CHAPTER II HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION FIRST AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL MEET, AT LOS ANGELESI was not permitted to remain long in Hammondsport, although there was much work for me to do there in the way of planning improvements in the factory, as well as on my aeroplane, which had now come to be known throughout the world by reason of winning the Gordon Bennett Cup. There were tempting offers from all quarters to give exhibitions with the flying machine, which up to that time had been seen in but few places in this country. Some of these offers were accepted because I could not afford to reject them. Moreover, it required a great deal of money to run the shop, and there was no commercial demand for aeroplanes. They were, as yet, valuable only as "show machines," to see which the public was willing to pay goodly sums. For a long time preparations had been going on at New York City to celebrate the tri-centenary of the discovery of the Hudson river, and the centenary of the first steamboat trip on that stream by Fulton in theClermont. It had been the idea of the originators of the Hudson-Fulton celebration–an idea that was expressed in the tentative plans published long before the celebration itself–that the new conquest of the air should be recognised, in some way, at the same time. At first it was intended that some sort of airship should accompany the naval parade the entire length of the Hudson, with a replica of Hendrik Hudson'sHalf Moonleading the way, Robert Fulton's old steamboatClermontfollowing, and the airship hovering above them thus furnishing a striking illustration of the wonderful advancement in the means of locomotion in a hundred years, and signalising the new science of air navigation. With this end in view the Celebration Committee engaged the Wright Brothers and myself to bring aeroplanes to New York, furnishing us with every facility on Governor's Island, in the Lower Bay, from which point all flights were to be made.But aerial navigation in the fall of 1909 was not such a sure and certain thing as all that. Much depended upon the wind and weather, and it was soon demonstrated that the best that could be hoped for at the time of the celebration would be flights made at such times as the wind would permit. Day after day the public waited anxiously for flights to be made up the Hudson from Governor's Island, but day after day the wind blew up or down the Hudson in such blasts that it was not deemed safe to attempt a trip. For it must be remembered that there is scarcely a more difficult course anywhere in the country than over the Hudson river in the vicinity of New York. On both sides of the river, which is a swift-running stream, rise lofty hills, and at some places precipitous cliffs called the Palisades. On the New York side are miles upon miles of lofty apartment houses along Riverside Drive. If the wind blows across the river, either from the east or west, dangerous currents and eddies suck down through the canon-like streets, or over the steep Palisades, making flying extremely hazardous. For this reason there has never, even up to this time (August, 1912), been any flying to speak of over the Hudson, and for these reasons, the great river will not become a popular flying course for aeroplanes until they are so constructed as to be able to defy the treacherous, puffy wind currents. The hydroaeroplane, however, may navigate the course with safety, as it is perfectly safe in one of these machines to fly within a few feet of the water where there is the least danger from contrary air currents.So much was printed in the New York newspapers while we were waiting for propitious weather that the public was keyed up to expect great things from the aeroplanes–far greater than the aeroplane could accomplish. Bulletins were posted by the newspapers from day to day, informing the public that flights would surely be made "to-day" provided the wind abated. In the meantime interest was doubly stimulated by the announcement of a ten-thousand-dollar prize for the first air-flight over Fulton's course, from New York to Albany, or from Albany to New York. One of the paintings made at the time as an "advance notice," I remember, showed so many aerial dreadnaughts in the sky, passing down the river by the Palisades at the same time, that one was forced to wonder how all of them were going to find room to navigate. However, the atmosphere had cleared long before the actual flight was made down the Hudson, the following summer.In spite of the disappointment felt by the public at not seeing a fleet of aeroplanes sporting over the Hudson daily during the Hudson-Fulton celebration, there were many other things to divert the attention of New York's five millions and some few hundred thousands of visitors from this and other countries. The week of pomp and pageantry culminated in the most wonderful marine and land parades ever staged in this country, and seldom, if ever, excelled in the Old World. The marine parade extended all the way up to Albany, and at every stopping place there was a repetition, on a smaller scale, of the scenes of enthusiasm and general holiday spirit that had prevailed in the Metropolis. New York City was decorated as no one had ever seen it decorated before, and the great fleet of over a hundred warships that swung at anchor in the Hudson were visited by thousands by day and were outlined in myriads of electric lights at night, disguising their ominous guns in soft shadow and giving them a peaceful and almost fairy-like appearance. Then there were the dirigible balloons to command the attention of the crowds that thronged Riverside Drive waiting for the aeroplanes. They, too, were after the rich prize offered by theNew York World. They furnished the only real contest during the Hudson-Fulton celebration. There were two of them, one entered by the intrepid Captain Thomas Baldwin, and the other by a Mr. Tomlinson. These were housed in great tents raised within an enclosure at Riverside Drive and One Hundred and Nineteenth street, behind a high fence, on which was painted "Hudson-Fulton Flights." This was the center of interest for great crowds for days during the period of waiting. Captain Baldwin, always popular with the people wherever he goes, was the centre of interest with the crowds that stood around the sheds, watching the mild, blunt noses of the big dirigibles as they bobbed and swayed with the gusts that swept around Grant's Tomb, reminding one of the ceaseless weaving of a restless elephant. But the elements seemed to be as much against the dirigibles as against the aeroplanes. Tomlinson made a start, after a long wait, but came to grief almost at once, while Captain Baldwin fared but little better. His trip extended but a few miles up the river, when he was forced to come down, thus ending the chances of the dirigibles.The aeroplanes were scarcely more fortunate. October winds around New York are most unruly things, and at that particular period seemed worse than usual. Weather-wise folk learned after awhile to look out at the flags on the high buildings; if they stood out straight from the staff, the people went about their business, knowing there would be no flying that day. But every one kept an ear cocked for the firing of a big cannon on Governor's Island, the signal that a flight was about to be made. Even these were deceiving, for there were so many salutes being fired by the great fleets in the river and bay, that no one could tell when to give heed to gun signals. So the crowds sat along Riverside Drive, or depended upon the unhappy and over-worked policemen for word of the aeroplanes. Some people were disposed to hold the policemen personally responsible for the failure of the airships to fly. "You'd think," said one of the blue-coated guardians on Riverside Drive, "that I was keepin' 'em back, the way these people go at me. They blame me and not the wind!"The wind held out and the week of festivities ended; still there had been no flying. I could not remain in New York any longer, as I had accepted an engagement some time before to fly at St. Louis. I was obliged therefore, much to my chagrin, and the disappointment of the crowds, to leave the city without making a flight up the river, although I did make a short flight over Governor's Island.Mr. Wilbur Wright, however, remained in New York, and during the following week made a magnificent flight up the river from Governor's Island to Grant's Tomb and return, a distance of about twenty miles. This gave the larger part of New York's millions their first glimpse of an aeroplane in flight.At St. Louis we gave a very successful meet. There were flights by Captain Baldwin, Lincoln Beachey, and Roy Knabenshue, in their dirigible balloons, and myself in my aeroplane. The weather conditions were favourable, and St. Louis turned out enthusiastic throngs to witness the exhibitions.The Pacific Coast, always progressive and quick to seize upon every innovation, no matter where it may be developed, had been clamoring for some time for an aviation meet. The enterprising citizens of Los Angeles got together and put up a large sum of money to bring out from Europe and the eastern part of the United States, a number of representative aviators for an international meet, the first ever given in this country. Louis Paulhan, one of the most celebrated French aviators, was brought over with a biplane and a monoplane, and there were a number of American entries, including Charles F. Willard and myself. Los Angeles furnished the first opportunity for a real contest in this country between the French and American machines, and these contests aroused immense interest throughout the country.The importance of the Los Angeles meet to the aviation industry in this country was very great. The favourable climatic conditions gave opportunities for every one to fly in all the events, and the wide publicity given to the achievements of Paulhan and others, especially to the new world's altitude record established by the French aviator, stimulated interest throughout the country. There was cross-country flying such as had not been seen in this country, brilliant exhibitions of altitude flying, and speed contests of the hair-raising variety. Sometimes it takes just such a public demonstration as the Los Angeles meet not only to spread the news of the general progress of mechanical flight, but to show the builders of aeroplanes themselves just what their machines are capable of.It was at the Los Angeles meet, by the way, that Charles F. Willard coined that apt and picturesque phrase which soon was used the world over in describing air conditions. Willard had made a short flight and on coming down declared the air "was as full of holes as a Swiss cheese." This made a great hit with the newspapermen, who featured it, using it day after day in their stories until it went the rounds of the press of the world. There were special articles written on "holes in the air," and interviews of prominent aviators to determine how it feels to fall into "a hole in the air."The expression was more picturesque than accurate, for it is not necessary to explain, in this advanced stage of aviation, that there are no "holes" in the atmosphere. If there were a hole in the atmosphere, a clap of thunder would result, caused by the rushing in of the surrounding air to fill the vacuum. The only holes in the air are the streaks that follow a rifle bullet or a flash of lightning. The real cause of the conditions described by Willard, and which has since probably been responsible for the death of several well known aviators, is a swift, downward current of air, rushing in to fill a vacuum that follows a rising current from a heated area. The hot air rises and the cool air rushes down to take its place. An aeroplane striking one of these descending currents drops as if the entire atmospheric support had been suddenly removed, and if it be not high enough, may strike the ground with fatal results to the aviator. Every experienced airman has met these conditions. They are especially noticeable over water, streaks of calm water showing where the up-currents are just starting, and waves or ripples where the down-currents strike the surface.The representative of the Aero Club of America at the Los Angeles meet was Mr. Cortlandt Field Bishop, of New York, who had been at Rheims the previous summer when I won the Gordon Bennett Cup and who had been of inestimable assistance to me at that time. Mr. Bishop had his oft-expressed wish to fly gratified at Los Angeles. He was taken up by Louis Paulhan several times, and Paulhan also took Mrs. Bishop for her first aerial ride. Great crowds came out at the Los Angeles meet, and they for the first time in the history of aviation in this country expected the aviator to fly and not to fall. Paulhan did some wonderful cross-country flying, and as a climax to the week of aerial wonders, he established a world's altitude record by ascending 4,165 feet. This was regarded as marvellous at that time. Since then the mark has been successively raised by Brookins, Hoxsey, Le Blanc, Beachey, Garros and others. Legagneux now (September, 1912) holds the record at 18,760 feet.Interest in aviation was keen following the Los Angeles meet and I decided to try for the New York World's ten-thousand-dollar prize, which was still open, for a flight down the Hudson from Albany to New York City. Notwithstanding all the natural obstacles in the way of the accomplishment of the undertaking, the conditions were so fair as to stops, time-limit, etc., and it was so obviously a prize offered to be won, that I considered it worth a serious effort.I fully realised that the flight was much greater than anything I had yet attempted, and even more difficult than Bleriot's great flight across the English channel from France to England, news of which was still ringing throughout the world, and even greater than the projected flight from London to Manchester, England, and for which a prize of fifty thousand dollars had been offered. Although the course covered about the same distance as the London-Manchester route, there was not the difficulty of landing safely over the English route. The Hudson flight meant one hundred and fifty-two miles over a broad, swift stream, flowing between high hills or rugged mountains the entire distance and with seldom a place to land; it meant a fight against treacherous and varying wind currents rushing out unawares through clefts in the mountains, and possible motor trouble that would land both machine and aviator in the water with not much chance of escape from drowning, even if uninjured in alighting.
CHAPTER II HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION FIRST AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL MEET, AT LOS ANGELESI was not permitted to remain long in Hammondsport, although there was much work for me to do there in the way of planning improvements in the factory, as well as on my aeroplane, which had now come to be known throughout the world by reason of winning the Gordon Bennett Cup. There were tempting offers from all quarters to give exhibitions with the flying machine, which up to that time had been seen in but few places in this country. Some of these offers were accepted because I could not afford to reject them. Moreover, it required a great deal of money to run the shop, and there was no commercial demand for aeroplanes. They were, as yet, valuable only as "show machines," to see which the public was willing to pay goodly sums. For a long time preparations had been going on at New York City to celebrate the tri-centenary of the discovery of the Hudson river, and the centenary of the first steamboat trip on that stream by Fulton in theClermont. It had been the idea of the originators of the Hudson-Fulton celebration–an idea that was expressed in the tentative plans published long before the celebration itself–that the new conquest of the air should be recognised, in some way, at the same time. At first it was intended that some sort of airship should accompany the naval parade the entire length of the Hudson, with a replica of Hendrik Hudson'sHalf Moonleading the way, Robert Fulton's old steamboatClermontfollowing, and the airship hovering above them thus furnishing a striking illustration of the wonderful advancement in the means of locomotion in a hundred years, and signalising the new science of air navigation. With this end in view the Celebration Committee engaged the Wright Brothers and myself to bring aeroplanes to New York, furnishing us with every facility on Governor's Island, in the Lower Bay, from which point all flights were to be made.But aerial navigation in the fall of 1909 was not such a sure and certain thing as all that. Much depended upon the wind and weather, and it was soon demonstrated that the best that could be hoped for at the time of the celebration would be flights made at such times as the wind would permit. Day after day the public waited anxiously for flights to be made up the Hudson from Governor's Island, but day after day the wind blew up or down the Hudson in such blasts that it was not deemed safe to attempt a trip. For it must be remembered that there is scarcely a more difficult course anywhere in the country than over the Hudson river in the vicinity of New York. On both sides of the river, which is a swift-running stream, rise lofty hills, and at some places precipitous cliffs called the Palisades. On the New York side are miles upon miles of lofty apartment houses along Riverside Drive. If the wind blows across the river, either from the east or west, dangerous currents and eddies suck down through the canon-like streets, or over the steep Palisades, making flying extremely hazardous. For this reason there has never, even up to this time (August, 1912), been any flying to speak of over the Hudson, and for these reasons, the great river will not become a popular flying course for aeroplanes until they are so constructed as to be able to defy the treacherous, puffy wind currents. The hydroaeroplane, however, may navigate the course with safety, as it is perfectly safe in one of these machines to fly within a few feet of the water where there is the least danger from contrary air currents.So much was printed in the New York newspapers while we were waiting for propitious weather that the public was keyed up to expect great things from the aeroplanes–far greater than the aeroplane could accomplish. Bulletins were posted by the newspapers from day to day, informing the public that flights would surely be made "to-day" provided the wind abated. In the meantime interest was doubly stimulated by the announcement of a ten-thousand-dollar prize for the first air-flight over Fulton's course, from New York to Albany, or from Albany to New York. One of the paintings made at the time as an "advance notice," I remember, showed so many aerial dreadnaughts in the sky, passing down the river by the Palisades at the same time, that one was forced to wonder how all of them were going to find room to navigate. However, the atmosphere had cleared long before the actual flight was made down the Hudson, the following summer.In spite of the disappointment felt by the public at not seeing a fleet of aeroplanes sporting over the Hudson daily during the Hudson-Fulton celebration, there were many other things to divert the attention of New York's five millions and some few hundred thousands of visitors from this and other countries. The week of pomp and pageantry culminated in the most wonderful marine and land parades ever staged in this country, and seldom, if ever, excelled in the Old World. The marine parade extended all the way up to Albany, and at every stopping place there was a repetition, on a smaller scale, of the scenes of enthusiasm and general holiday spirit that had prevailed in the Metropolis. New York City was decorated as no one had ever seen it decorated before, and the great fleet of over a hundred warships that swung at anchor in the Hudson were visited by thousands by day and were outlined in myriads of electric lights at night, disguising their ominous guns in soft shadow and giving them a peaceful and almost fairy-like appearance. Then there were the dirigible balloons to command the attention of the crowds that thronged Riverside Drive waiting for the aeroplanes. They, too, were after the rich prize offered by theNew York World. They furnished the only real contest during the Hudson-Fulton celebration. There were two of them, one entered by the intrepid Captain Thomas Baldwin, and the other by a Mr. Tomlinson. These were housed in great tents raised within an enclosure at Riverside Drive and One Hundred and Nineteenth street, behind a high fence, on which was painted "Hudson-Fulton Flights." This was the center of interest for great crowds for days during the period of waiting. Captain Baldwin, always popular with the people wherever he goes, was the centre of interest with the crowds that stood around the sheds, watching the mild, blunt noses of the big dirigibles as they bobbed and swayed with the gusts that swept around Grant's Tomb, reminding one of the ceaseless weaving of a restless elephant. But the elements seemed to be as much against the dirigibles as against the aeroplanes. Tomlinson made a start, after a long wait, but came to grief almost at once, while Captain Baldwin fared but little better. His trip extended but a few miles up the river, when he was forced to come down, thus ending the chances of the dirigibles.The aeroplanes were scarcely more fortunate. October winds around New York are most unruly things, and at that particular period seemed worse than usual. Weather-wise folk learned after awhile to look out at the flags on the high buildings; if they stood out straight from the staff, the people went about their business, knowing there would be no flying that day. But every one kept an ear cocked for the firing of a big cannon on Governor's Island, the signal that a flight was about to be made. Even these were deceiving, for there were so many salutes being fired by the great fleets in the river and bay, that no one could tell when to give heed to gun signals. So the crowds sat along Riverside Drive, or depended upon the unhappy and over-worked policemen for word of the aeroplanes. Some people were disposed to hold the policemen personally responsible for the failure of the airships to fly. "You'd think," said one of the blue-coated guardians on Riverside Drive, "that I was keepin' 'em back, the way these people go at me. They blame me and not the wind!"The wind held out and the week of festivities ended; still there had been no flying. I could not remain in New York any longer, as I had accepted an engagement some time before to fly at St. Louis. I was obliged therefore, much to my chagrin, and the disappointment of the crowds, to leave the city without making a flight up the river, although I did make a short flight over Governor's Island.Mr. Wilbur Wright, however, remained in New York, and during the following week made a magnificent flight up the river from Governor's Island to Grant's Tomb and return, a distance of about twenty miles. This gave the larger part of New York's millions their first glimpse of an aeroplane in flight.At St. Louis we gave a very successful meet. There were flights by Captain Baldwin, Lincoln Beachey, and Roy Knabenshue, in their dirigible balloons, and myself in my aeroplane. The weather conditions were favourable, and St. Louis turned out enthusiastic throngs to witness the exhibitions.The Pacific Coast, always progressive and quick to seize upon every innovation, no matter where it may be developed, had been clamoring for some time for an aviation meet. The enterprising citizens of Los Angeles got together and put up a large sum of money to bring out from Europe and the eastern part of the United States, a number of representative aviators for an international meet, the first ever given in this country. Louis Paulhan, one of the most celebrated French aviators, was brought over with a biplane and a monoplane, and there were a number of American entries, including Charles F. Willard and myself. Los Angeles furnished the first opportunity for a real contest in this country between the French and American machines, and these contests aroused immense interest throughout the country.The importance of the Los Angeles meet to the aviation industry in this country was very great. The favourable climatic conditions gave opportunities for every one to fly in all the events, and the wide publicity given to the achievements of Paulhan and others, especially to the new world's altitude record established by the French aviator, stimulated interest throughout the country. There was cross-country flying such as had not been seen in this country, brilliant exhibitions of altitude flying, and speed contests of the hair-raising variety. Sometimes it takes just such a public demonstration as the Los Angeles meet not only to spread the news of the general progress of mechanical flight, but to show the builders of aeroplanes themselves just what their machines are capable of.It was at the Los Angeles meet, by the way, that Charles F. Willard coined that apt and picturesque phrase which soon was used the world over in describing air conditions. Willard had made a short flight and on coming down declared the air "was as full of holes as a Swiss cheese." This made a great hit with the newspapermen, who featured it, using it day after day in their stories until it went the rounds of the press of the world. There were special articles written on "holes in the air," and interviews of prominent aviators to determine how it feels to fall into "a hole in the air."The expression was more picturesque than accurate, for it is not necessary to explain, in this advanced stage of aviation, that there are no "holes" in the atmosphere. If there were a hole in the atmosphere, a clap of thunder would result, caused by the rushing in of the surrounding air to fill the vacuum. The only holes in the air are the streaks that follow a rifle bullet or a flash of lightning. The real cause of the conditions described by Willard, and which has since probably been responsible for the death of several well known aviators, is a swift, downward current of air, rushing in to fill a vacuum that follows a rising current from a heated area. The hot air rises and the cool air rushes down to take its place. An aeroplane striking one of these descending currents drops as if the entire atmospheric support had been suddenly removed, and if it be not high enough, may strike the ground with fatal results to the aviator. Every experienced airman has met these conditions. They are especially noticeable over water, streaks of calm water showing where the up-currents are just starting, and waves or ripples where the down-currents strike the surface.The representative of the Aero Club of America at the Los Angeles meet was Mr. Cortlandt Field Bishop, of New York, who had been at Rheims the previous summer when I won the Gordon Bennett Cup and who had been of inestimable assistance to me at that time. Mr. Bishop had his oft-expressed wish to fly gratified at Los Angeles. He was taken up by Louis Paulhan several times, and Paulhan also took Mrs. Bishop for her first aerial ride. Great crowds came out at the Los Angeles meet, and they for the first time in the history of aviation in this country expected the aviator to fly and not to fall. Paulhan did some wonderful cross-country flying, and as a climax to the week of aerial wonders, he established a world's altitude record by ascending 4,165 feet. This was regarded as marvellous at that time. Since then the mark has been successively raised by Brookins, Hoxsey, Le Blanc, Beachey, Garros and others. Legagneux now (September, 1912) holds the record at 18,760 feet.Interest in aviation was keen following the Los Angeles meet and I decided to try for the New York World's ten-thousand-dollar prize, which was still open, for a flight down the Hudson from Albany to New York City. Notwithstanding all the natural obstacles in the way of the accomplishment of the undertaking, the conditions were so fair as to stops, time-limit, etc., and it was so obviously a prize offered to be won, that I considered it worth a serious effort.I fully realised that the flight was much greater than anything I had yet attempted, and even more difficult than Bleriot's great flight across the English channel from France to England, news of which was still ringing throughout the world, and even greater than the projected flight from London to Manchester, England, and for which a prize of fifty thousand dollars had been offered. Although the course covered about the same distance as the London-Manchester route, there was not the difficulty of landing safely over the English route. The Hudson flight meant one hundred and fifty-two miles over a broad, swift stream, flowing between high hills or rugged mountains the entire distance and with seldom a place to land; it meant a fight against treacherous and varying wind currents rushing out unawares through clefts in the mountains, and possible motor trouble that would land both machine and aviator in the water with not much chance of escape from drowning, even if uninjured in alighting.
CHAPTER II HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION FIRST AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL MEET, AT LOS ANGELESI was not permitted to remain long in Hammondsport, although there was much work for me to do there in the way of planning improvements in the factory, as well as on my aeroplane, which had now come to be known throughout the world by reason of winning the Gordon Bennett Cup. There were tempting offers from all quarters to give exhibitions with the flying machine, which up to that time had been seen in but few places in this country. Some of these offers were accepted because I could not afford to reject them. Moreover, it required a great deal of money to run the shop, and there was no commercial demand for aeroplanes. They were, as yet, valuable only as "show machines," to see which the public was willing to pay goodly sums. For a long time preparations had been going on at New York City to celebrate the tri-centenary of the discovery of the Hudson river, and the centenary of the first steamboat trip on that stream by Fulton in theClermont. It had been the idea of the originators of the Hudson-Fulton celebration–an idea that was expressed in the tentative plans published long before the celebration itself–that the new conquest of the air should be recognised, in some way, at the same time. At first it was intended that some sort of airship should accompany the naval parade the entire length of the Hudson, with a replica of Hendrik Hudson'sHalf Moonleading the way, Robert Fulton's old steamboatClermontfollowing, and the airship hovering above them thus furnishing a striking illustration of the wonderful advancement in the means of locomotion in a hundred years, and signalising the new science of air navigation. With this end in view the Celebration Committee engaged the Wright Brothers and myself to bring aeroplanes to New York, furnishing us with every facility on Governor's Island, in the Lower Bay, from which point all flights were to be made.But aerial navigation in the fall of 1909 was not such a sure and certain thing as all that. Much depended upon the wind and weather, and it was soon demonstrated that the best that could be hoped for at the time of the celebration would be flights made at such times as the wind would permit. Day after day the public waited anxiously for flights to be made up the Hudson from Governor's Island, but day after day the wind blew up or down the Hudson in such blasts that it was not deemed safe to attempt a trip. For it must be remembered that there is scarcely a more difficult course anywhere in the country than over the Hudson river in the vicinity of New York. On both sides of the river, which is a swift-running stream, rise lofty hills, and at some places precipitous cliffs called the Palisades. On the New York side are miles upon miles of lofty apartment houses along Riverside Drive. If the wind blows across the river, either from the east or west, dangerous currents and eddies suck down through the canon-like streets, or over the steep Palisades, making flying extremely hazardous. For this reason there has never, even up to this time (August, 1912), been any flying to speak of over the Hudson, and for these reasons, the great river will not become a popular flying course for aeroplanes until they are so constructed as to be able to defy the treacherous, puffy wind currents. The hydroaeroplane, however, may navigate the course with safety, as it is perfectly safe in one of these machines to fly within a few feet of the water where there is the least danger from contrary air currents.So much was printed in the New York newspapers while we were waiting for propitious weather that the public was keyed up to expect great things from the aeroplanes–far greater than the aeroplane could accomplish. Bulletins were posted by the newspapers from day to day, informing the public that flights would surely be made "to-day" provided the wind abated. In the meantime interest was doubly stimulated by the announcement of a ten-thousand-dollar prize for the first air-flight over Fulton's course, from New York to Albany, or from Albany to New York. One of the paintings made at the time as an "advance notice," I remember, showed so many aerial dreadnaughts in the sky, passing down the river by the Palisades at the same time, that one was forced to wonder how all of them were going to find room to navigate. However, the atmosphere had cleared long before the actual flight was made down the Hudson, the following summer.In spite of the disappointment felt by the public at not seeing a fleet of aeroplanes sporting over the Hudson daily during the Hudson-Fulton celebration, there were many other things to divert the attention of New York's five millions and some few hundred thousands of visitors from this and other countries. The week of pomp and pageantry culminated in the most wonderful marine and land parades ever staged in this country, and seldom, if ever, excelled in the Old World. The marine parade extended all the way up to Albany, and at every stopping place there was a repetition, on a smaller scale, of the scenes of enthusiasm and general holiday spirit that had prevailed in the Metropolis. New York City was decorated as no one had ever seen it decorated before, and the great fleet of over a hundred warships that swung at anchor in the Hudson were visited by thousands by day and were outlined in myriads of electric lights at night, disguising their ominous guns in soft shadow and giving them a peaceful and almost fairy-like appearance. Then there were the dirigible balloons to command the attention of the crowds that thronged Riverside Drive waiting for the aeroplanes. They, too, were after the rich prize offered by theNew York World. They furnished the only real contest during the Hudson-Fulton celebration. There were two of them, one entered by the intrepid Captain Thomas Baldwin, and the other by a Mr. Tomlinson. These were housed in great tents raised within an enclosure at Riverside Drive and One Hundred and Nineteenth street, behind a high fence, on which was painted "Hudson-Fulton Flights." This was the center of interest for great crowds for days during the period of waiting. Captain Baldwin, always popular with the people wherever he goes, was the centre of interest with the crowds that stood around the sheds, watching the mild, blunt noses of the big dirigibles as they bobbed and swayed with the gusts that swept around Grant's Tomb, reminding one of the ceaseless weaving of a restless elephant. But the elements seemed to be as much against the dirigibles as against the aeroplanes. Tomlinson made a start, after a long wait, but came to grief almost at once, while Captain Baldwin fared but little better. His trip extended but a few miles up the river, when he was forced to come down, thus ending the chances of the dirigibles.The aeroplanes were scarcely more fortunate. October winds around New York are most unruly things, and at that particular period seemed worse than usual. Weather-wise folk learned after awhile to look out at the flags on the high buildings; if they stood out straight from the staff, the people went about their business, knowing there would be no flying that day. But every one kept an ear cocked for the firing of a big cannon on Governor's Island, the signal that a flight was about to be made. Even these were deceiving, for there were so many salutes being fired by the great fleets in the river and bay, that no one could tell when to give heed to gun signals. So the crowds sat along Riverside Drive, or depended upon the unhappy and over-worked policemen for word of the aeroplanes. Some people were disposed to hold the policemen personally responsible for the failure of the airships to fly. "You'd think," said one of the blue-coated guardians on Riverside Drive, "that I was keepin' 'em back, the way these people go at me. They blame me and not the wind!"The wind held out and the week of festivities ended; still there had been no flying. I could not remain in New York any longer, as I had accepted an engagement some time before to fly at St. Louis. I was obliged therefore, much to my chagrin, and the disappointment of the crowds, to leave the city without making a flight up the river, although I did make a short flight over Governor's Island.Mr. Wilbur Wright, however, remained in New York, and during the following week made a magnificent flight up the river from Governor's Island to Grant's Tomb and return, a distance of about twenty miles. This gave the larger part of New York's millions their first glimpse of an aeroplane in flight.At St. Louis we gave a very successful meet. There were flights by Captain Baldwin, Lincoln Beachey, and Roy Knabenshue, in their dirigible balloons, and myself in my aeroplane. The weather conditions were favourable, and St. Louis turned out enthusiastic throngs to witness the exhibitions.The Pacific Coast, always progressive and quick to seize upon every innovation, no matter where it may be developed, had been clamoring for some time for an aviation meet. The enterprising citizens of Los Angeles got together and put up a large sum of money to bring out from Europe and the eastern part of the United States, a number of representative aviators for an international meet, the first ever given in this country. Louis Paulhan, one of the most celebrated French aviators, was brought over with a biplane and a monoplane, and there were a number of American entries, including Charles F. Willard and myself. Los Angeles furnished the first opportunity for a real contest in this country between the French and American machines, and these contests aroused immense interest throughout the country.The importance of the Los Angeles meet to the aviation industry in this country was very great. The favourable climatic conditions gave opportunities for every one to fly in all the events, and the wide publicity given to the achievements of Paulhan and others, especially to the new world's altitude record established by the French aviator, stimulated interest throughout the country. There was cross-country flying such as had not been seen in this country, brilliant exhibitions of altitude flying, and speed contests of the hair-raising variety. Sometimes it takes just such a public demonstration as the Los Angeles meet not only to spread the news of the general progress of mechanical flight, but to show the builders of aeroplanes themselves just what their machines are capable of.It was at the Los Angeles meet, by the way, that Charles F. Willard coined that apt and picturesque phrase which soon was used the world over in describing air conditions. Willard had made a short flight and on coming down declared the air "was as full of holes as a Swiss cheese." This made a great hit with the newspapermen, who featured it, using it day after day in their stories until it went the rounds of the press of the world. There were special articles written on "holes in the air," and interviews of prominent aviators to determine how it feels to fall into "a hole in the air."The expression was more picturesque than accurate, for it is not necessary to explain, in this advanced stage of aviation, that there are no "holes" in the atmosphere. If there were a hole in the atmosphere, a clap of thunder would result, caused by the rushing in of the surrounding air to fill the vacuum. The only holes in the air are the streaks that follow a rifle bullet or a flash of lightning. The real cause of the conditions described by Willard, and which has since probably been responsible for the death of several well known aviators, is a swift, downward current of air, rushing in to fill a vacuum that follows a rising current from a heated area. The hot air rises and the cool air rushes down to take its place. An aeroplane striking one of these descending currents drops as if the entire atmospheric support had been suddenly removed, and if it be not high enough, may strike the ground with fatal results to the aviator. Every experienced airman has met these conditions. They are especially noticeable over water, streaks of calm water showing where the up-currents are just starting, and waves or ripples where the down-currents strike the surface.The representative of the Aero Club of America at the Los Angeles meet was Mr. Cortlandt Field Bishop, of New York, who had been at Rheims the previous summer when I won the Gordon Bennett Cup and who had been of inestimable assistance to me at that time. Mr. Bishop had his oft-expressed wish to fly gratified at Los Angeles. He was taken up by Louis Paulhan several times, and Paulhan also took Mrs. Bishop for her first aerial ride. Great crowds came out at the Los Angeles meet, and they for the first time in the history of aviation in this country expected the aviator to fly and not to fall. Paulhan did some wonderful cross-country flying, and as a climax to the week of aerial wonders, he established a world's altitude record by ascending 4,165 feet. This was regarded as marvellous at that time. Since then the mark has been successively raised by Brookins, Hoxsey, Le Blanc, Beachey, Garros and others. Legagneux now (September, 1912) holds the record at 18,760 feet.Interest in aviation was keen following the Los Angeles meet and I decided to try for the New York World's ten-thousand-dollar prize, which was still open, for a flight down the Hudson from Albany to New York City. Notwithstanding all the natural obstacles in the way of the accomplishment of the undertaking, the conditions were so fair as to stops, time-limit, etc., and it was so obviously a prize offered to be won, that I considered it worth a serious effort.I fully realised that the flight was much greater than anything I had yet attempted, and even more difficult than Bleriot's great flight across the English channel from France to England, news of which was still ringing throughout the world, and even greater than the projected flight from London to Manchester, England, and for which a prize of fifty thousand dollars had been offered. Although the course covered about the same distance as the London-Manchester route, there was not the difficulty of landing safely over the English route. The Hudson flight meant one hundred and fifty-two miles over a broad, swift stream, flowing between high hills or rugged mountains the entire distance and with seldom a place to land; it meant a fight against treacherous and varying wind currents rushing out unawares through clefts in the mountains, and possible motor trouble that would land both machine and aviator in the water with not much chance of escape from drowning, even if uninjured in alighting.
I was not permitted to remain long in Hammondsport, although there was much work for me to do there in the way of planning improvements in the factory, as well as on my aeroplane, which had now come to be known throughout the world by reason of winning the Gordon Bennett Cup. There were tempting offers from all quarters to give exhibitions with the flying machine, which up to that time had been seen in but few places in this country. Some of these offers were accepted because I could not afford to reject them. Moreover, it required a great deal of money to run the shop, and there was no commercial demand for aeroplanes. They were, as yet, valuable only as "show machines," to see which the public was willing to pay goodly sums. For a long time preparations had been going on at New York City to celebrate the tri-centenary of the discovery of the Hudson river, and the centenary of the first steamboat trip on that stream by Fulton in theClermont. It had been the idea of the originators of the Hudson-Fulton celebration–an idea that was expressed in the tentative plans published long before the celebration itself–that the new conquest of the air should be recognised, in some way, at the same time. At first it was intended that some sort of airship should accompany the naval parade the entire length of the Hudson, with a replica of Hendrik Hudson'sHalf Moonleading the way, Robert Fulton's old steamboatClermontfollowing, and the airship hovering above them thus furnishing a striking illustration of the wonderful advancement in the means of locomotion in a hundred years, and signalising the new science of air navigation. With this end in view the Celebration Committee engaged the Wright Brothers and myself to bring aeroplanes to New York, furnishing us with every facility on Governor's Island, in the Lower Bay, from which point all flights were to be made.
But aerial navigation in the fall of 1909 was not such a sure and certain thing as all that. Much depended upon the wind and weather, and it was soon demonstrated that the best that could be hoped for at the time of the celebration would be flights made at such times as the wind would permit. Day after day the public waited anxiously for flights to be made up the Hudson from Governor's Island, but day after day the wind blew up or down the Hudson in such blasts that it was not deemed safe to attempt a trip. For it must be remembered that there is scarcely a more difficult course anywhere in the country than over the Hudson river in the vicinity of New York. On both sides of the river, which is a swift-running stream, rise lofty hills, and at some places precipitous cliffs called the Palisades. On the New York side are miles upon miles of lofty apartment houses along Riverside Drive. If the wind blows across the river, either from the east or west, dangerous currents and eddies suck down through the canon-like streets, or over the steep Palisades, making flying extremely hazardous. For this reason there has never, even up to this time (August, 1912), been any flying to speak of over the Hudson, and for these reasons, the great river will not become a popular flying course for aeroplanes until they are so constructed as to be able to defy the treacherous, puffy wind currents. The hydroaeroplane, however, may navigate the course with safety, as it is perfectly safe in one of these machines to fly within a few feet of the water where there is the least danger from contrary air currents.
So much was printed in the New York newspapers while we were waiting for propitious weather that the public was keyed up to expect great things from the aeroplanes–far greater than the aeroplane could accomplish. Bulletins were posted by the newspapers from day to day, informing the public that flights would surely be made "to-day" provided the wind abated. In the meantime interest was doubly stimulated by the announcement of a ten-thousand-dollar prize for the first air-flight over Fulton's course, from New York to Albany, or from Albany to New York. One of the paintings made at the time as an "advance notice," I remember, showed so many aerial dreadnaughts in the sky, passing down the river by the Palisades at the same time, that one was forced to wonder how all of them were going to find room to navigate. However, the atmosphere had cleared long before the actual flight was made down the Hudson, the following summer.
In spite of the disappointment felt by the public at not seeing a fleet of aeroplanes sporting over the Hudson daily during the Hudson-Fulton celebration, there were many other things to divert the attention of New York's five millions and some few hundred thousands of visitors from this and other countries. The week of pomp and pageantry culminated in the most wonderful marine and land parades ever staged in this country, and seldom, if ever, excelled in the Old World. The marine parade extended all the way up to Albany, and at every stopping place there was a repetition, on a smaller scale, of the scenes of enthusiasm and general holiday spirit that had prevailed in the Metropolis. New York City was decorated as no one had ever seen it decorated before, and the great fleet of over a hundred warships that swung at anchor in the Hudson were visited by thousands by day and were outlined in myriads of electric lights at night, disguising their ominous guns in soft shadow and giving them a peaceful and almost fairy-like appearance. Then there were the dirigible balloons to command the attention of the crowds that thronged Riverside Drive waiting for the aeroplanes. They, too, were after the rich prize offered by theNew York World. They furnished the only real contest during the Hudson-Fulton celebration. There were two of them, one entered by the intrepid Captain Thomas Baldwin, and the other by a Mr. Tomlinson. These were housed in great tents raised within an enclosure at Riverside Drive and One Hundred and Nineteenth street, behind a high fence, on which was painted "Hudson-Fulton Flights." This was the center of interest for great crowds for days during the period of waiting. Captain Baldwin, always popular with the people wherever he goes, was the centre of interest with the crowds that stood around the sheds, watching the mild, blunt noses of the big dirigibles as they bobbed and swayed with the gusts that swept around Grant's Tomb, reminding one of the ceaseless weaving of a restless elephant. But the elements seemed to be as much against the dirigibles as against the aeroplanes. Tomlinson made a start, after a long wait, but came to grief almost at once, while Captain Baldwin fared but little better. His trip extended but a few miles up the river, when he was forced to come down, thus ending the chances of the dirigibles.
The aeroplanes were scarcely more fortunate. October winds around New York are most unruly things, and at that particular period seemed worse than usual. Weather-wise folk learned after awhile to look out at the flags on the high buildings; if they stood out straight from the staff, the people went about their business, knowing there would be no flying that day. But every one kept an ear cocked for the firing of a big cannon on Governor's Island, the signal that a flight was about to be made. Even these were deceiving, for there were so many salutes being fired by the great fleets in the river and bay, that no one could tell when to give heed to gun signals. So the crowds sat along Riverside Drive, or depended upon the unhappy and over-worked policemen for word of the aeroplanes. Some people were disposed to hold the policemen personally responsible for the failure of the airships to fly. "You'd think," said one of the blue-coated guardians on Riverside Drive, "that I was keepin' 'em back, the way these people go at me. They blame me and not the wind!"
The wind held out and the week of festivities ended; still there had been no flying. I could not remain in New York any longer, as I had accepted an engagement some time before to fly at St. Louis. I was obliged therefore, much to my chagrin, and the disappointment of the crowds, to leave the city without making a flight up the river, although I did make a short flight over Governor's Island.
Mr. Wilbur Wright, however, remained in New York, and during the following week made a magnificent flight up the river from Governor's Island to Grant's Tomb and return, a distance of about twenty miles. This gave the larger part of New York's millions their first glimpse of an aeroplane in flight.
At St. Louis we gave a very successful meet. There were flights by Captain Baldwin, Lincoln Beachey, and Roy Knabenshue, in their dirigible balloons, and myself in my aeroplane. The weather conditions were favourable, and St. Louis turned out enthusiastic throngs to witness the exhibitions.
The Pacific Coast, always progressive and quick to seize upon every innovation, no matter where it may be developed, had been clamoring for some time for an aviation meet. The enterprising citizens of Los Angeles got together and put up a large sum of money to bring out from Europe and the eastern part of the United States, a number of representative aviators for an international meet, the first ever given in this country. Louis Paulhan, one of the most celebrated French aviators, was brought over with a biplane and a monoplane, and there were a number of American entries, including Charles F. Willard and myself. Los Angeles furnished the first opportunity for a real contest in this country between the French and American machines, and these contests aroused immense interest throughout the country.
The importance of the Los Angeles meet to the aviation industry in this country was very great. The favourable climatic conditions gave opportunities for every one to fly in all the events, and the wide publicity given to the achievements of Paulhan and others, especially to the new world's altitude record established by the French aviator, stimulated interest throughout the country. There was cross-country flying such as had not been seen in this country, brilliant exhibitions of altitude flying, and speed contests of the hair-raising variety. Sometimes it takes just such a public demonstration as the Los Angeles meet not only to spread the news of the general progress of mechanical flight, but to show the builders of aeroplanes themselves just what their machines are capable of.
It was at the Los Angeles meet, by the way, that Charles F. Willard coined that apt and picturesque phrase which soon was used the world over in describing air conditions. Willard had made a short flight and on coming down declared the air "was as full of holes as a Swiss cheese." This made a great hit with the newspapermen, who featured it, using it day after day in their stories until it went the rounds of the press of the world. There were special articles written on "holes in the air," and interviews of prominent aviators to determine how it feels to fall into "a hole in the air."
The expression was more picturesque than accurate, for it is not necessary to explain, in this advanced stage of aviation, that there are no "holes" in the atmosphere. If there were a hole in the atmosphere, a clap of thunder would result, caused by the rushing in of the surrounding air to fill the vacuum. The only holes in the air are the streaks that follow a rifle bullet or a flash of lightning. The real cause of the conditions described by Willard, and which has since probably been responsible for the death of several well known aviators, is a swift, downward current of air, rushing in to fill a vacuum that follows a rising current from a heated area. The hot air rises and the cool air rushes down to take its place. An aeroplane striking one of these descending currents drops as if the entire atmospheric support had been suddenly removed, and if it be not high enough, may strike the ground with fatal results to the aviator. Every experienced airman has met these conditions. They are especially noticeable over water, streaks of calm water showing where the up-currents are just starting, and waves or ripples where the down-currents strike the surface.
The representative of the Aero Club of America at the Los Angeles meet was Mr. Cortlandt Field Bishop, of New York, who had been at Rheims the previous summer when I won the Gordon Bennett Cup and who had been of inestimable assistance to me at that time. Mr. Bishop had his oft-expressed wish to fly gratified at Los Angeles. He was taken up by Louis Paulhan several times, and Paulhan also took Mrs. Bishop for her first aerial ride. Great crowds came out at the Los Angeles meet, and they for the first time in the history of aviation in this country expected the aviator to fly and not to fall. Paulhan did some wonderful cross-country flying, and as a climax to the week of aerial wonders, he established a world's altitude record by ascending 4,165 feet. This was regarded as marvellous at that time. Since then the mark has been successively raised by Brookins, Hoxsey, Le Blanc, Beachey, Garros and others. Legagneux now (September, 1912) holds the record at 18,760 feet.
Interest in aviation was keen following the Los Angeles meet and I decided to try for the New York World's ten-thousand-dollar prize, which was still open, for a flight down the Hudson from Albany to New York City. Notwithstanding all the natural obstacles in the way of the accomplishment of the undertaking, the conditions were so fair as to stops, time-limit, etc., and it was so obviously a prize offered to be won, that I considered it worth a serious effort.
I fully realised that the flight was much greater than anything I had yet attempted, and even more difficult than Bleriot's great flight across the English channel from France to England, news of which was still ringing throughout the world, and even greater than the projected flight from London to Manchester, England, and for which a prize of fifty thousand dollars had been offered. Although the course covered about the same distance as the London-Manchester route, there was not the difficulty of landing safely over the English route. The Hudson flight meant one hundred and fifty-two miles over a broad, swift stream, flowing between high hills or rugged mountains the entire distance and with seldom a place to land; it meant a fight against treacherous and varying wind currents rushing out unawares through clefts in the mountains, and possible motor trouble that would land both machine and aviator in the water with not much chance of escape from drowning, even if uninjured in alighting.