CHAPTER III FLIGHT DOWN THE HUDSON RIVER FROM ALBANY TO NEW YORK CITY

To fly from Albany to New York City was quite an undertaking in the summer of 1910. I realised that success would depend upon a dependable motor and a reliable aeroplane. In preparation for the task, therefore, I set the factory at Hammondsport to work to build a new machine. While awaiting the completion of the machine, I took a trip up the Hudson from New York to Albany to look over the course and to select a place about half way between the two cities where a landing for gasoline and oil might be made, should it become necessary.

There are very few places for an aeroplane to land with safety around New York City. The official final landing place, stipulated in the conditions drawn up by the New York World, was to be Governor's Island, but I wanted to know of another place on the upper edge of the city where I might come down if it should prove necessary. I looked all over the upper end of Manhattan Island, and at last found a little meadow on a side hill just at the junction of the Hudson and Harlem rivers, at a place called Inwood. It was small and sloping, but had the advantage of being within the limits of New York City. It proved fortunate for me that I had selected this place, for it later served to a mighty good advantage.

There was quite a party of us aboard the Hudson river boat leaving New York City one day in May for the trip to Albany. As an illustration of the scepticism among the steamboat men, I remember that I approached an officer and asked several questions about the weather conditions on the river, and particularly as to the prevailing winds at that period of the year. Incidentally, I remarked that I was contemplating a trip up the river from New York to Albany in an aeroplane and wanted to collect all the reliable data possible on atmospheric conditions. This officer, whom I afterward learned was the first mate, answered all my questions courteously, but it was evident to all of us that he believed I was crazy. He took me to the captain of the big river boat and introduced me, saying: "Captain, this is Mr. Curtiss, the flying machine man; that's all I know," in a tone that clearly indicated that he disclaimed all responsibility as to anything I might do or say.

The captain was very kind and courteous, asking us to remain in the pilot house, where we might get a better view of the country along the way, and displaying the keenest interest in the project. He answered all our questions about the winds along the Hudson and seemed to enter heartily in the spirit of the thing until we approached the great bridge at Poughkeepsie and I began to deliberate whether it would be better to pass over or beneath it in the aeroplane. Then it seemed really to dawn upon the captain for the first time that I was actually going to fly down the river in an aeroplane. He apparently failed to grasp the situation, and thereafter his answers were vague and given without interest. It was "Oh, yes, I guess so," and similar doubtful expressions, but when we finally left the boat at Albany he very kindly wished me a safe trip and promised to blow the whistle if I should pass his boat.

Albany afforded a better starting place than New York, because there were convenient spots where one might land before getting well under way, should it become necessary. This was not true of the situation at New York City. As to the advantage of prevailing winds, it seemed to be in favour of Albany as the starting place, and I finally decided to have everything sent up to the capital city. On my way up I had stopped at Poughkeepsie, in order to select a landing place, as at least one stop was deemed necessary to take on gasoline and to look over the motor. We visited the State Hospital for the Insane, which stands on the hill just above Poughkeepsie, and which seemed to be a good place to land. Dr. Taylor, the superintendent, showed us about the grounds, and when told that I intended stopping there on my way down the river in a flying machine, said with much cordiality: "Why, certainly, Mr. Curtiss, come right in here; here's where all the flying machine inventors land."

Notwithstanding the Doctor's cordial invitation to "drop in on him," we went to the other side of Poughkeepsie, and there found a fine open field at a place called Camelot. I looked over the ground carefully, locating the ditches and furrows, and selected the very best place to make a safe landing. Arrangements were made for a supply of gasoline, water, and oil to be brought to the field and held in readiness. It was fortunate that I looked over the Camelot field, for a few days later I landed within a few feet of the place I had selected as the most favoured spot near Poughkeepsie. This is but one thing that illustrates how the whole trip was outlined before the start was made, and how this plan was followed out according to arrangement.

I shall always remember Albany as the starting place of my first long cross-country flight. My machine was brought over from Hammondsport and set up; the Aero Club sent up its official representatives, Mr. Augustus Post and Mr. Jacob L. Ten Eyck, and the newspapers of New York City sent a horde of reporters. A special train was engaged to start from Albany as soon as I got under way, carrying the newspapermen and the Aero Club representatives, as well as several invited guests. It was the purpose to have this train keep even with me along the entire trip of one hundred and fifty-two miles, but as it turned out, it had some trouble in living up to the schedule.

The aeroplane, christened the "Hudson Flier," was set up on Rensselaer Island. It was now up to the weather man to furnish conditions I considered suitable. This proved a hard task, and for three days I got up at daybreak, when there is normally the least wind, ready to make an early start. On these days the newspapermen and officials, not to mention crowds of curious spectators, rubbed the sleep out of their eyes before the sun got up and went out to Rensselaer Island. But the wind was there ahead of us and it blew all day long. The weather bureau promised repeatedly, "fair weather, with light winds," but couldn't live up to promises. I put in some of the time in going over every nut, bolt, and turnbuckle on the machine with shellac. Nothing was overlooked; everything was made secure. I had confidence in the machine. I knew I could land on the water if it became necessary, as I had affixed two light pontoons to the lower plane, one on either end, and a hydro-surface under the front wheel of the landing-gear. This would keep me afloat some time should I come down in the river.

We bothered the life out of the weather observer at Albany, but he was always very kind and took pains to get weather reports from every point along the river. But the newspapermen lost faith; they were tired of the delay. I have always observed that newspapermen, who work at a high tension, cannot endure delay when there is a good piece of news in prospect. One of those at Albany during the wait, offered to lay odds with the others that I would not make a start. Others among the journalists believed I was looking for free advertising, and when another of the advertised starters for the World prize reached Albany he was greeted with: "Hello, old man, are you up here to get some free advertising, too?" One of the Poughkeepsie papers printed an editorial about this time, in which it said: "Curtiss gives us a pain in the neck. All those who are waiting to see him go down the river are wasting their time." This was a fair sample of the lack of faith in the undertaking.

The machine was the centre of interest at Albany during the wait. It seemed to hold a fascination for the crowds that came over to the island. One young fellow gazed at it so long and so intently that he finally fell over backwards insensible and it was some time before he was restored to consciousness. Then one of the newspapermen dashed a pail of water over him and at once sent his paper a column about it. They had to find something to write about and the countryman, the flying machine, and the fit made a combination good enough for almost any newspaper-man to weave an interesting yarn about.

Our period of waiting almost ended on Saturday morning, May 30th. The "Hudson Flier" was brought out of its tent, groomed and fit; the special train provided by the New York Times to follow me over the New York Central, stood ready, with steam up and the engineer holding a right-of-way order through to New York. The newspapermen, always on the job, and the guests were watching eagerly for the aeroplane to start and set out on its long and hazardous flight.

Then something happened–the wind came up. At first it did not seem to be more than a breeze, but it grew stronger and reports from down the river told of a strong wind blowing up the river. This would have meant a head gale all the way to New York, should I make a start then. Everything was called off for the day and we all went over and visited the State Capitol. The newspapermen swallowed their disappointment and hoped for better things on the morrow.

Sunday proved to be the day. The delay had got somewhat on my nerves and I had determined to make a start if there was half a chance. The morning was calm and bright–a perfect summer day. News from down the river was all favourable. I determined it was now or never. I sent Mrs. Curtiss to the special train and informed the World representative and the Aero Club officials that I was ready to go. Shortly after eight o'clock the motor was turned over and I was off!

It was plain sailing after I got up and away from Rensselaer Island. The air was calm and I felt an immense sense of relief. The motor sounded like music and the machine handled perfectly. I was soon over the river and when I looked down I could see deep down beneath the surface. This is one of the peculiar things about flying over the water. When high up a person is able to see farther beneath the surface.

I kept a close lookout for the special train, which could not get under way as quickly as I had, and pretty soon I caught sight of it whirling along on the tracks next to the river bank. I veered over toward the train and flew along even with the locomotive for miles. I could see the people with their heads out the windows, some of them waving their hats or hands, while the ladies shook their handkerchiefs or veils frantically. It was no effort at all to keep up with the train, which was making fifty miles an hour. It was like a real race and I enjoyed the contest more than anything else during the flight. At times I would gain as the train swung around a short curve and thus lost ground, while I continued on in an air line.

All along the river, wherever there was a village or town, and even along the roads and in boats on the river, I caught glimpses of crowds or groups of people with their faces turned skyward, their attitudes betokening the amazement which could not be read in their faces at that distance. Boatmen on the river swung their caps in mute greeting, while now and then a river tug with a long line of scows in tow, sent greetings in a blast of white steam, indicating there was the sound of a whistle behind. But I heard nothing but the steady, even roar of the motor in perfect rhythm, and the whirr of the propeller. Not even the noise of the speeding special train only a few hundred feet below reached me, although I could see every turn of the great drive-wheels on the engine.

On we sped, the train and the aeroplane, representing a century of the history of transportation, keeping abreast until Hudson had been past. Here the aeroplane began to gain, and as the train took a wide sweeping curve away from the bank of the river, I increased the lead perceptibly, and soon lost sight of the special.

It seemed but a few minutes until the great bridge spanning the Hudson at Poughkeepsie, came into view. It was a welcome landmark, for I knew that I had covered more than half the journey from Albany to New York, and that I must stop to replenish the gasoline. I might have gone on and taken a chance on having enough fuel, but this was not the time for taking chances. There was too much at stake.

I steered straight for the centre of the Poughkeepsie bridge, and passed a hundred and fifty feet above it. The entire population of Poughkeepsie had turned out, apparently, and resembled swarms of busy ants, running here and there, waving their hats and hands. I kept close watch for the place where I had planned to turn off the river course and make a landing. A small pier jutting out into the river was the mark I had chosen beforehand and it soon came into view. I made a wide circle and turned inland, over a clump of trees, and landed on the spot I had chosen on my way up to Albany. But the gasoline and oil which I had expected to find waiting for me, were not there. I saw no one for a time, but soon a number of men came running across the fields and a number of automobiles turned off the road and raced toward the aeroplane. I asked for some gasoline and an automobile hurried away to bring it.

I could scarcely hear and there was a continual ringing in my ears. This was the effect of the roaring motor, and strange to say, this did not cease until the motor was started again. From that time on there was no disagreeable sensation. The special train reached the Camelot field shortly after I landed and soon the newspaper-men, the Aero Club officials, and the guests came climbing up the hill from the river, all eager to extend their congratulations. Henry Kleckler, acting as my mechanic, who had come along on the special train, looked over the machine carefully, testing every wire, testing the motor out, and taking every precaution to make the remainder of the journey as successful as the first half. The gasoline having arrived, and the tank being refilled, the special train got under way; once more I rose into the air, and the final lap of the journey was on.

Out over the trees to the river I set my course, and when I was about midstream, turned south. At the start I climbed high above the river, and then dropped down close to the water. I wanted to feel out the air currents, believing that I would be more likely to find steady air conditions near the water. I was mistaken in this, however, and soon got up several hundred feet and maintained about an even altitude of from five hundred to seven hundred feet. Everything went along smoothly until I came within sight of West Point. Here the wind was nasty and shook me up considerably. Gusts shot out from the rifts between the mountains and made extremely rough riding. The worst spot was encountered between Storm King and Dunderberg, where the river is narrow and the mountains rise abruptly from the water's edge to more than a thousand feet on either side. Here I ran into a downward suction that dropped me in what seemed an interminable fall straight down, but which as a matter of fact was not more than a hundred feet or perhaps less. It was one of Willard's famous "holes in the air." The atmosphere seemed to tumble about like water rushing through a narrow gorge. At another point, a little farther along, and after I had dropped down close to the water, one blast tipped a wing dangerously high, and I almost touched the water. I thought for an instant that my trip was about to end, and made a quick mental calculation as to the length of time it would take a boat to reach me after I should drop into the water.

The danger passed as quickly as it had come, however, and the machine righted itself and kept on. Down by the Palisades we soared, rising above the steep cliffs that wall the stream on the west side. Whenever I could give my attention to things other than the machine, I kept watch for the special train. Now and then I caught glimpses of it whirling along the bank of the river, but for the greater part of the way I out-distanced it.

Soon I caught sight of some of the sky-scrapers that make the sky-line of New York City the most wonderful in the world. First I saw the tall frame of the Metropolitan Tower, and then the lofty Singer building. These landmarks looked mighty good to me, for I knew that, given a few more minutes' time, I would finish the flight. Approaching Spuyten Duyvil, just above the Harlem river, I looked at my oil gauge and discovered that the supply was almost exhausted. I dared not risk going on to Governor's Island, some fifteen miles farther, for once past the Harlem river there would be no place to land short of the island. So I took a wide sweep across to the Jersey side of the river, circled around toward the New York side, and put in over the Harlem river, looking for the little meadow at Inwood which I had picked out as a possible landing place some two weeks before.

There I landed on the sloping hillside, and went immediately to a telephone to call up the New York World. I told them I had landed within the city limits and was coming down the river to Governor's Island soon.

I got more oil, some one among the crowd, that gathered as if by magic, turned my propeller, and I got away safely on the last leg of the flight. While I had complied with the conditions governing the flight by landing in the city limits, I wanted to go on to Governor's Island and give the people the chance to see the machine in flight.

From the extreme northern limits of New York to Governor's Island, at the southern limits, was the most inspiring part of the trip. News of the approach of the aeroplane had spread throughout the city, and I could see crowds everywhere.

New York can turn out a million people probably quicker than any other place on earth, and it certainly looked as though half of the population was along Riverside Drive or on top of the thousands of apartment houses that stretch for miles along the river. Every craft on the river turned on its siren and faint sounds of the clamour reached me even above the roar of my motor. It seemed but a moment until the Statue of Liberty came into view. I turned westward, circled the Lady with the Torch and alighted safely on the parade ground on Governor's Island.

General Frederick Grant, commanding the Department of the East, was one of the first officers who came up to extend congratulations and to compliment me on the success of the undertaking. From that moment I had little chance for anything except the luncheons and dinners to which I was invited. First came the luncheon at the Astor House given by the New York World, and then the big banquet at the Hotel Astor, presided over by Mayor Gaynor and attended by many prominent men interested in aviation. The speeches were all highly laudatory, of course, and there were many predictions by the orators that the Hudson river would become a highway for aerial craft, as it had for steam craft when Fulton first steered the old Clermont from New York to Albany.

On the trip down from Albany I carried a letter from the mayor of that city to Mayor Gaynor, and delivered it in less time than it would have taken the fastest mail train. My actual flying time was two hours, fifty-one minutes, the distance one hundred and fifty-two miles, and the average speed fifty-two miles an hour.

From Albany to Poughkeepsie is eighty-seven miles, and by making this in a continuous flight I had, incidentally, won the Scientific American trophy for the third time. It now became my personal property, and its formal presentation was made at the annual dinner of the Aero Club of America for that year.

NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST

The newspapers made much of Mr. Curtiss' flight, drawing comparisons between the Hudson river course and the flight made by Bleriot across the English channel, and the trip of Paulhan from London to Manchester, which he had just accomplished a flight of about the same distance, for which he received fifty thousand dollars from the London Daily Mail.

The New York Times offered a large prize for a flight from New York to Philadelphia and return, immediately afterward, which Charles K. Hamilton won, and also offered a prize of twenty-five thousand dollars for a flight between New York and Chicago, which was never won. Mr. W. E. Hearst was also moved to offer fifty thousand dollars for a flight between New York and a point on the Pacific Coast, the offer standing open for one year. This flight was accomplished by Calbraith P. Rodgers, but was not concluded within the time limit.

There was, naturally, an outburst of editorial comment from newspapers all over the United States, not only long and scholarly leaders, but brief, snappy paragraphs that make the press of this country an interesting record of public feeling and sentiment on all extraordinary achievements. For instance, the St. Louis Times spoke of the passing of the new aerial menace over West Point where cadets were studying the history of military science along ancient lines, and the Chicago Inter-Ocean chuckled over how this latest achievement "would jar old Hendrik Hudson."

The Newark News declared that "the Indian canoe, the Half moon, the Clermont and the Curtiss biplane each represented a human achievement that marked an epoch," while the Providence News believed that "valuable as was astronomer Halley's naming of a comet, Mr. Curtiss has accomplished something of more practical value to the world" and the York Gazette compared the flight down the Hudson Valley by the aeroplane to the conquest of the North Pole. There were other interesting points of view taken by the press, the Birmingham News, for instance, expressing the opinion that the New York World was extravagant, as "it had paid $10,000.00 for Curtiss' ticket from Albany to New York, when it might have brought him down by train for $4.65." The Battle Creek Enquirer said that Mr. Curtiss ought to go into politics, for "a man who can soar as high, stay up as long, travel as far, light as safely, all on wind, would have the rest of them tied to the post." But the Savannah News intimated that nobody could blame Mr. Curtiss from flying away from the Albany Legislature at the rate of a mile a minute. The Birmingham Age-Herald declared that the way was paved for other and greater flights, even across the Atlantic ocean, and indeed, the ocean flight now seemed to the press a not far distant possibility. The Rochester Chronicle-Democrat argued that the bench and bar would now have an opportunity for the exercise of all their legal ability to settle the question "who owns the air!" But it was left to the Houston Post to break into poetry in the following outburst of local pride:

But perhaps the most characteristic comments were those like that of the New York Evening Mail:

"In every newspaper that you picked up yesterday you read a thrilling account of the great achievement of Glenn H. Curtiss. The detailed description of his wonderful flight stirred every emotion in you. Chills ran up your spine and tears of joy came to your eyes as you read on and on of the courage of the man who propelled his airship at a speed of fifty-three miles an hour at a height of a thousand feet above the earth. He realised all of the time that a broken bolt or some little thing gone wrong might dash him to death." It is of course quite impossible to give even a small proportion of the bright comments that were made by the newspapers not only of this country, but even by the foreign press. The New York Times sent a special train to follow the flight, on which I rode as the representative of the Aero Club of America. Here is my report in the Times:

"7:02–A. M. Mr. Curtiss started from Van Rensselaer Island, Albany. Jacob L. Ten Eyck official starter for Aero Club of America.

7:03–Passed over the city limits of Albany.

7:20–New Baltimore.

7:26–Twenty-one miles. The Times special train caught up with aeroplane.

7:27–Milton Hook brick yards. Wind still. Aeroplane flying about 45 miles per hour. Passed lighthouse on west side of Hudson River.

7:32–Stockport. Twenty-four miles.

7:35–Hudson. Twenty-nine miles. Aeroplane flying high. Catskill Mountain houses could be seen in the distance. Machine flying steady, water was calm, small ripples along the surface.

7:36–Thirty miles. The Times special train passed through tunnel parallel with 'plane.

7:40–2 Tower 81, New York Central Railroad. Greensdale ferry.

7:41–Catskill on west shore of Hudson River. Flying high.

7:44–Water trough in centre of track. Train equal with 'plane. Linlithgo Station.

7:46–Germantown steamer dock. Aeroplane flying well.

7:48–Passed old steamboat on west side of the river. Germantown Station. Aeroplane pitched when foot oil pump was used. Slight ripples on the water.

7:51–The Times special train running parallel with aeroplane.

7:53–Tivoli. Forty-four miles. Aeroplane 1,000 feet high. Wind slightly from the west.

7:58–Barrytown. Forty-nine miles. Aeroplane about 800 feet high, descending a little lower until about 400 feet high.

8:03–Kingston. Brick yards on west shore of river. Mr. Curtiss is flying very near The Times special train, within perhaps 100 yards.

8:04–Aeroplane turns toward west. Heads a little more into the wind and crosses to the west side of the river at high speed.

8:05–Private yacht dock on east side of river. Aeroplane flying high again.

8:06–Rhinecliff: Ferry. Fifty-four miles. Aeroplane has been flying one hour and four minutes. Seems to be flying well.

8:08–Passing Tower 67, New York Central Railroad.

8:08–The Times special train passed through tunnel. Mr. Curtiss goes back to west side of river, flying over ice-houses.

8:11–Passed lighthouse in middle of river. The aeroplane seems to be rising and falling slowly on the varying currents of air. River is very wide at this point. There are large stone crushers on the west shore, and a large stone building of an institution on the bank of the river.

8:12–Staatsburg. Sixty miles.

8:16–Aeroplane now is passing over a large white house, some private residence on the west shore of the river. Aeroplane is flying past freight train on the West Shore Railroad.

8:18–Hyde Park Station. Sixty-four miles. The Times special train passing water trough in centre of railway track. Passing Insane Asylum at Poughkeepsie.

8:20–Passing upper portion of Poughkeepsie. 'Plane over river.

8:24–Passing Poughkeepsie Bridge. Aeroplane about 200 feet above it.

8:25 1/2–The Times special train goes through Poughkeepsie Station.

8:30–The Times special train arrives at Gill's Mill Dock, opposite landing place of Mr. Curtiss. Aeroplane landed according to Mr. Curtiss's watch on his machine at 8:26. I left special train and went to the field where Mr. Curtiss had landed, arriving a few minutes later. The tanks of the machine were filled with eight gallons of gasoline and one gallon and a half of oil. The machine was examined carefully and found to be in good order, one wire being stayed to prevent vibration. George Collingwood took The Times special train party to New Hamburg Station.

9:26–Mr. Curtiss started for New York from field on property of Mr. Gill.

9:31–Camelot.

10:02–West Point. Aeroplane passed over Constitution Island at an altitude of about 400 feet above the land.

10:06–Manitou.

10:15–Ossining. Aeroplane flying on west side of the river.

10:25–Dobbs Ferry.

10:30–Yonkers. Aeroplane flying about level with top of Palisades.

10:35–Landed 214th Street. Inwood. After passing down river to Dyckman Street and returning to Spuyten Duyvil and passing over drawbridge the aeroplane landed upon the property of the Isham estate.

11:42–Mr. Curtiss left his landing place, flying again over the drawbridge, out over the Hudson River, turned south.

12:00–M. Passed New York City and landed at Governor's Island at noon.

"Mr. Curtiss also entered for the Scientific American trophy and the first flight from Albany to the landing place at Poughkeepsie, the exact distance of which is to be determined later, will count as a record for this event, and if not exceeded in the year will stand as Mr. Curtiss's trial for this trophy.

"The figures as finally corrected show that Mr. Curtiss was in the air on the first leg of his flight from Albany to the Gill farm near Poughkeepsie 1 hour and 24 minutes; from the Gill farm to the Isham estate at 214th Street 1 hour and nine minutes, and from 214th Street to Governor's Island 18 minutes, making a total flying time for the 150 miles of 2 hours and 51 minutes.

"Figured on the basis of 150 miles for the entire flight, Mr. Curtiss is shown to have maintained an average speed of 52.63 miles per hour."–A. P.