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

CHAPTER I TEACHING AVIATORS HOW AN AVIATOR FLIES

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

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

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

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

HOW TO FLY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE FIRST STEPS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A BULLETIN ISSUED AT THE CURTISS AVIATION CAMP

The course is divided into six parts or stages.

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

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

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

4th. Eight and left half circles and glides.

5th. Circles.

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

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

FIRST STAGE

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

SECOND STAGE

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

THIRD STAGE

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

FOURTH STAGE

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

FIFTH STAGE

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

SIXTH STAGE

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

A DAY AT HAMMONDSPORT–NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST

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

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

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

CHAPTER II AVIATION FOR AMATEURS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

AVIATING AND BALLOONING

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

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

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

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

CHAPTER IV OPERATING A HYDROAEROPLANE (By Hugh Robinson.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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