only
  fair to the Institution to say that in September 1928, Secretary
  Abbot finally caused the label of the Langley machine to be changed
  to read simply as follows:

                           LANGLEY AERODROME

                 THE ORIGINAL SAMUEL PIERPONT LANGLEY
                   FLYING MACHINE OF 1903, RESTORED.

                             Deposited by
                      The Smithsonian Institution

                                                            301,613

  This change has frequently been overlooked by writers on the
  controversy.

  In January 1942, Mr. Fred C. Kelly, of Peninsula, Ohio,
  communicated to me a list of differences between the Langley plane
  as tested in 1914 and as tested in 1903, which he had received from
  Dr. Wright. This list is given verbatim below. The Institution
  accepts Dr. Wright’s statement as correct in point of facts.
  Inferences from the comparisons are primarily the province of
  interested experts and are not discussed here.


COMPARISON OF THE LANGLEY MACHINE OF 1903 WITH THE HAMMONDSPORT MACHINE
OF MAY-JUNE, 1914.

[Illustration: Fig. 3. _LANGLEY WING TRUSSING 1903._

Fig. 4. _HAMMONDSPORT WING TRUSSING 1914._]

          LANGLEY, 1903.                    HAMMONDSPORT, 1914.

                                WINGS.

  1 SIZE: 11′6″ × 22′6″ (L.M.[A]    SIZE: 10′11¾″ × 22′6″
  p. 206)

      [A] The letters L.M. in first column refer to Langley Memoir.

  2 AREA: 1040 sq. ft. (L.M. p.     AREA: 988 sq. ft.
  206)

  3 ASPECT RATIO: 1.96              ASPECT RATIO: 2.05

  4 CAMBER: 1/12 (L.M. p. 205)      CAMBER: 1/18

  5 LEADING EDGE: Wire 1/16″        LEADING EDGE: Cylindrical spar
  diameter (L.M. Pl.66)             1½″ dia. at inner end, tapering
                                    to 1″ dia. at outer end.

  6 COVERING: Cotton fabric, not    COVERING: Cotton fabric,
  varnished.                        varnished.

  7 CENTER SPAR: Cylindrical        CENTER SPAR: Cylindrical spar
  wooden spar, measuring 1½″ dia.   about 1½″ dia. at inner end,
  for half its length and tapering  tapering to about 1″ dia. at
  to 1″ at its tip. (L.M. p. 204.)  outer end. Located on upper
  Located on upper side of wing.    side of wing. This center spar
                                    was reinforced (1) by an extra
                                    wooden member on the underside
                                    of the wing, which measured 1″ ×
                                    1½″ and extended to the 7th rib
                                    from the center of the machine;
                                    and (2) by another wooden
                                    reinforcement on the underside
                                    extending out about one-fourth
                                    of the length of the wing.

  8 RIBS: Hollow box construction.  RIBS: Most of the original
  (L.M. Plates 66, 67.)             Langley box ribs were
                                    replaced with others made at
                                    Hammondsport. (Manly letter,
                                    1914.) The Hammondsport ribs
                                    were of solid construction and
                                    made of laminated wood. That
                                    part of the rib in front of
                                    the forward spar was entirely
                                    omitted.

  9 LOWER GUY-POSTS: A single       LOWER GUY-POSTS: Four for each
  round wooden post for each pair   pair of wings (see Fig. 4), two
  of wings (see Fig. 3), 1¼″ in     of which were of streamline form
  dia. 6½″ long. (L.M. Plate 62,    measuring 1¼″ × 3½″ × 54″ long;
  p. 184.)                          and two measuring 2″ × 2″ with
                                    rounded corners, 3′9″ long.

  10 The front wing guy-post was    The front-wing guy-posts were
  located 28½″ in front of the      located directly underneath the
  main center spar. (L.M. Plate     main center spar, 28½″ further
  53.)                              rearward than in 1903.

  11 The rear wing guy-post was     The rear wing guy-posts were
  located 31½″ in front of the      located directly under the
  main center spar. (L.M. Plate     main center spar, 31½″ further
  53.)                              rearward than in 1903.

  12 UPPER GUY-POSTS: For each      UPPER GUY-POSTS: For each pair
  pair of wings a single steel      of wings, two streamline wooden
  tube ¼″ dia., 43″ long. (L.M. p.  posts each 1¼″ × 3½″, 76″ long,
  184, pl. 62.)                     forming an inverted V. (See Fig.
                                    4.)

  13 Front wing upper guy-post      Front wing upper guy-posts
  located 28½″ in front of the      located directly over main spar,
  main center spar. (L.M. pl. 53.)  28½″ further rearward than in
                                    1903.

  14 The rear wing upper guy-post   The rear wing guy-posts were
  was located 31½″ in front of the  located directly over the main
  main center spar. (L.M. pl. 53.)  center spar, 31½″ further
                                    rearward than in 1903.

  15 TRUSSING: The wing trussing    TRUSSING: A different system
  wires were attached to the spars  of wing trussing was used, and
  at the 5th, 7th and 9th ribs out  the wing trussing wires were
  from the center (L.M. pl. 54.)    attached to the spars at the
  The angles between these wires    3rd, 6th and 9th ribs from the
  and the spars to which they were  center. The angles between
  attached are shown in Fig. 3.     these wires and the spars to
                                    which they were attached were
                                    all different from those in the
                                    original Langley machine. (See
                                    Fig. 4.)

                           CONTROL SURFACES.

  16 VANE RUDDER: A split vane      VERTICAL RUDDER: The Langley
  composed of two surfaces united   vane rudder was replaced by a
  at their leading edges and        single plane vertical rudder
  separated 15″ at their trailing   which measured 3′6″ × 5′, with
  edges, thus forming a wedge.      aspect ratio of .7.
  Each surface measured 2′3″ ×
  4′6″, with aspect ratio .5.
  (L.M. p. 214, pls. 53, 54.)

  17 Operated by means of a wheel   Operated at Hammondsport through
  located slightly in front of the  the Curtiss steering wheel in
  pilot at his right side and at    some tests (Zahm affidavit pp.
  the height of his shoulder (L.M.  5, 6), through the Curtiss
  p. 216, pls. 53, 54.)             shoulder yoke in some others
                                    (Manly letter, 1914), and fixed
                                    so as not to be operable at all
                                    in still others (Zahm affidavit
                                    p. 7).

  18 Used for steering only. (L.M.  Used “as a vertical aileron to
  p. 214.)                          control the lateral poise of the
                                    machine” (Zahm affidavit p. 6),
                                    as well as for steering (Zahm
                                    affidavit p. 7).

  19 PENAUD TAIL: This was a        TAIL RUDDER: Same size and
  dart-shaped tail having a         construction as in 1903.
  vertical and a horizontal
  surface (Penaud tail), each
  measuring 95 sq. ft. It was
  located in the rear of the main
  frame.

  20 Attached to a bracket          Attached to same bracket at a
  extending below the main frame.   point about 8″ higher than in
                                    1903.

  21 “Normally inactive,” (L.M.     Operable about a transverse
  p. 216) but adjustable about a    horizontal axis and connected
  transverse horizontal axis by     to a regular Curtiss elevator
  means of a self-locking wheel     control post directly in front
  located at the right side of the  of the pilot (Zahm affidavit p.
  pilot, even with his back, and    5).
  at the height of his shoulder.
  (L.M. pls. 51, 53.)

  22 Immovable about a vertical     Immovable about a vertical
  axis. (L.M. p. 214, pl. 56,       axis on May 28, 1914, only.
  Fig. 1.) No means were provided   Thereafter it was made movable
  for adjusting this rudder about   about a vertical axis and was
  a vertical axis in flight.        connected through cables to a
  “Although it was necessary that   Curtiss steering wheel mounted
  the large aerodrome should be     on a Curtiss control post
  capable of being steered in a     directly in front of the pilot.
  horizontal direction, it was
  felt to be unwise to give the
  Penaud tail and rudder motion in
  the horizontal plane in order to
  attain this end.” (L.M. p. 214.)

  23 KEEL: A fixed vertical         KEEL: Entirely omitted.
  surface underneath the main
  frame measuring 3′2″ in height
  by 6′ average length. Area 19
  sq. ft. (L.M. pl. 53.)

                          SYSTEM OF CONTROL.

  24 LATERAL STABILITY: The         LATERAL STABILITY: Three means
  dihedral only was used for        were used for securing lateral
  maintaining lateral balance.      balance at Hammondsport: The
  (L.M. p. 45.)                     dihedral angle as used by
                                    Langley, a rudder which “serves
                                    as a vertical aileron” (Zahm
                                    affidavit p. 6), and the Penaud
                                    tail rudder. The last two
                                    constituted a system “identical
                                    in principle with that of
                                    Complainant’s [Wright] combined
                                    warping of the wings and the use
                                    of the vertical rudder.” (Zahm
                                    affidavit p. 6.)

  25 LONGITUDINAL STABILITY:        LONGITUDINAL STABILITY: At
  Langley relied upon the Penaud    Hammondsport the Penaud inherent
  system of inherent stability for  longitudinal stability was
  maintaining the longitudinal      supplemented with an elevator
  equilibrium. “For the             system of control.
  preservation of the equilibrium
  [longitudinal] of the aerodrome,
  though the aviator might assist
  by such slight movements as he
  was able to make in the limited
  space of the aviator’s car,
  the main reliance was upon the
  Penaud tail.” (L.M. p. 215.)

  26 STEERING: Steering in the      STEERING: On one day, May
  horizontal plane was done         28, 1914, steering in the
  entirely by the split-vane        horizontal plane was done with
  steering rudder located           the vertical rudder which
  underneath the main frame. (L.M.  had been substituted for the
  p. 214.)                          original Langley split-vane
                                    steering rudder. After May 28th
                                    the steering was done by the
                                    vertical surface of the tail
                                    rudder (Zahm affidavit p. 7),
                                    which in 1903 was immovable
                                    about a vertical axis (L.M. p.
                                    214.)

                             POWER PLANT.

  27 MOTOR: Langley 5 cylinder      MOTOR: Langley motor modified.
  radial.

  28 IGNITION: Jump spark with dry  IGNITION: Jump spark with
  cell batteries. (L.M. p. 262.)    magneto.

  29 CARBURETOR: Balzer carburetor  CARBURETOR: Automobile type with
  consisting of a chamber filled    float feed.
  with lumps of porous cellular
  wood saturated with gasoline.
  The air was drawn through this
  wood. There was no float feed.
  (L.M. p. 225.)

  30 RADIATOR: Tubes with           RADIATOR: Automobile radiator of
  radiating fins.                   honeycomb type.

  31 PROPELLERS: Langley            PROPELLERS: Langley propellers
  propellers (L.M. pl. 53, pp.      modified “after fashion of early
  178–182).                         Wright blades.”

                         LAUNCHING AND FLOATS.

  32 LAUNCHING: Catapult mounted    LAUNCHING: Hydroplanes,
  on a houseboat.                   developed 1909–1914, attached to
                                    the machine.

  33 FLOATS: Five cylindrical       FLOATS: Two wooden hydroplane
  tin floats, with conical ends,    floats, mounted beneath and
  attached to underside of main     about 6 feet to either side of
  frame at appropriate points, and  the center of the machine at
  about six feet above lowest part  the lateral extremities of the
  of machine.                       Pratt system of trussing used
                                    for bracing the wing spars of
                                    the forward wings; and one (part
                                    of the time two) tin cylindrical
                                    floats with conical ends,
                                    similar to but larger than the
                                    Langley floats, mounted at the
                                    center of the Pratt system of
                                    trussing used for bracing the
                                    rear wings. All of the floats
                                    were mounted from four to five
                                    feet lower than the floats of
                                    the original Langley, thus
                                    keeping the entire machine above
                                    the water.

                                WEIGHT.

  34 TOTAL WEIGHT: With pilot, 850  TOTAL WEIGHT: With pilot, 1170
  pounds (L.M. p. 256).             pounds.

  35 CENTER GRAVITY: ⅜″ above line  CENTER GRAVITY: About one foot
  of thrust.                        below line of thrust.


  Since I became Secretary, in 1928, I have made many efforts to
  compose the Smithsonian-Wright controversy, which I inherited.
  I will now, speaking for the Smithsonian Institution, make the
  following statement in an attempt to correct as far as now possible
  acts and assertions of former Smithsonian officials that may have
  been misleading or are held to be detrimental to the Wrights.

  1. I sincerely regret that the Institution employed to make the
  tests of 1914 an agent who had been an unsuccessful defendant in
  patent litigation brought against him by the Wrights.

  2. I sincerely regret that statements were repeatedly made by
  officers of the Institution that the Langley machine was flown
  in 1914 “with certain changes of the machine necessary to use
  pontoons,” without mentioning the other changes included in Dr.
  Wright’s list.

  3. I point out that Assistant Secretary Rathbun was misinformed
  when he stated that the Langley machine “without modification” made
  “successful flights.”

  4. I sincerely regret the public statement by officers of the
  Institution that “The tests” (of 1914) showed “that the late
  Secretary Langley had succeeded in building the first aeroplane
  capable of sustained free flight with a man.”

  5. Leaving to experts to formulate the conclusions arising from
  the 1914 tests as a whole, in view of all the facts, I repeat in
  substance, but with amendments, what I have already published in
  Smithsonian Scientific Series, Vol. 12, 1932, page 227:

    The flights of the Langley aerodrome at Hammondsport in 1914,
    having been made long after flying had become a common art,
    and with changes of the machine indicated by Dr. Wright’s
    comparison, as given above, did not warrant the statements
    published by the Smithsonian Institution that these tests
    proved that the large Langley machine of 1903 was capable of
    sustained flight carrying a man.

  6. If the publication of this paper should clear the way for Dr.
  Wright to bring back to America the Kitty Hawk machine to which
  all the world awards first place, it will be a source of profound
  and enduring gratification to his countrymen everywhere. Should he
  decide to deposit the plane in the United States National Museum,
  it would be given the highest place of honor, which is its due.

Publication of this statement in the Smithsonian Annual Report
presumably should mark the end of the long controversy.



FOOTNOTES


[1] Note that the two families spelled the same name differently.

[2] Owned years afterward by Orville Wright.

[3] First published in _Flying_.

[4] Orville had arranged the camera on a tripod pointing to where he
hoped the machine would be after leaving the track. The negative was
developed by Orville after his return to Dayton.

[5] The Wrights carried 70 pounds of iron bars in many of the flights
of 1904-’05, and could fly with less power than if that load had not
been carried. Here is the explanation: The center of gravity of their
machine was so far back of the center of pressure on the wings that
an air pressure of 70 pounds was required on the top side of the
horizontal elevator in front, to make the center of lift and center
of gravity coincide. Any downward pressure on the elevator, the
brothers reasoned, regardless of whether produced by the air or by
a weight, would have to be supported by the main planes. But if the
downward pressure is obtained by use of the elevator, then two drags
are created, one on the elevator itself, and the other on the wings,
in consequence of carrying that extra pressure on the elevator. On the
other hand, an equal downward pressure produced by a weight, carried
at the same distance as the elevator in front of the wings, would add
little to the drag on the elevator, because it would dispose of the
necessity for a downward pressure on that part of the machine, and
there would then be only the drag on the wings.

[6] All italics used in letters quoted in this chapter are supplied.

[7] Dienstbach was still a resident of New York in 1943.

[8] When the airplane was first considered for military purposes, the
Wrights thought the plane could be such a destructive instrument in
warfare that no nation, no government, would risk subjecting people to
the terrors it could create. Another reason why the brothers thought
the machine might prevent war was the possibility that it could be used
against those persons chiefly responsible for bringing on a war. That
is, if one nation started an attack against another, with or without
a declaration of war, the nation attacked could drop bombs on, say,
assembled members of the legislature, or the buildings housing the
highest officials of the aggressor country. That possibility, it was
hoped, would deter any nation from taking warlike steps.

[9] Though there was no agreement in regard to the altitude at which
the machine would fly, the Wrights were willing to guarantee 1,000
feet, and said that so far as the machine itself was concerned it could
be flown at an altitude of a mile. One of the Germans remarked that
half a mile from the ground should be enough, as no gun in existence
would be likely to hit so swiftly moving a target at that height.

[10] Afterward a major general.

[11] The Wright monument on top of Kill Devil Hill, ordered by act
of Congress and dedicated in November, 1932, is probably the most
impressive memorial ever built anywhere in the world to do honor to
anyone still living. Reaching sixty-one feet above Kill Devil Hill,
with a powerful beacon light at its top, it may be seen for miles.
About the four sides of the base reads a legend: In Commemoration of
the Conquest of the Air by The Brothers Wilbur and Orville Wright,
Conceived by Genius, Achieved by Dauntless Resolution and Unconquerable
Faith.

“Anchoring” the once shifting sands of Kill Devil Hill by ingenious
planting of suitable grasses and shrubbery provides a memorial in
itself, as is the national park of three hundred acres that includes
the hill.

[12] A Wright monument at Le Mans, by the sculptor, Paul Landowski, was
dedicated in 1920.

[13] A Wright monument at Pau was dedicated in 1931.

[14] From Wright Hill, near Dayton, on which there is a memorial
monument, one has a view of the great government aviation center of
Wright and Patterson fields, the latter of which includes the Huffman
tract. The monument bears the legend: “In Commemoration of the Courage,
Perseverance and Achievements of Wilbur and Orville Wright. Through
Original Research the Wright Brothers Acquired Scientific Knowledge
and Developed Theories of Aerodynamics which with their Invention of
Aileron Control Enabled Them in 1903 to Build and Fly at Kitty Hawk the
First Power-Driven, Man-Carrying Aeroplane Capable of Flight. Their
Further Development of the Aeroplane Gave it a Capacity for Service
which Established Aviation as one of the Great Forward Steps in Human
Progress. As Scientists Wilbur and Orville Wright Discovered the Secret
of Flight. As Inventors, Builders and Flyers, they Brought Aviation to
the World.”

[15] Bishop Wright lived to be nearly 89.

[16] The italics in all letters quoted in this chapter are supplied.

[17] A still later plane, the one sold by the Wrights to the United
States Government in 1909, was afterward given to the Smithsonian by
the War Department, and it was placed on exhibition. It was wrongly
labeled as the 1908 plane.

[18] For an account of early Langley and Wright aeronautical
investigations, see Smithsonian Report for 1900 and The Century
Magazine of September 1908.

[19] Smithsonian Reports: 1914, pp. 9, 219, 221, 222; 1915, pp. 14,
121; 1917, p. 4; 1918, pp. 3, 28, 114, 166. Report of U. S. National
Museum, 1914, pp. 46 and 47.



INDEX


  Abbot, Dr. Charles G., 318–21, 323–33

  accidents and mishaps, 91, 97, 127, 129, 131–32, 161, 221, 229–31,
        234, 250, 265

  Ader, Clement, 47, 187

  Aerial Experiment Assn., 289–94

  Aero Club of America, 145, 146, 157, 158, 171, 194, 258

  Aéro Club of France, 166, 167, 170, 174, 175, 177, 180, 182, 191,
        236, 239, 248–49

  Aéro Club of the Sarthe, 244–45, 249, 250, 257

  Aero Club of the United Kingdom, 258

  _Aeronautical Annual_, 46

  Aeronautical Society of Great Britain, 147, 173, 243, 246, 247, 258

  _Aérophile_, 166, 168, 170, 174, 179

  air pressure, 53–54, 67, 71, 73–76, 80, 291

  Alexander, Patrick Y., 147, 173, 191, 217

  Alfonso of Spain, 252

  Algeciras conference, 188

  Alger, Russell A. and Frederick M., 268, 270, 271

  Allen, Genl. James, 208, 211, 212, 259

  American Assn. for the Advancement of Science, 109–10

  _American Magazine of Aeronautics_, 210

  angle of incidence, 67–68, 82

  AP, 106, 108, 109, 110

  Archdeacon, Ernest, 167–68, 170, 237

  Arnold (Lt. Genl.), Henry H., 284

  _Auto_, 174, 179, 182

  Auvours flying field, 234, 241, 243, 247, 248, 250


  Baden-Powell, Maj. B. F. S., 246, 247

  balance--_see_ equilibrium

  Baldwin, Capt. Thomas S., 288–89, 293, 295

  Balfour, Arthur, 253

  Barnum & Bailey, 203

  Barriquand & Marre, 206

  Barthou, Louis, 248

  Bates, Maj. Genl. J. C., 153

  Beacham, Thomas, 95

  Beachey, Lincoln, 308

  Beard, David, 146

  Beard family, 136, 142, 178

  Beard, Luther, 139–41

  Beck, Mabel, 273

  Bell, Dr. Alexander Graham, 3, 289, 307

  Belmont, August, 270

  Belmont Park Aviation Tournament, 281

  Benham, Catharine--_see_ Thompson, Mrs. Samuel

  Bennett, James Gordon, 191–92, 219, 222, 251

  Bennett balloon race, 207

  Berg, Hart O., 195, 196, 197, 201, 204, 233, 234, 236, 238, 246–47

  Berg, Mrs. Hart O., 246–47, 248

  Bergdoll, Grover C., 285

  Berlin _B. Z. Mittag_, 217;
    _Lokal Anzseiger_, 254, 261

  Berry, Walter V. R., 187

  Bertrand, Col. Charles A., 172, 223

  Berwind, E. J., 270

  Besançon, Georges, 170–71, 174–75, 179, 180, 181

  bicycle shop, the Wrights’--_see_ Wright Cycle Co.

  bidders on plane for U. S. War Dept., 211

  Bierce, Nelson, 174

  Billman, C. S., 145, 177

  Bleriot, Louis, 239–40, 294

  blinkers, 130–31

  “bluffeur,” 234, 238

  Bollée, Léon, 233, 235–36, 241, 245

  Bollée, Mme., 248

  Bond, Miss, 24

  Bonel, Comdt., 187–200, 203

  Boulton, 309

  Brewer, Griffith, 244, 247, 258, 314

  Brinkley, W. C., 98

  British government, 147–48, 151–52

  British War Office, 151, 156–57

  British Wright company, 284

  Brookins, Walter, 274, 279

  Burkhardt, J. C., 224

  Butler, F. H., 247


  Cabot, Samuel and Godfrey L., 115–16, 157, 158

  Calderara, Lt., 255–56

  Camber, 69–70, 121, 130

  Capper, Lt. Col. J. E., 147–48

  Carvin, Louis, 257

  catapult--_see_ derrick catapult

  Celleri, Count and Countess di, 255

  center of gravity, 47–48, 121 n., 127

  Chandler, Capt. Charles DeF., 212

  Chanute, Octave, 47, 48, 52, 68–69, 72–73, 78, 92, 106, 110, 126,
        148, 152, 155, 157, 166, 169, 171, 224, 291, 309;
    _Progress in Flying Machines_, 46, 52

  Chicago--Orville Wright’s speech at, 73–75;
    aviation meet at, 279

  Chicago _Daily News_, 109;
    _Record-Herald_, 105, 109, 278–79;
    _Tribune_, 224, 278

  Cie. Gén. de Nav. Aérienne, 213

  Cincinnati _Enquirer_, 105–107, 123, 125;
    _Post_, 145

  Claudy, C. H., 231

  Cleveland _Leader_, 218–19

  Coffyn, Frank T., 275

  Collier, Robert J., 270, 282, 285, 286

  _Collier’s Weekly_, 146, 220, 223, 225, 270

  Coquelle, Robert, 179–81

  Cordley, F. R., 195, 197

  commercial express, plane first used for, 280

  Cox, James M., 134, 135

  Crane, Spencer C., 274

  Crozier, Brig. Genl. William, 158, 159, 208

  Curtiss, Glenn H., 288–96;
    tests Langley machine, 308–15, 318;
    his alterations, 327–32


  Daniels, John T., 95, 98, 102

  Dargent, M., 168

  Dayton (O.) celebration for Wrights, 258–59;
    flood (1913), 283;
    _Daily News_, 107, 123, 134–35, 145;
    _Journal_, 105–107, 123, 139, 140, 145;
    first flight over, 280

  Dayton, Genl. Jonathan, 21

  Delagrange, Léon, 217–18, 240

  derrick catapult, 128, 236, 249

  Deutsch de la Meurthe, Henri, 170, 198, 199, 213

  Dewey, Orville, 23

  Dickin, Mr., 245

  Dickson, Capt. T. C., 155

  Dienstbach, Carl, 169

  Dosher, Joseph J., 56, 103, 217

  Dough, W. S., 95, 98

  Doumer, Paul, 248

  Duchemin, 302

  Dunbar, Paul Laurence, 37


  Eddy, U. S., 194

  Edison, Thomas A., 3

  Edward VII, King, 252

  Eiffel Tower, 141, 266

  elevator, 51, 53–55, 63, 65–67, 82, 127, 131–34

  Ellis, E. W., 145, 258–59

  engines, 84–86, 121–22, 194

  Englehardt, Capt. Paul, 263

  equilibrium, 47–49, 50–55, 64, 70–71, 81–83

  Esnault-Pelterie, Robert, 170

  Estournelles, Baron d’, 245

  Etheridge, A. D., 98

  Etienne, M., 186

  _Evening Item_ (Dayton), 38

  exhibition flights, 277–79, 282;
    charges for, 277


  Farman, Henri, 217–18, 240

  Fédération Aéronautique Internationale, 171

  Feight, John G., 114

  Ferber, Capt. Louis F., 167–73, 181–85, 189

  Fiske, Wilbur, 23

  flight, the Wrights’ first, 90–119;
    Orville’s narrative, 96–102;
    telegram, 103–104, 106, 107;
    press treatment, 103–11;
    cost, 112–14;
    public’s reception of story, 114–17

  Flint, Charles R., 194, 195, 261

  Flint & Co., 194–96, 203, 233

  flying-fields, 122, 226–32, 234, 255, 261, 263
    (_see also_ Huffman field, Fort Myer, Auvours)

  Fordyce, Arnold, 183–91, 198, 200–203, 245

  Fort Myer (Va.) tests, 215, 226–32, 260, 293

  Foster, Col. H., 152, 156–57

  Foulois, Lt. Benj. D., 260, 266

  Fournier, Capt., 187

  Fouts, William, 145, 178

  France, aeronautics in, 166–93, 198–203, 213, 233–53

  Frederick William, Crown Prince, 262–64

  Freedman, Andrew, 270

  French War Ministry, 198–203, 234, 266

  French Wright company, 213, 248, 251, 255, 281

  Fuller, Maj. Samson M., 162, 165, 208

  Furnas, Charles W., 215, 221, 226, 231


  Gardner, Gilson, 224

  Gary, Judge Elbert H., 269

  gasoline motors--_see_ engines

  German War Dept., 204–206

  German Wright company, 256, 257, 263

  Gillespie, Maj. Genl. G. L., 150

  Girardville, Capt. Lucas de, 248

  _Gleanings in Bee Culture_, 118, 143

  Gleichen, Col., 157

  gliders, 49–55, 57–75, 79–83, 168–70

  Gould, Howard, 270

  Grahame-White, Claude, 288

  “Great W. J. & M. Circus,” 15–18

  “Great Truxell Bros. & LaRue Show,” 33–34

  Greater Dayton Assn., 280

  Greensboro (N. C.) _News_, 217

  Griscom, Lloyd, 256

  _Gross, Der_, 262–63


  Hamburger, Frank, 145

  Hand, Judge Learned, 294

  Hare, James H., 220–25

  Harmon, Gov. Judson, 259

  Harrison, Pres. Benjamin, 36

  Harte, 309

  Hawthorn Hill, 282

  Hazel, Judge John R., 293–94

  helicopter, 8–9, 45

  Henson, W. S., 309

  Herring, A. M., 211, 212

  Herring-Curtiss Co., 288, 293

  Hildebrandt, Capt. Alfred, 254, 261, 263

  Hill, James J., 256

  hobble skirt, 247

  Hobbs, Capt., 104

  horseless buggy, 43–44

  Hoster, William, 220–25

  Hoxsey, Arch, 274, 275

  Hudson-Fulton Celebration, 265, 283

  Huffaker, E. C., 69

  Huffman field, 122–23, 126 ff., 134–38, 139, 142, 144–45, 157, 214,
        274–76, 280, 288

  Huffman, Torrence, 122–23, 145

  Humphreys, Lt. Frederic E., 266

  Hunaudières track, 234, 236, 241


  _Illustrierte Aeron. Mitteilungen_, 167, 169

  _Independent_, 116

  infringers--_see_ lawsuits and Wright patents

  Internat’l Aviation Tournament, 281

  Italy, aeronautics in, 254–56


  Jamestown Exposition, 160

  Jamieson, O. F., 145

  Jennings, Alice, 25, 32

  Johnston, “Corky,” 17

  Johnston, Gansey, 14

  Johnston, Griswold, 17

  Johnstone, Ralph, 275

  “June Bug,” Glenn Curtiss’s, 291–92, 294


  Kehler, Capt. von, 256, 257

  Keidel, Herr, 263

  Kelly, Fred C., 141, 326

  kite-flying, 12, 50

  kite, man-carrying, 52

  Kitty Hawk (N. C.), 55–66, 68–72, 79–83, 90–111, 215–25

  Kitty Hawk plane, disposition of, 300–33

  Knabenshue, Roy, 272–74, 279–80

  Koerner, John G., 19–20

  Koerner, Mrs. John G. (Catherine Fry), 20

  Koerner, Susan Catherine--_see_ Wright, Mrs. Milton

  Kohlsaat, H. H., 278–79

  Krupp Co., 256

  Kumler, Dan, 134–35


  LaChapelle, Duval, 275

  Lahm, Lt. Frank P., 207–208, 212, 228–29, 266

  Lahm, Frank S., 173–77, 179, 180–82, 192–93, 207, 248

  Lake, Simon, 195

  Lambers, Bernard H., 145

  Lambert, Count Charles de, 248, 251, 266

  Lambert, Comtesse Charles de, 251–52

  “Langley Law,” 138, 301

  Langley medal, 302, 303, 309

  Langley, Samuel P., 46, 76, 90, 117, 137, 211, 300–303, 305, 306,
        309, 310, 312, 313, 318, 323, 330, 332;
    _Experiments in Aerodynamics_, 46;
    _Experiments in Mechanical Flight_, 46

  Langley’s flying-machine, 92, 300–333;
    borrowed by Curtiss for test, 308;
    how altered, 309–13, 322, 324–33

  LaRue, Fred, 33

  Lassence, Mayor de, 251

  lathe, 12–13

  launching--_see_ derrick catapult

  lawsuits, 287–99, 308, 309, 313, 325

  letter-press, 29

  Le Mans, 233–50

  Letellier, M., 183–86, 198, 200

  Lilienthal, Otto, 45–48, 281, 302;
    _Problem of Flying_, 46–47

  Lodge, Sen. Henry Cabot, 158

  Loening, Grover, 283

  London _Daily Mail_, 220, 222, 223, 252


  McCormick, Harold, 277–79

  McGowan, P. H., 220–25

  Mansfield _News_, 180

  Manufacturers Aircraft Assn., 296

  Manville, Frank, 286

  Margherita of Italy, 247

  Marriott, 309

  Martin, Glenn, 295

  Mass. Institute of Technology, 307, 308

  material used--cloth in gliders, 66;
    wood in planes, 122

  Maxim, Sir Hiram S., 47, 90, 309

  Maxwell Field, 274

  Maynard, George C., 304

  Means, James, 46

  Melville, Rear Admiral G. W., 117

  _Midget_, 31

  Michelin Cup, 250

  Milling (Genl.) Thomas D., 284

  Moore, H. P., 104, 105, 106, 109

  Moore, Johnny, 98, 100

  Moore, Willis, 51

  Morehouse-Martin Co., 280

  Morgan, J. P., 256, 269, 270–71

  Morgan & Co., 184–85, 187, 189, 268

  Morgan, Harjes & Co., 185, 186, 187

  Morrow, Harry, 14, 15, 16

  Morse, Sherman, 191–92

  Mouillard, _Empire of the Air_, 46

  Myers, Howard M., 145


  Nevin, R. M., 149, 150

  New York _American_, 105;
    _Globe_, 209;
    _Herald_, 111, 182, 190, 192, 217, 218, 219, 222, 224;
    _Times_, 227, 289, 295;
    _World_, 228

  Newcomb, Simon, 116–17, 228

  newspapers--_see_ press

  Newton, Byron R., 219–25

  Nicolai, M., 234

  Nicoll, DeLancey, 269

  Night and Day Bank Bldg., 271

  Nolte, George H., 195

  Norfolk (Va.) _Virginian-Pilot_, 104–106, 108, 216

  _North American Review_, 117

  Northcliffe, Lord, 252, 253, 284


  Ogilvie, Alec, 281

  O’Neal, “Uncle Benny,” 95


  Packard Automobile Co., 268

  Painlevé, Paul, 247–48

  Paris _Figaro_, 239, 245;
    _Herald_, 192, 197, 217–18, 222, 238–39, 245, 246;
    _Journal_, 183, 185, 186, 198, 200, 201, 239;
    _Matin_, 198, 240

  Parmalee, Phil O., 275

  Parseval, Maj. von, 257

  Parsons, Herbert, 161–62

  Patterson Field, 275 n.

  Pau, 250–53

  Paulhan, Louis, 287–88, 294

  Payne, Capt. S. J., 104

  Pénaud, Alphonse, 8, 45, 48, 306;
    helicopter, 8–9, 45

  Perry, Israel, 58–59

  Peterkin, Clinton R., 268–69, 271

  Phila. _Record_, 105

  Picquart, Genl. M. G., 199, 200, 266

  Pilcher, Percy, 47, 309

  pilot, position of, 214–15

  pilots, training of, 255–56, 274, 275, 284–85

  Pirelli, Dr., 248, 254

  Plant, Mortimer F., 270

  _Popular Science Monthly_, 110, 118

  press, its treatment of Kitty Hawk flight, 103–11;
    of later developments, 123–26, 134–35, 139–41, 145, 190–91;
    of (1908) experiments, 216–25;
    of Fort Myer tests, 227–28
    (_see also_ Paris and N. Y. C. papers)

  Press, J. C., 146

  printing press, the Wrights’, 30–38

  propellers, 86–90, 133, 231;
    shafts, 92–94

  public’s reaction to Wright experiments, 114–17, 135–42

  _Puck_, 141–42


  Rathbun, Asst. Secy., 332

  Reeder, Catharine--_see_ Wright, Mrs. Dan

  Reeder, Mr. and Mrs. George, 21

  Reichel, Franz, 245

  _Religious Telescope_, 23

  _Revue des Sciences_, 166, 291

  Richmond (Ind.) _Evening Item_, 15

  Rodgers, Cal P., 281–82

  Rolls, Charles S., 244, 247

  Roosevelt, Pres. Theodore, 160, 161–62, 212, 227

  Roosevelt, Theodore, Jr., 227

  Root, A. I., 117–19, 142–43

  rudder--_see_ elevator

  Ruhl, Arthur, 220–25

  Ruse, Cordy, 43

  Russell, Frank, 271

  Ryan, Allan A., 270

  Ryan, Thomas F., 270


  Salley, D. Bruce, 218–19

  Santos-Dumont, Alberto, 107, 115, 141, 166, 170, 192

  Savoia, Lt., 256

  Scherl, Herr, 254

  Schindler, Reuben, 145

  _Scientific American_, 143–44, 146, 161, 169, 292

  Scott, J. F., 211

  Selfridge, Lt. Thomas, 229–30, 245, 290–91, 292

  Shaffer, Bert, 9

  Shank, W. H., 145

  Shearn, Clarence J., 297–98

  Shonts, Theodore P., 270

  Simms station--_see_ Huffman field

  Sines, Edwin Henry, 6, 30, 33, 36, 39, 258–59

  Sines & Wright, 30–37

  Smithsonian Institution, 46, 137, 300–333

  _Snapshots_, 38

  Sonnino, Baron Sidney, 256

  South Kensington Science Museum, 300, 315, 318

  _Sports_, 179, 182

  Spratt, Dr. George A., 68–69, 92

  Squier, Maj. George O., 229

  Stauffer, Amos, 144, 146, 178

  Steinmetz, C. P., 4

  Studien Gesellschaft, 256–57

  Surcouf, Edouard, 238


  Taft, William Howard, 150, 152, 153, 158, 162, 211–12, 258, 316–17,
        318, 321

  tail, 79–83, 86

  tail-spin, 81, 128–29, 131

  Tate, “Dan,” 80

  Tate, William J., 56–57, 59–61, 62, 65, 66, 80, 102

  _Tattler_, 37

  Taylor, Charlie, 86, 121, 127, 136, 202, 226, 231

  telegram reporting Kitty Hawk flight, 103–104, 106, 107

  Tempelhof field, 261

  Thompson, Samuel, 20

  Thompson, Mrs. Samuel, 20–21

  Thompson, William Boyce, 286

  Thorne, Tom, 41–42

  tires, 41

  Tissandier, Paul, 248, 250

  Tomlinson, John, 145

  _Tono-Bungay_, 216

  transcontinental plane flight, first, 281–82

  Truxell boys, 33

  Tunison, Frank, 106, 140

  Turpin, C. O., 275


  U. S. Board of Ordnance, 150, 153, 154, 155, 158–60, 162–65, 208,
        211

  U. S. Signal Corps, 208, 211, 212–13, 265

  U. S. War Dept., 147–65, 207–209, 213, 226, 305 n.


  Vanderbilt, Cornelius, 270

  Veblen, Thorstein, 5

  Victor Emmanuel of Italy, 256

  Voisin, Gabriel, 168–69


  Waddell, Theodore, 146

  Wainwright, L. M., 90

  Walcott, Dr. Charles D., 301–309, 314–15, 318, 325

  warping mechanism, 63–66, 79, 81, 132–33

  Washington (D. C.) _Post_, 105, 109

  Weaver, Henry M., 175, 207

  Weaver, Henry, Jr., 175–79, 180, 182, 192

  Webbert brothers, 145

  Webbert, Mr., 115

  Weber, William, 145

  Weiller, Lazare, 213, 255

  Weiller, Mme., 248

  “well-digging,” 81

  Welsh, A. L., 275

  _West Side News_, 36

  Westcott, Robert, 95

  Western Society of Engineers, 73, 291;
    _Journal_, 75, 291

  Whitfield, Forrest, 32

  Whitney, Harry Payne, 286

  Wilhelm, Kaiser, 204, 256–57, 262, 264

  Wilson, Mary, 25

  wind-tunnel, 74–78

  woodcuts, 29

  Wright brothers:
    NOTE: This entry covers joint activities only. For individual
        activities, _see below_--Wright, Orville, and Wright, Wilbur.
        _See also_ Wright Co., W. medals, W. monuments, W. patents, W.
        planes, W. records, etc., below.
    Ancestors and parents, 19–22;
      boyhood, 5–18, 23–28;
      early interest in mechanics, 5–9, 25;
      lathe, 12–13;
      circuses, 15–18, 33–34;
      reading, 26–27;
      weekly paper, 38;
      start bicycle business, 38–39;
      begin manufacture and repair work, 39–44
    Early interest in aeronautics, 45;
      reading on it, 46–47;
      experiments in building gliders, 48–55;
      first Kitty Hawk experiments (1901), 55–72;
      make wind-tunnels, 74–78;
      at K. H. (1902), 79;
      meet tail-spin problem, 81–83
    Develop engine, 84–90;
      transmission and propeller problems, 89–90;
      power flights at K. H. (1903), 90–95;
      first successful flight, 95–103;
      get flying field near Dayton, 122–23;
      early public trials, 124–26;
      track and launching problems, 127–29;
      improve records, 130, 137–38;
      first complete circular flight, 130, 142;
      their first three planes described, 84–94, 112–13, 121–22, 130–34
    Early relations with public and press, 103–11, 134–46;
      first eye-witness story printed, 143–43;
      early dealings with U. S. and British govts., 147–65;
      abandon project to demonstrate at Jamestown, 160–61
    Their work discussed in France, 166–71;
      asked for information and prices, 171–73;
      their letter shown at Aéro Club, 174–75;
      visited by Weaver, and demonstrate for him, 175–79;
      investigated by Coquelle, 179–80;
      approached by Ferber for French govt., 182–83;
      visited by Fordyce, 183–85;
      visited by French Commission, 187–91;
      by Alexander, 191;
      by _Herald_ reporter, 191–92;
      meet Flint in N. Y., 194–96;
      go to Paris, 202–204;
      to Berlin, 204–206
    Negotiations with U. S. War Dept., 208–14;
      their bid accepted, 211–12;
      add improvements to 1905 plane, 214–15;
      go to K. H., 215–25;
      publicity begins, 216–25;
      in France (1909), 250–53;
      to Rome, 255;
      plan formation of German Wright company, 257;
      to Le Mans for gift bronze, 257–58;
      to London for medals, etc., 258;
      to Washington for Aero Club medals, 258
    Return to Dayton celebrated, 258–59; get Govt. bonus after Fort
        Meyer tests, 260;
      organize The Wright Company, 268–71;
      their only joint flight, 276;
      build house at Hawthorn Hill, 282

  Wright, “Buster,” 281

  Wright Company, 268–71, 278, 279, 281, 283, 285, 286, 288, 295, 296
        (_see also_ French--German--British Wright Co.)

  Wright Cycle Co., 39–44, 77, 114, 120–21, 148, 176, 271

  Wright, Dan, 21–22

  Wright, Mrs. Dan, 21

  Wright exhibition flights, charges for, 277

  Wright, Katharine, 13, 23, 37, 47, 106, 113, 217, 250–53, 261, 262,
        266, 280, 284

  Wright, Lorin, 22, 25, 31, 81, 106, 281

  Wright medals, prizes, etc., 248–49, 250, 257–58, 259, 264

  Wright, Mrs. Milton, 5, 6, 7, 11, 20, 22, 26, 34, 91

  Wright, Rev. Milton, 5–8, 11, 21–23, 26, 27, 103, 106, 107, 115, 259,
        276–77, 278

  Wright monuments--Kitty Hawk, 221;
    Pau, 250; Dayton, 275 n.

  Wright, Orville
    NOTE: For joint activities with Wilbur, _see above_, Wright
        brothers.
    Birth, 23;
      boyhood enterprises, 7, 9–12, 13–15;
      schooling, 24–25, 37;
      letter-press, 29;
      printing work, 30–38;
      builds press, 34–36;
      interest in bicycle racing, 38;
      starts bicycle business, 38–44;
      illness, 46;
      first trip to Kitty Hawk, 61–72;
      makes wind-tunnel, 74;
      his story of first successful power flight, 96–102;
      telegram announcing it, 103–104
    Goes to Europe, 202–206;
      orders engines in Paris, 206;
      to K. H. for practice (1908), 216–25;
      to Fort Myer for tests (1908), 226–32;
      establishes new records, 229;
      to France, 250;
      in train accident, 250
    Govt. trials at Fort Myer (1910), 260;
      goes to Germany, 261–64;
      in Paris, investigates French Wright company, 266–67;
      trains pilots in Alabama, 274;
      opens flying school at Dayton, 275;
      further experiments at K. H., 281;
      succeeds W. as pres. of The Wright Co., 283;
      last trip to Europe (1913), 284;
      acquires almost complete ownership of Company, 285;
      and sells entire interest, 285–86, 296
    Relations and correspondence with Glenn Curtiss, 288–96, 308–33
        (_see also_ lawsuits and Wright patents);
      dealings with Smithsonian in regard to Langley machine, 307–33
    Style of flying, 276;
      flying dress, 275–76;
      memory, 202;
      effective demonstration at a patent-suit trial, 297–98;
      comment on cyclists’ notions about steering, 298–99

  Wright patents, 49, 83, 130, 271, 273, 281, 284, 287–99

  Wright planes: Kitty Hawk (1903), 84–94, 112–13, 300, 315, 318;
    1904 model, 121–22, 170;
    1905 model, 130–34, 214–15;
    1907 model, 202, 204, 206, 233, 234–53;
    plane sold to U. S. Signal Corps, 208–13, 226–32;
    planes built in Europe from parts sent over, 255;
    Model B, 285

  Wright planes, prices of, 172–73, 184–85, 208, 211–12, 282

  Wright records, 228–29, 238, 240, 263, 264, 281

  Wright, Reuchlin, 22, 113

  Wright, Wilbur
    NOTE: For joint activities with Orville, _see above_, Wright
        brothers.
    Birth, 22;
      boyhood enterprises, 7, 8–9, 12–13, 15;
      schooling, 23–24;
      illness, 26;
      joins O. in printing newspaper, 37–38;
      in bicycle business, 38–44;
      makes warping device for glider, 49–50;
      goes to Kitty Hawk, 58–72;
      makes Chicago address, 73–75
    Goes to England, 196–97;
      Paris, 197–204;
      Berlin, 204–206;
      appears before U. S. Ordnance Board, and bids, 208;
      to K. H. (1908), 215–25;
      to France for demonstrations, 226, 227, 233–53;
      his records, 238, 240;
      at Le Mans, 234–44;
      guest of Aéro Club (Sarthe), 244–45;
      wins altitude prizes, 248–49, 250;
      at Pau, 250–53;
      to Rome, 255;
      trains Italian flyers, 255–56
    Flies at Hudson-Fulton Celebration, 265;
      begins training U. S. pilots, 265–66;
      last flight as pilot, 276;
      dealings with Smithsonian in regard to Langley machine, 301–307;
      illness and death, 282–83
    Character, 235, 236, 241–43;
      memory, 204;
      athletic activities, 38


  Zahm, Dr. A. F., 309, 322–25

  Zens, Ernest, 245

  Zeppelin airships, 228



Transcriber’s Notes


Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in the original book; otherwise they
were not changed.

Simple typographical errors were corrected; unbalanced quotation
marks were remedied when the change was obvious, and otherwise left
unbalanced.

Illustrations in this eBook have been positioned between paragraphs
and outside quotations. In versions of this eBook that support
hyperlinks, the page references in the List of Illustrations lead to
the corresponding illustrations.

The index was not checked for proper alphabetization or correct page
references.



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