If you look over the books on aviation that were published even a comparatively short time ago, you will see how much of them is given to prophecies and how little to records of performance. Because, of course, as soon as the aeroplane came into existence every one with eyesight and a little imagination could see that here was a new factor in the world's work that would change the course of things in almost every way, and naturally every one began to forecast the possibilities of aerial flight. And at first, when the machine was really so little known, even to the inventor, that aviators hesitated to push it to the extreme of its possibilities, writers had more to say about what the aeroplane would probably do than what it had actually done. But the aeroplane, which is bound to break all speed-records, has made history at the fastest rate yet. Day by day we move things over from the prophecy department to the history chapter, and as the days slip by on their rush to join the future, hardly one but leaves a record of accomplishment and achievement to justify the aeroplane prophets.
At first, as I have just said, aviators could not believe in the powers of the machine; we used to trim down our garments to the lightest point, to avoid extra weight, whereas now we bundle up in heavy furs, or wear two suits, one over the other, to meet the intense cold of the upper air; and a great surplus of weight can be carried by almost all machines. We used to wait for a calm almost absolute before going up it used to be a regular thing to see aviators wetting their fingers and holding them up to see from which direction the faint breezes were coming or dropping bits of paper to see if the air was in that complete stillness we used to think necessary for successful flight. When I was waiting for just the right moment in Albany to begin the Hudson Flight which, because of the unusual and absolutely unknown atmospheric conditions over a river flowing between precipitous and irregular hills, had to be timed with unusual care the Poughkeepsie paper in an editorial said the "Curtiss gives us a pain in the neck."
Even after I had made the flight the Paterson Call made the wait a reason for denying the use of aeroplanes in time of war, pointing out how amusing it would be to see in the newspaper reports of the wars of the future, "Battle postponed on account of the weather!" Whereas now we go up without hesitation into what is actually a gale of wind, and under weather conditions that would have made the first flyers think it absolute suicide.
This discussion of the future of the aeroplane will have more of a basis of solid fact for its prophecy than if it had been written a couple of years ago. Some ideas the world has as to the future of the machine we have had reluctantly to abandon or at least indefinitely to postpone, but so many new fields of activity have opened that one may only sketch the principal lines along which it is reasonable to expect the aeroplane and the art and science of mechanical flight to develop.
The most practical present and future uses of the aeroplane in the order of relative importance which it seems to me that these uses will naturally take, are: for sport, war, and special purposes which the aeroplane itself will create.
SPEED–PRESENT AND FUTURE
In saying "for sport" I mean both for the aviator himself and for the spectators interested in watching his aerial evolutions and enthusiastic over results; over sporting competitions, speed races, and record flights of all kinds. Such flights provide as much fun for the fellow who looks on as the fellow who flies and gives an opportunity for those who take pleasure in acting in an official capacity to exercise authority to their hearts' content!
Speed will always be a most important factor in the development of the sporting side of aviation. Almost all races depend upon speed and activity; and the aeroplane, the material embodiment and symbol of speed, equals and in many cases surpasses the speed of the wind.
Speed will have no bounds in the future. As I have already said briefly in passing, aeroplanes will soon be going considerably over one hundred miles per hour. A motorcycle has gone at the rate of one hundred and thirty-seven miles per hour and an aeroplane should be able to go even faster. With the help of a strong wind blowing in the direction of flight, two hundred miles an hour ought to be possible of attainment. Machines for high speed, however, must have some means of contracting the wing area or flattening out the curve in the planes so that when we want to go fast, we can reduce the amount of surface of the machine to lessen friction and so that when we want to go more slowly and land, we can increase the size of the wing surface.
The Etrich machine built in Austria has been constructed so that the curvature of the planes can be changed by operating a lever near the pilot; this enables the machine to attain high speed in flight and to fly more slowly in starting and landing.
The record is one hundred and eight miles an hour now (September, 1912) and we will not be surprised to see it climb up in proportion as rapidly as the altitude record did in 1911.
There is no wonder that an aeroplane race should create such absorbing interest, almost amounting to a craze, in the mind of the public directly interested. Speed is the one thing about the aeroplane that appeals both to the practical and to the imaginative man; the man of business, to whom saving time means saving money, and the poet, or the man of leisure, to whom the words "make a bee-line"–that is, an air line–have always stood for speed and directness. Now in earth or rail friction-machines, the limit of speed has almost been reached, except in the case of monorail vehicles, and there seems to be little progress in this direction. With the aeroplane, on the contrary, speed is only in its infancy. None of the difficulties that check the development of speed in the automobile or locomotive attend the aeroplane. What means speed now–ninety or ninety-five miles an hour–merely marks a stage in the machine's development; a hundred and fifty an hour is even now within its possibilities, and a much greater speed is by no means beyond the vision of the present generation. What the boys of to-day are going to see when they grow up no one can foretell. It is largely a question of motive power that and the reduction of resistance. In the latter respect I have already materially cut down the resistance of the newest type of Curtiss machine, in order to increase the speed. I was able, as I have said, to win the International Cup at Rheims in 1909 with a speed of forty-seven and one-half miles an hour. At Los Angeles during the past winter my latest type was able to fly more than seventy miles an hour, and the same type of engine, an eight-cylinder, has also been made more powerful, thus the increased speed is due to the improvements in the lines of the machine, the reduction of surface, and the controls, and the increase of the power of the motor.
There is still room for reduction of surfaces, minor improvements in the general outlines and in the control; but the largest element in any increase of speed must rest with the development of the motor. Increased power is the tendency, with as much reduction in weight as possible. Personally, I can't see much room for reduction in weight. At present I am using a motor of my own manufacture that weighs but three pounds to the horse-power. This I consider extremely light as compared, for instance, with the engines used in submarines of the Navy, which weigh from sixty to seventy pounds to the horse-power. Still, there will be some reduction in weight per horse-power.
With the great speed that will undoubtedly mark the aeroplane flights even of the near future, the physical endurance of the operator will count for a great deal in long flights. By the time we can fly much over a hundred miles an hour there will have to be some means of protection devised for the operator, for anyone who has travelled sixty or seventy miles an hour in an automobile knows how uncomfortable such a trip becomes if it keeps up over long distances. The driver of an aeroplane sitting out in front unprotected causes far more "head-resistance." It will be an easy matter to arrange some sort of protection for him.
How strong this "head-resistance" can be, I realised in a curious experience while racing with Ely at Los Angeles, going at probably sixty-five miles an hour. I looked upward to see just where Ely was flying, and as I raised my head the wind got under my eyelids and puffed them out like toy balloons. For a moment I was confused and could scarcely see, but as soon as I turned my gaze on the ground the wind pressure forced the lids back into their normal position.
SAFER THAN AUTOMOBILE RACES
I believe there are fewer dangers in racing aeroplanes than in racing automobiles. Races run over the ground have to contend against obstructions to the course, tire troubles, and "skidding" on a wet track, or in making sharp turns. None of these exist in the race in the air. The course is always clear, there is no "track," wet or dry, and as for the turns that look so desperate to the inexperienced observer on the ground, the operator, far from slipping out of his seat as he "banks" sharply, sits tight and feels as if he were going on an even keel. If you can imagine how the water in a pail would feel as you swing the pail around your head so fast that not a drop spills, you can realise the sense of stability that the aviator feels as he whirls around a circular course at a tremendous rate of speed, in fact, once an aeroplane is up in the air, it is often safer to travel fast than it is to travel slow.
ACCIDENTS
Of course it would be folly, in view of the list of accidents, fatal and otherwise, that the newspapers print and reprint every time a noted aviator falls, to assert that there is no danger in flying. I doubt if the American man, especially the American young man, would take to the aeroplane so enthusiastically if the sport were as safe as parlour croquet. There is, of course, always danger of something going wrong with an aeroplane in flight that may bring it down too quickly for safety, but unless the derangement is vital, an expert aviator can make a safe landing, even with a "dead" motor. And the dangers of flight are growing less and less every year as the machine is improved and as the aviator becomes more skilful and more experienced in air conditions. The report of the French Government for 1911 shows that there have been only one-tenth as many fatal accidents in proportion to the number of flights made, as in the first year of aviation, but each accident has made ten times as much stir.
INCREASE IN SKILL
Perhaps the greatest advancement in aviation during the past year has been due to the increased skill of the aviators. Men like Beachey, McCurdy, Willard, Brookins, Parmelee, Latham, Radley, and others who have made flights in this country, have shown remarkable strides in the art of flying. This advancement has been in experience–in knowing what to do in all sorts of weather–in taking advantage of air currents and in knowing how to make safe landings when trouble occurs. A year ago it would have looked like a desire to commit suicide to attempt some of the "stunts" these men now perform as a part of their daily exhibitions.
At the same time, I want to make it plain that, personally, I do not now, nor ever have encouraged so-called "fancy" flying. I regard some of the spectacular gyrations performed by any of half a dozen flyers I know as foolhardy and as taking unnecessary chances. I do not believe fancy or trick flying demonstrates anything except an unlimited amount of nerve and skill and, perhaps, the possibilities of aerial acrobatics.
CROSS-COUNTRY RACES
The year 1912 in America is the year of great cross-country flights. We have already seen the foreshadowing of this development in the great flights of Atwood from St. Louis to New York and Rodgers from coast to coast. Rodgers' trip was a great feat. Just think! Clear across the United States and so many smashes that only a man with indomitable will and pluck would have kept on to success. Rodgers became an expert at landing and made landings almost anywhere. Soon we shall see, instead of men flying alone as in the case of these trips, double flights with two pilots relieving each other so that the distance covered in flights may be increased, and the capabilities of machines for endurance can be fully shown.
The Gordon Bennett International Cup race at Chicago this year brought to this country two of the best racing machines in the world and has stimulated interest in aviation to a higher pitch than it has ever had in the United States. At the next Gordon Bennett, I hope to see an American surpass even Vedrines' speed of one hundred and five miles an hour for one hundred twenty-four and eight-tenths miles.
RACING TYPES OF TO-MORROW
There have been many meets since Rheims, some international, some of local importance; indeed almost every citizen of a civilised country has had a chance to attend some one of them without too great a journey, but what I have said of one meet is true to some degree of all: that racing and contests in general, especially between different makes of machines, is of the greatest use to the development of the aeroplane, just as competition among automobile manufacturers, in putting out racing machines, helped the development of that vehicle.
There are at the present time a number of types and makes of aeroplanes, each claiming some especial advantage over the others, and trying to demonstrate it. Some of these will drop out–some of them have dropped already–some will develop toward the aeroplane of the future, which we can only infer from the machines of to-day. The way to bring about this "survival of the fittest" is by speed contests and endurance races, where the American manufacturer pits his machine against the foreign-made article and the biplane contends against the monoplane.
The public believed, when these two types came into being, that there would be a sharp division of uses between them; that the biplane would excel in just certain directions, the monoplane in others, and the public has watched the various records of speed, of endurance, of distance, as they changed back and forth between the two types, and has found that deciding their relative merits and assigning their special uses was by no means the simple and summary process they thought it would be. The contests will have to evolve new rules and regulations; for instance, there will have to be some means of handicapping machines with very high-power engines and small plane surface as in the case of monoplanes, which, with a minimum of plane surface and high power engines, have a speed advantage over the biplanes, that with equal engine power have much larger plane surface. Perhaps the method of handicapping now used in certain races of stock automobiles, that is cubic displacement of the engine, will be adopted.
PUBLIC INTEREST IN MEETS
The aviation meet at Los Angeles, California, in 1911, was a good indication of what great and deep interest the public have in contests in the air, and will have in the great races of the future.
Aeroplane flights called thirty thousand people through the gates the second day of the ten days' meet. This is the biggest crowd, I believe, that ever paid admission to an aviation meet, in this country, and probably the largest that has ever attended any outdoor attraction except the world's series baseball games and the few big football games. In addition, there was a considerable crowd on the outside who did not pay admission, but the actual paid admissions on Sunday were more than thirty thousand. This third annual meet did better than either of those held during the two previous years, and this, I am convinced, proves that aviation is a standard and lasting attraction.