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

CHAPTER I THE RHEIMS MEET FIRST INTERNATIONAL AEROPLANE CONTEST

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST

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

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

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