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                          THE ROMANCE OF AIRCRAFT




[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

        SEAPLANES NC-1, NC-3 AND NC-4 OF THE U. S. NAVY STARTING THE
                   TRANS-ATLANTIC FLIGHT FROM ROCKAWAY]

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

   THE NC-4 ON ITS VICTORIOUS TRANS-ATLANTIC FLIGHT, SIXTY MILES AT SEA.
        THE SHADOW IS MADE BY A STRUT OF THE PHOTOGRAPHERS' PLANE]




                           THE ROMANCE OF AIRCRAFT

                                     BY

                            LAURENCE YARD SMITH


    _WITH SIX DIAGRAMS AND THIRTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_


                                  LONDON
                           GRANT RICHARDS, LTD.
                            ST. MARTIN'S STREET
                                 MDCCCCXIX


                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY
                            THE PROSPECT PRESS




                                 CONTENTS

                                  PART I
  CHAPTER                                                         PAGE
      I   THE CONQUEST OF THE AIR                                    3
     II   "A B C'S" OF A BALLOON                                    14
    III   EARLY BALLOON ADVENTURES                                  20
     IV   THE PARACHUTE                                             28
      V   BALLOONING IN THE GREAT WAR                               36

                                  PART II

      I   DEVELOPMENT OF THE DIRIGIBLE                              47
     II   FORERUNNERS OF THE ALLIED DIRIGIBLES                      60
    III   DIRIGIBLES IN THE WORLD WAR                               68

                                  PART III

      I   EARLY EXPERIMENTS WITH HEAVIER-THAN-AIR MACHINES          77
     II   FIRST PRINCIPLES OF AN AIRPLANE                           91
    III   THE PIONEERS                                              99
     IV   THE AIRPLANE IN THE WORLD WAR                            128
      V   SOME OF THE PROBLEMS THE INVENTORS HAD TO SOLVE          150
     VI   FAMOUS ALLIED AIRPLANES                                  170
    VII   GERMAN AIRPLANES IN THE WORLD WAR                        189
   VIII   HEROES OF THE AIR                                        205
     IX   THE BIRTH OF AN AIRPLANE                                 223
      X   THE TRAINING OF AN AVIATOR                               232
     XI   THE FUTURE STORY OF THE AIR                              244
          READING LIST                                             256
          INDEX                                                    259




                           LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  Seaplanes NC-1, NC-3 and NC-4 of the U. S. Navy starting the
    trans-Atlantic flight from Rockaway. The NC-4 on its
    victorious trans-Atlantic flight, sixty miles at sea  _Frontispiece_

                                                                 FACING
                                                                  PAGE
  Montgolfier experiment at Versailles, 1783                        10
  The first cross-channel trip                                      11
  Diagram showing the main features of the spherical balloon        16
  Cocking's parachute                                               30
  A German Zeppelin                                                 31
  Inflating a service balloon on the field                          40
  Army balloon ready to ascend                                      41
  Giffard's airship                                                 54
  Santos-Dumont rounding the Eiffel Tower                           55
  Baldwin U. S. "Dirigible No. 1"                                   66
  The British Army "Baby" dirigible                                 67
  Cross section of the gas bag of the _Astra-Torres_, showing
    method of car suspension                                        70
  "The Blimp," C-1, the largest dirigible of the American Navy      72
  The balloon of the _U. S. S. Oklahoma_                            73
  Diagram showing the essential parts of an airplane                95
  Wright starting with passenger                                    98
  An early Farman machine prior to start                            99
  Wright machine rising just after leaving the rail                114
  An early Wright machine, showing its method of starting from a
    rail                                                           114
  The propeller department in one of the great Curtiss factories   115
  A photograph of northern France taken at a height of three
    thousand feet                                                  138
  An airplane view of the city of Rheims, showing the cathedral    139
  Diagram of an internal combustion engine cylinder, showing
    principle on which it works                                    157
  This photograph shows the relative size of the giant Caproni
    bombing plane and the French baby Nieuport, used as a speed
    scout                                                          170
  The Spad, the pride of the French air fleet                      171
  A Handley-Page machine tuning up for a flight                    182
  The launching of a Langley, a giant bombing airplane             183
  Side view of a Sopwith triplane                                  187
  An American built Caproni airplane                               188
  This Curtiss triplane has a speed of one hundred and sixty miles
    an hour                                                        189
  A giant Gotha bombing plane brought down by the French           198
  German Fokker plane captured by the French                       199
  Captain Eddie Rickenbacker                                       218
  The first bag of mail carried by the U. S. Aero Mail Service     219
  A photograph made ten thousand feet in the air, showing machines
    in "V" formation at bombing practise                           242
  A group of De Havilland planes at Bolling Field near Washington  243




                                  PART I

                         THE ROMANCE OF AIRCRAFT

                                CHAPTER I

                         THE CONQUEST OF THE AIR


On a beautiful afternoon in the latter part of the eighteenth
century--June 5, 1793--a distinguished company of Frenchmen were
gathered in the public square of the little village of Annonay, not far
from Lyons. They had come there by special invitation of the brothers
Stephen and Joseph Montgolfier, respected owners of a paper manufactory
in the little town. It was whispered that the brothers had a great
surprise in store for them, a remarkable discovery. Yet all their
curious gaze could make out was a great linen bag, that swung, like a
huge limp sail, from a rope that was suspended between two high poles.
By means of this seemingly helpless piece of fabric the brothers
Montgolfier proposed to accomplish the conquest of the air.

Those who ventured near to this strange object perceived at its base a
wide circular opening, sewed fast to a wooden ring. The ring hung
directly over a deep pit, in which had been heaped fuel for a
bonfire,--straw and wood and chopped wool. At a given signal one of the
brothers applied a torch to the mass and in an instant the flames shot
up. A dense column of smoke arose through the neck of the bag. The
latter gradually began to fill, spreading out in all directions, until,
before the astonished gaze of the spectators, it assumed the shape of an
enormous ball, that overshadowed the square, and that pulled and
wrestled feverishly at the restraining ropes.

From the ranks of the onlookers a great shout of applause went up. The
keepers let go the ropes, and the globe, like a live creature, freed
from its bonds, rose triumphantly before their eyes. Up, up, higher and
higher it went, so fast that they could scarcely follow it. For a moment
it was hidden behind a patch of cloud, then it reappeared again, still
ascending, until it rode majestically in the heavens, seven thousand
feet above their heads!

The shouts and cries of the onlookers were deafening. Like wildfire the
news spread from house to house of the little French village. Grave old
legislators who had witnessed the surprising spectacle forgot their
dignity and tossed their hats in air. Women, seeing the unusual object
from a distance, fell on their knees to pray, thinking it a sign in the
heavens, that portended, who knew what?

Man's age-old dream of conquering the air was now, for the first time,
an accomplished fact. Those who stood in the little public square of
Annonay on that auspicious afternoon long ago, watching the first
Montgolfier globe on its victorious ascent, knew that it could be but a
very short time indeed until men would be able to explore at will the
dim regions of the upper air.

Meanwhile picture the consternation and terror among a group of humble
peasants, who were tilling the fields a short distance from the spot
where the famous Montgolfier balloon was launched. Suddenly in the sky
there appeared a great black moon, which slowly and ominously descended
toward the earth. The village priest himself led forth a little band of
his stout-hearted followers to attack this dread instrument of the Evil
One. With pitchforks and scythes they rushed upon the unfortunate
balloon as it lighted gently on the ground, heaving this way and that
with every puff of breeze that blew against it. With courage born of
fear they prodded and beat the unfortunate monster. When the gas had
finally escaped through the great gashes in its sides, and nothing
remained but a disordered heap of tatters and shreds, the proud
"conqueror of the skies" was tied fast to a horse's tail, and the
terrified creature galloped off with it into the open country.

But the news of the Montgolfier brothers' discovery spread throughout
the length and breadth of France and the civilized world. The French
king ordered a special demonstration at Versailles, before himself and
the Royal family. On this occasion a wicker basket was swung from the
richly ornamented balloon. In order to test the safety of travel in the
skies there were placed in it a sheep, a cock and a duck. A fire was
lit beneath the base of the balloon and it was filled with heated air.
It rose with its strange cargo to a height of 1500 feet, traveled along
peacefully two miles with the breeze and descended slowly into a near-by
wood. There two gamekeepers, hurrying to the scene, were amazed to find
its occupants calmly feeding, apparently unaffected by their voyage.

This incident gave the experimenters renewed courage and enthusiasm. A
gallant Frenchman, Pilâtre de Rozier, volunteered to be the first man to
make the ascent into the skies. A new and stronger machine was
constructed, this time oval in shape instead of round, 74 feet high and
48 feet in diameter. At the bottom was a huge circular opening, 15 feet
across. Just beneath this there was swung from iron chains an open
grate, on which the fire was built by means of which the balloon was
inflated. This grate hung down into a wicker basket or "gallery," in
which the occupant stood, heaping fuel upon the fire. For of course, as
soon as the fire died down, the heated air in the balloon commenced
slowly to escape, and the whole thing sank to earth.

Pilâtre de Rozier was not at first permitted to set himself free and go
voyaging unguarded into the upper air. Who knew whether this air above
the clouds was fit to breathe?--who, for that matter, knew whether there
actually _was_ air at any distance above the surface of the earth? It
was considered the better part of valor to try the experiment the first
few times with the balloon tied firmly to the ground, with strong
cables which only permitted it to rise some eighty or ninety feet. Even
with these precautions a good deal of apprehension was felt regarding
the healthfulness of the sport. But a sigh of relief was breathed by
those who had the undertaking in charge when the bold de Rozier insisted
that never in his life before had he known any experience so pleasurable
as this of rising far above the housetops and of feeling himself
floating, gently and peacefully, in a region of noiseless calm.

Impatient of this mild variety of aerial adventure, de Rozier finally
won permission to make a "free" ascent, and he and his friend, the
Marquis d'Arlandes, made a number of daring voyages in the Montgolfier
fire balloon. Assuring their friends that no harmful results could come
to them from ascending into the clouds, they loosed the ropes and went
merrily sailing away until far out of sight. So long as they kept the
fire in the grate burning the balloon remained aloft, and floated along
in the direction in which the wind bore it. When they wished to descend
they had merely to put out the fire, and as the heated air gradually
escaped, the balloon sank gently to earth.

But the dangers of this sort of aerial adventure were very great indeed,
and it required the most remarkable heroism on the part of de Rozier to
undertake them. A chance spark from the grate might at any moment set
fire to the body of the balloon, and bring it, a flaming firebrand, to
earth. De Rozier understood this, and on his very first voyage carried
along in the gallery of the balloon a bucket of water and a sponge. It
was late in November of 1893 that he and d'Arlandes floated over
Paris,--de Rozier heaping fuel upon the grate and tending the fire which
kept the balloon afloat. Suddenly d'Arlandes heard a slight crackling
noise high in the balloon. Looking up he caught a sight which turned him
cold with horror,--a tiny licking flame far above his head. He seized
the wet sponge and reached up to extinguish it. But another and yet
another appeared, little tongues of fire, eating away at the body of the
balloon. As each showed its face water was dashed upon it. From below
the balloon could be seen peacefully journeying across the city. But far
above, in its basket, de Rozier and d'Arlandes were coolly beating off
the danger that hung over them like a Sword of Damocles. Not until they
had been in the air twenty-five minutes, however, did they put out the
fire in the grate and allow themselves to sink to earth.

These early experiments of the Montgolfiers and de Rozier fired the
imaginations of scientific men in every part of the world, and it was
only a very short time before a safer and more reliable type of balloon
than the fire balloon was developed. Stephen Montgolfier's invention was
based on the idea that smoke and clouds rise in the atmosphere. "If,"
said he to himself, "it were possible to surround a cloud with a bag
which did not permit it to escape, then both would ascend." Of course
this was a rather childish explanation of the cause of a balloon
ascension, but it was the best that the Montgolfiers or any of their
learned friends knew at that early day.

Now it was only a little while before this that an Englishman had
discovered the gas which is now known as hydrogen, but which was then
called "inflammable air." This gas, of which the Montgolfiers apparently
knew nothing, is exceedingly light, and therefore rises very quickly in
the air. The year before the Montgolfier balloon was invented, this
Englishman, Cavallo, tried to fill small bags with hydrogen gas, on the
theory that they would rise in the atmosphere. He failed merely because
he did not hit upon the proper material of which to construct his bags.
The fabric he chose was porous, and the gas escaped through it before
the balloon could rise. Cavallo did, however, succeed in blowing
hydrogen into ordinary soap bubbles, which arose with great velocity and
burst as they struck the ceiling.

The problem of the material to be used in balloon construction had been
fairly well solved by the Montgolfiers. Their balloons were of linen
fabric, varnished and lined with paper, to render them as nearly as
possible air-tight. This set the philosophers of Paris thinking how they
might construct a globe which could be successfully inflated with
hydrogen.

The brothers Roberts and M. Charles made the first hydrogen balloon. It
was fashioned of very fine silk, varnished with a solution of gum
elastic. This made it impossible for the hydrogen to leak through. The
balloon was filled through an opening in the neck, which was fitted
with a stopcock, so that the gas could be poured in or allowed to escape
at will.

The funds for constructing this first hydrogen balloon had been raised
by popular subscription, and the whole French people were alive with
enthusiasm over the success of the experiment. Even at that early day
France was the ardent champion of aerial conquest.

The day set for its ascension was the 27th of August, 1783. By the night
of the 26th it had been partially filled with gas. It was tied to a
cart, and long before daylight, started its journey to the Field of
Mars. Throngs of spectators crowded every avenue. From the roof tops
thousands of eager men, women and children peered down upon it through
the darkness. Every window in every building was crowded with faces. A
strong military guard surrounded it, riding on horseback and carrying
flaring torches.

All day long multitudes crowded and jostled each other impatiently at
the point where the ascension was to take place. At five o'clock in the
afternoon the sudden booming of artillery fire gave notice to the
hundred thousand waiting that the great event was on. Released from its
bonds the balloon shot up, and in two minutes it was over 3,000 feet
above the heads of the watchers. Still it continued steadily to rise,
until finally it was lost to sight by the heavy storm clouds through
which it had cut its passage.

[Illustration: MONTGOLFIER EXPERIMENT AT VERSAILLES, 1783]

[Illustration: THE FIRST CROSS-CHANNEL TRIP]

The spectators were overjoyed, as on that first occasion when the
Montgolfier balloon rose into the skies. It was pouring rain, but they
did not seem to notice it as they cheered themselves hoarse at the
second great air victory.

The balloon, likewise, was undiscouraged by the rain. Far above the
clouds, where all was quiet sunshine, it journeyed peacefully along for
fifteen miles, and descended in an open field.

The first two important chapters in the history of ballooning had now
been written. Looking back, we are filled with gratitude to the French,
whose courage, intelligence, and boundless enthusiasm made possible the
conquest of the skies.

In other countries, of course, experiments were also in progress, though
they lacked to a great extent the popular backing which helped the
French efforts to bear such splendid results. In London, an Italian,
Count Zambeccari, constructed a hydrogen balloon of oil silk, 10 feet in
diameter and _gilded_, so that in the air it was dazzling to look upon.
A few months after the three Frenchmen launched their hydrogen balloon
in Paris, this gorgeous affair was sent up in London, in the presence of
thousands of spectators. One month later still, the city of Philadelphia
witnessed the first ascension of a hydrogen balloon in the New World. It
carried a carpenter, one James Wilcox, as passenger.

"What is the use of a balloon, anyway?" Benjamin Franklin was asked when
in Paris at the time of the Montgolfier experiments. "What is the use of
a baby?" the great American replied, smiling. Perhaps he had some
inkling of the remarkable future in store for the science of
aeronautics, then in its infancy!

The first really notable ascent in a hydrogen balloon after the early
efforts was that of a Frenchman, M. Blanchard, who rose from Paris in
1784, accompanied by a Benedictine monk. Before they had got far above
the ground a slight accident brought the balloon bumping down again. The
monk, thoroughly scared, abandoned his seat, and M. Blanchard ascended
alone. This balloon was fitted out with wings and a rudder, by which it
was hoped to steer its course, but they proved useless, and its occupant
had to allow himself to drift with the wind. He reached a height of 9600
feet, remaining in the air an hour and a quarter. Suffering from the
extreme cold which is experienced so high in the atmosphere, and almost
overcome with numbness and drowsiness, he was at length compelled to
descend.

In England at about this time, Vincent Lunardi accomplished a free
ascent in the presence of the Prince of Wales. But again it was the
Frenchman, M. Blanchard, who succeeded in making the first _long_
balloon voyage. In January, 1785, he and Dr. Jeffries, an American
physician, sailed across the English Channel from Dover. It was a
perilous adventure, with the ever present danger of falling into the
sea. Half way across they found themselves descending. Then began a
constant throwing out of ballast in a race with time and the wind. When
the bags of sand they had brought for the purpose were exhausted they
hurled overboard bottles, boxes, pieces of rope, even their compass and
the apparatus of the balloon. They were still falling when in the
distance they caught sight of the dim outline of the French coast, and
in a last effort to keep afloat they began dropping articles of clothing
over the basket's edge. Suddenly, however, the balloon began to mount.
They floated in over the land, coming to earth safely not far from
Calais.

Pilâtre de Rozier at once set about to imitate M. Blanchard's feat, and
to avoid the danger of falling he constructed a hydrogen balloon with a
fire balloon below it, so that by heaping on fuel he could force it to
rise whenever he noticed a tendency to fall. In this ingenious
contrivance he attempted to fly the Channel. At a height of 3,000 feet
both balloons were seen to burst into flames, and de Rozier fell. So the
gallant Frenchman who was first to explore the skies came to his
unfortunate end.

His death cast a gloom over the many aeronautic enthusiasts of France,
England and America. But his splendid pioneer exploits had borne their
fruit in a permanent and growing interest in the navigation of the air.
The science of aeronautics marched on, and new and important schemes
were invented for conquering the skies.




                                CHAPTER II

                          "A B C'S" OF A BALLOON


Why does a balloon rise in the atmosphere?--is the very natural question
we are apt to ask as we read the story of these early balloon
experiments. The Montgolfier brothers themselves could probably not have
answered it, for they claimed that some marvelous secret properties
existed in "Montgolfier smoke." Stephen Montgolfier seems to have had
the idea of "holding a cloud captive in a bag," since he had observed
that clouds rise in the air.

The real explanation can best be understood by a simple experiment.
Throw a stone into a pool of water and it will sink, because it is
"heavier than water": that is, it weighs more in proportion to its
volume than the same quantity of water weighs. But throw into the same
pool a piece of cork and it will rise, because it is lighter in
proportion to its volume than water. This truth was long ago expressed
as a law by the old Greek philosopher Archimedes, who said: "_Every body
immersed in a liquid loses part of its weight, or is acted upon by an
upward force equal to the weight of the liquid it displaces._" In the
case of the cork, the weight of the water it displaces is greater than
the weight of the cork, and consequently the upward force acting upon
it is sufficient to lift it to the surface of the pool; but with the
stone it is different: the water it displaces weighs _less_ than the
stone, and therefore the upward force acting upon it is not sufficient
to prevent it from sinking.

Now all this applies just as well to a body in the atmosphere as it does
to the body immersed in water. The air in this case corresponds to the
liquid. Therefore any object placed in the air which weighs less in
proportion to its volume than the atmosphere, is bound to rise. Every
object we see about us, including ourselves, which is not fastened down
to earth, would, if it were not "heavier than air," go flying off toward
the skies.

Imagine a balloon all ready to be inflated, that is, ready to be filled
with gas. The bag or "envelope" hangs limp and lifeless. Together with
the basket, ropes, etc., which are attached to it, it probably weighs
several hundred pounds, yet because its _volume_ is so small it
displaces very little air. Now we commence to inflate the balloon. As
the gas rushes in, the envelope commences to swell; it grows larger and
larger, displacing a greater volume of air every moment. When fully
inflated it displaces a volume of air much greater in weight than
itself. This weight of displaced air acts upon it with a resistless
upward force, sufficient to lift it into the clouds. The moment its
straining bonds are loosed, it rises with great velocity.

Of course, the lighter the gas that is used to inflate the balloon,
the less weight will be added by it to the total weight of the
structure,--although a lighter gas adds just as much to the volume as a
heavier one would do. If two balloons of exactly the same weight before
inflation are filled, one with the comparatively heavy coal gas which
weighs 1/2 oz. per cubic foot, and the other with the very light hydrogen,
which weighs 1/10 oz. per cubic foot, it is easy to see that the
hydrogen-filled balloon will rise much faster and have a greater lifting
power.

It is a simple matter to calculate what size balloon will be required to
lift one, two or three passengers and a given weight of cargo, for we
know that the balloon envelope must be large enough when filled with
gas, to displace a greater weight of air than its own weight, together
with the weight of the basket, equipment, passengers and cargo.

Once a balloon has been inflated and begun to ascend it would, if
unchecked, continue rising indefinitely until it reached a point in the
greatly rarefied upper air where it was exactly displacing its own
weight, or, as science puts it, was "in equilibrium with the air." But
this is usually not desirable, and so in all modern balloons arrangement
is made for lessening the volume of the envelope and so decreasing the
upward pressure. This is managed from the basket by pulling a cord which
connects with a valve at the top and thus allows some of the gas to
escape. There is also a valve in the neck of the balloon which opens
automatically when the pressure becomes too great, or which can be
operated by a cord. In addition to these two, balloons to-day have what
is known as a "_ripping panel_," or long slit closed over with a sort of
patch or strip of the envelope material. In case it becomes necessary to
make a quick descent, the ripping panel may be torn open by pulling the
cord which connects with this ripping strip. A wide rent is thus
produced in the envelope and the gas escapes very rapidly. As the
balloon becomes deflated (that is, loses its gas), it grows smaller,
displaces less and less air, and so sinks to the earth.

[Illustration: DIAGRAM SHOWING THE MAIN FEATURES OF THE SPHERICAL BALLOON]

The accompanying diagram gives a very good idea of the main features of
the spherical balloon. The envelope is usually made of strong cotton
diagonal cloth, cut in pear shaped gores and varnished with a solution
of rubber in order to prevent the gas from leaking through. At the
bottom it ends in the long _neck_,--through this the balloon is inflated
by joining it securely to a gas pipe which leads to the main supply of
gas. Over the envelope there is spread a strong _net_ made of heavy
cord. From the net hang the stout _leading lines_. The leading lines in
turn are attached to a strong wooden _hoop_, and from this hoop the car
is suspended by ropes which are called _car lines_. The cords that
connect with the upper and lower valves and the ripping panel hang down
into the car and may be operated by the occupants, or crew.

Unless the balloon is held captive it is supplied also with a _trail
rope_. This is a very heavy cable which is allowed to hang down from the
car during an ascent. When descending, as the trail rope reaches the
ground the balloon is relieved of a portion of its weight and becomes
more buoyant. This makes its descent more gradual, for as it is relieved
of one pound of weight of the dragging trail rope, it gains a slight
tendency to rise again which counteracts the severity of its downward
motion. The free balloon also has a _grapnel_ or anchor for use in
landing.

The _car_ or _basket_ of the balloon is usually made of woven willow and
bamboo, which insures strength and lightness.

This brief description of the spherical balloon is intended to give the
reader an idea of the essential features of any balloon. In modern
warfare the captive balloon has proved its usefulness for purposes of
observation, but the old spherical type is passing out. Balloons of many
shapes and sizes, all designed for greater stability, are taking its
place. Among these the "kite" or "sausage" balloon is by far the best
known. Partly a kite and partly a balloon, with its long sausage-shaped
body, its air-rudder or small steering ballonet attached to its stern,
it possesses considerable "steadiness" in the air.

The kite balloon is used over the trenches to direct artillery fire and
to report movements of the enemy: and it is likewise used over the sea,
as a guide to direct the movements of the fleet in an attack, and as a
sentinel on the look-out for enemy ships or submarines.




                                CHAPTER III

                         EARLY BALLOON ADVENTURES


No sooner had the news of the remarkable balloon exploits of de Rozier
and Blanchard spread throughout the nations, than people of all classes
became interested in the future of ballooning. There were those who
regarded it as the great coming sport, and there were also those who,
like the French military authorities, saw in this new invention a
possible weapon of war whose development they dared not neglect. It was
only a short time before the French had an army training school for
aeronauts, and a number of military service balloons.

The romance of ballooning had captured the imaginations of great masses
of people and they proved their eagerness to back up the efforts of
sportsmen balloonists with the necessary funds to carry on the many
aeronautic projects which were suggested. We have already mentioned
Chevalier Vincent Lunardi, the young Italian who was the first to
accomplish a voyage in a balloon in England. The English people had read
with ever increasing curiosity and impatience the stories of the French
balloonists. What was their delight when this young Italian, poor but
clever, proposed to give them an exhibition of their own. He had little
difficulty in obtaining permission for a start to be made from London.
The next step was to obtain funds by popular subscription for the
construction of the balloon. For a time money flowed freely into the
coffers; but a Frenchman named Moret came into the limelight as a rival
of Lunardi and announced a balloon ascent some little time before that
planned by his opponent. The demonstration promised by Moret never came
off, his balloon refused utterly to take to the air, and the indignant
spectators went home, feeling that they had been cleverly hoodwinked out
of the price of admission. Their wrath naturally turned upon the
unfortunate Lunardi, and it was only with difficulty and after much
discouragement that he actually succeeded in carrying his undertaking to
completion. Finally, however, he had his balloon built. The King had
withdrawn his permission for a flight from the grounds of the Chelsea
hospital, but he succeeded in securing another starting place, and
announced that he was ready to demonstrate what the balloon could do.

Vast crowds gathered to witness the spectacle. The balloon itself was
gorgeous to behold. It looked like a mammoth Christmas-tree ball, of
shining silk, in brilliant stripes of red and blue. It was filled with
hydrogen gas, and as it gradually took form before their eyes, the
people shouted with excitement and eagerness.

It was a pleasant September afternoon in the year 1784. When all was in
readiness, Lunardi, no less eager and excited than the masses who had
gathered to witness his exploit, climbed into the car. The cords were
loosed and in a few moments the balloon, in its gala dress, was soaring
far in the sky. Lunardi enjoyed his flight immensely. After traveling
along without a mishap for a considerable time, he decided to come down,
but once he had touched the earth he was seized by the desire to soar
again. Putting out some of his ballast he allowed the balloon to arise
once more into the sky. Finally in the late afternoon he came to earth
for the second time, landing in a field and greatly terrifying the
simple country folk who were at work there. He was cold and hungry after
his long journey in the rarefied upper air, but happy at the remarkable
triumph he had achieved. Henceforth ballooning would not be regarded
with derision and unbelief in England. The English nation was as wild
with joy as the French had been at the early balloon ascents. Lunardi
was lionized and became the favorite of the hour; his presence was
demanded everywhere and he was royally entertained by the foremost
people of the realm.

The British Isles became, from this time on, the scene of many a
thrilling adventure with the balloon. It was only a few years later that
Charles Green, the most famous of all the early English aeronauts, began
his voyages in the _Great Nassau_, the balloon whose name is even to-day
a tradition. In it he started out, one fall day in the year 1836,
carrying provisions for a long voyage, but with no idea where the winds
would carry him. The great balloon passed out over the British Channel
and in again over the coast of France. Day faded into twilight and
twilight into the blackness of night, but still it continued steadily on
its way. Through the darkness Green and the friends who accompanied him
in the large car of the balloon peered anxiously over the side, trying
to guess where they were being blown. Finally after an all night ride,
the dawn began to break, and in the morning the great balloon was
brought to earth on German territory. Green had accomplished the longest
balloon trip of his day. In the years that followed he made many
voyages, but none that won for him more renown than this one.

Since the days when Blanchard accomplished the first trip across the
British Channel, and the fearless de Rozier sought to imitate him, a
number of aeronauts had made interesting voyages between France and
England. One of the most adventurous was that of Mr. C. F. Pollock, in
July, 1899. Accompanied by a friend, Mr. Pollock ascended early one
afternoon, and after a picturesque and beautiful trip across the English
countryside, sailed out over the sea. Behind them rose the white cliffs
of the English coast, while before them gathering clouds hung like a
curtain, through which they peered anxiously. Suddenly the balloon began
to fall, and, fearful lest they should land in the rough waters of the
channel, they began throwing overboard the sand which they had carried
along as ballast. By means of this they succeeded in rising once more to
a height of seven or eight thousand feet. It was early evening. Far
below the sea had ceased to roar. They floated along in a realm of
silence where nothing was visible through the veil of mist. At length
the veil was broken by the dim outline of the French coast. On and on
they drifted yet seemed to draw no closer to it. There it remained,
always ahead of them, tantalizing and provoking. Their ballast was
almost gone, and they had unpleasant visions of landing in the water
within view of their goal. So calmly and evenly did the balloon move
forward that it was practically impossible for its occupants to tell
whether it was moving at all. As they peered ahead uncertainly,
searching the sea for a vessel by which they might gauge their progress,
they felt themselves once more commencing to sink. In another few
minutes the rest of the sand had been thrown overboard. There was
nothing left with which to check the falling of the balloon, which
surely and ominously continued. The French coast was still many miles
away. Almost in despair the two aeronauts cast about them for something
which could be hurled over the side to lighten the weight of the
balloon. As a last measure they decided upon the anchor. In another
moment they had tossed it into the sea. Relieved of so great a weight
the balloon shot up with lightning speed. The coast was drawing closer,
but after its first swift ascent the balloon commenced to sink again and
the aeronauts almost gave up hope of actually reaching shore. But just
about eight o'clock they discovered to their great relief that the
cliffs that marked the coast were below them. In another few minutes
they had sailed in over the land. They opened the valve of the balloon
and effected a descent in a field, where they were soon surrounded by an
admiring circle of French peasants.

It was only about ten years after the pioneer voyages of de Rozier that
the balloon was actually used on the battlefield, for in 1794 the French
employed it against the Austrians at Mayence and at Charleroi. Under the
fire of the Austrians who sought to prevent him from ascending, the
French Captain Coutelle rose in an observation balloon at Mayence to a
height of over a thousand feet. At that height he was beyond the range
of the Austrian guns and could sit at ease watching their movements and
preparations, at the same time dropping communications to the officers
below. By his pluck he made possible a French victory, although the
Austrians, much chagrined at their own lack of observation balloons,
declared that this sort of warfare was unfair.

It may surprise Americans to know that balloons were used to good
purpose for observation work in our own Civil War, and that they
assisted the army of the North to keep an eye on the movements of
Confederate troops around Richmond. They were once more employed by the
French during the siege of Paris in 1870 and 1871, when 66 balloons left
the city at various times, bearing messages, passengers, and flocks of
carrier pigeons, which were used for delivering return messages. One
plucky Frenchman dropped thousands of messages from his balloon upon the
German soldiers, warning them of France's determination to fight to the
bitter end. The incident reminds us somewhat of similar ones in the
Great War, when the Allied aviators bombed the cities of Germany with
proclamations.

The first notable employment of the balloon by the British army occurred
during the Boer War. During the siege of Ladysmith captive balloons were
used to good purpose for observation and they were likewise made use of
during a number of battles and under heavy fire. The French again
employed them during the wars in Madagascar. Balloons had by the end of
the nineteenth century become an important adjunct of every great army,
and had proved themselves indispensable. Strange to relate they have
never been driven from the field, and although we have to-day the swift
dirigible and the still swifter airplane, there are certain military
duties which they can perform best.

While the balloon was thus becoming a recognized instrument of war it
was likewise gaining in favor among sportsmen. In all the great nations
Aero Clubs were formed and races and contests began to be announced. In
1906 Gordon Bennett made the offer of a Challenge Cup for the longest
trip by balloon. The contestants were to start from Paris. On September
30th, 1906, sixteen balloons arose from the Tuileries Gardens and
started on their way. An American, Lieutenant Frank P. Lahm, carried off
the cup, accomplishing a total distance of 401 miles and landing in
Yorkshire.

The second race for the Gordon Bennett cup was held in America, and was
won by a German. The third was held in 1908 in Germany. The winner,
Colonel Schaeck, made a dangerous descent upon the sea near the coast of
Norway, where he was rescued by a fishing boat. Several other
contestants had perilous adventures. The American balloon _Conqueror_
exploded in mid-air, much to the excitement of the thousands of
spectators who had gathered to witness the start of the race. Instead of
crashing to earth, however, as they had expected, it sank down gently,
the upper part of the envelope forming a parachute. The aeronauts made
an amusing landing on a housetop, little the worse for their sudden drop
of several thousand feet. Another American balloon landed in the
branches of a tree, while several of the remaining contestants came down
in the sea and were rescued. On the whole it was a thoroughly exciting
race, and the news of it aroused intense enthusiasm for the sport of
ballooning in many lands.




                                CHAPTER IV

                               THE PARACHUTE


The story of the parachute is inevitably linked in memory with that of
the balloon. Those who look back a few years can remember when
exhibition balloons were in their heyday, and the sensation the
parachutist used to create as he leapt from on high and came flying
recklessly through the air. For a breathless moment or two the parachute
remained folded, and when, finally, its umbrella-like form spread out
protectingly above the hero, a thrill of relief ran through the anxious
crowd of spectators.

In the early days of ballooning the parachute was looked on as a sort of
life belt the aeronaut might don in the event of a serious accident to
his craft in mid-air. Many experimenters gave their attention to
developing it for this purpose; but when it was found that the
balloonist actually needed no protection, since the balloon itself would
"parachute" to earth after an explosion, interest in the matter waned.

To-day the parachute has come once more into prominence because of the
heroic work it performed in connection with the kite balloon and with
the airplane in the war, and so our concern in it has revived. Many
stories reached us from the front, of artillery spotters who jumped to
safety when their observation balloons were unexpectedly attacked by
enemy airplanes. It has actually become the "life-belt of the air."

More often in the early days of ballooning it was a source of grave
danger to the plucky aeronaut who sought to try it out and improve it,
and its history includes the record of several sad accidents.

It was in the very year that the balloon was invented that a Frenchman,
M. Le Normand began experimenting with a contrivance resembling an
umbrella, with which he jumped from the branches of a tree, and sank
gently to earth, the parachute saving him from injury. Successful as his
first attempt was it seems that he afterward lost his nerve, and later
attempts were made with animals placed in a basket below the parachute
and dropped to earth from a considerable height.

Blanchard, the famous balloonist, became interested in the idea of the
parachute, and made a number of very interesting experiments. While
making a public ascent in a balloon at Strasbourg, he dropped over the
side of his balloon a dog with a parachute attached to him. The
spectators were greatly pleased when the little creature came to earth
quite unharmed, and public interest in the contrivance as a means of
saving life was aroused.

In 1793 Blanchard himself undertook to make a parachute descent. He was
not wholly successful, for before he reached the earth the apparatus
gave way and he crashed down heavily, fortunately escaping with nothing
worse than a broken leg. In spite of his injury he did not give up the
idea of the parachute as a "life belt" for the aeronaut, and looked
forward to the time when it should be so improved that it could be
relied upon to bring the aeronaut to earth uninjured if any accident
should make it necessary for him to escape from his balloon in mid-air.

However it was again a Frenchman, M. André Garnerin who accomplished the
first descent by parachute from a great height without injury. His
parachute was attached to a balloon. At a height of several thousand
feet in the air, he freed himself and descended gradually, alighting
gently upon the earth. That was in 1797 and five years later he gave a
public demonstration of his parachute in England. This time he was not
so successful, for his apparatus broke before he reached the ground and
he received a number of injuries by his fall.

The parachute actually saved a life, however, in 1808, when the aeronaut
R. Jordarki Kuparanto, whose balloon caught fire in mid-air during a
demonstration at Warsaw, leapt over the side with his parachute and came
to earth unharmed.

[Illustration: COCKING'S PARACHUTE]

The parachute which Garnerin and the early aeronauts used in their
experiments was fashioned to resemble an umbrella. As the aeronaut
descended and the swift current of air caused by the fall rushed up
under this canopy, it tended to hold it in the air much as the wind
supports a kite, and thus the force of the descent was broken. In the
year 1837 an Englishman named Cocking, who had been studying the
principles of the parachute, came forward with an idea which differed
greatly from this. The parachute he invented resembled an umbrella that
had been blown inside out by the wind,--it was in other words an
inverted cone, with a basket for the aeronaut hung from the cone's apex.
The upper rim of the cone was made of tin to strengthen it, and the
sides were of cloth.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

                            A GERMAN ZEPPELIN]

Cocking was very enthusiastic over his invention, for he believed that
his inverted parachute would descend more smoothly through the air than
the old kind, which, while it supported the aviator, had a tendency to
rock and pitch in the air after the manner of a kite. He sought an
opportunity of giving his idea a public trial, but experienced aeronauts
advised him not to do so, as they did not trust the safety of his
apparatus. However, he insisted, and he finally persuaded the famous
aeronaut Green to take him up.

On July 24th, 1837, the famous experiment was made. Green ascended in
the great Nassau balloon, with Cocking's parachute suspended beneath it.
Thousands of spectators had gathered to watch the ascent, but as the
balloon was carried away by the breeze it was finally lost to their
view, and so they were spared witnessing the accident which followed.

Green had been greatly worried over the safety of the parachute and had
refused to free it from his balloon, but this difficulty Cocking had
overcome by arranging a contrivance which permitted him to free himself
when he thought the proper moment had arrived for his experiment.
Finally, at a height of about 5000 feet, he called good-by to Green and
let himself go. Relieved of his weight the balloon bounded up with great
swiftness, and it was some time before it recovered its equilibrium.

Meanwhile the parachute fell earthward with tremendous speed, rocking
from side to side, until finally, unable to stand the strain any longer
it went to pieces in the air, and the unfortunate parachutist came
crashing to the ground. He died a few moments later.

Cocking's death cast a gloom over parachute enthusiasts, and for some
time the contrivance fell into disfavor. But the real reason for its
disuse was that balloonists found they needed no "life belt," as the
balloon itself, if for any reason an explosion should occur, would sink
gently to earth, the upper portion of the envelope forming a natural
parachute.

So for a number of years the parachute was little heard of, except as a
"thriller" at country fairs. In this connection it was always fairly
popular. It was usually a folding umbrella parachute that the performer
used on such occasions. As he leapt from the balloon he dropped straight
down during a few terrifying seconds. Then to the relief of the
spectators the parachute slowly and gracefully opened like a huge canopy
over his head. From that moment his fall was checked and he sank
gracefully and slowly to the earth.

With the coming of the Great War the day of the parachute was revived.
Greatly improved in construction it came into its true and important
rôle as the "life-belt" of the aeronaut. The life of the balloon
observer in war times is a precarious one. His balloon is not free but
is held captive by heavy cables reaching to the ground below. Hour after
hour he sits watching the situation over the enemy's lines by means of a
telescope. In the balloon basket he has a telephone which connects with
the ground station, and thus he is able to send constant instructions to
the artillery, enabling them to hit their objectives, as well as to keep
the officers informed of the general situation. But his stationary
position makes him an easy target for enemy bombs and bullets. At any
moment he may find himself attacked by a squadron of airplanes. At the
first indication of danger his comrades on the ground begin hauling his
balloon down, and this precaution may possibly save his life. But often
the emergency is very great. The aeronaut, attacked, unexpectedly and
with no means of defending himself, has but one chance of saving his
life, and that is to spring with his parachute from the balloon.

Thus the parachute was instrumental in saving many lives during the
Great War, and in peace times it will probably be further developed for
use in connection with the airplane as well as the balloon. Here the
great difficulty lies in the fact that the pilot is strapped in his
seat, and that he would not have time, in case of an accident in
mid-air, to unstrap himself and attach a parachute device to his body.
This might be overcome by having an apparatus already attached, so that
all he would have to do would be to free himself from his seat and leap
over the side. Here again he would run a very great danger of being
instantly killed, as unless he maneuvered his control levers just right
before taking the leap, he would probably be hit by his own machine.

The idea has been suggested of a parachute arrangement to be attached to
the upper wing of the airplane itself. This parachute would remain
closed except in case of accident, when a lever operated by the pilot
would cause it to open and carry the airplane safely to the ground. But
the plan has never been worked out and it is impossible to say at this
early date whether it would prove of much real benefit. In cases of
engine failure the aviator can very often glide down safely to the
earth; while in wartime, there is always the possibility that if the
wings of the airplane were damaged by enemy fire the parachute also
might be impaired.

An interesting use of the parachute was made by bombing airplanes and
Zeppelins during the Great War. The pilots of these craft dropped flares
or lights attached to parachutes, and by means of these they succeeded
in locating their objectives and at the same time in "blinding" the
operators of searchlights and anti-aircraft guns.

Just what the future of the parachute will be it is hard to predict. If
there are to be future wars it will no doubt play an important part in
them in the saving of human life.

The next few years will probably see the advent of huge aerial liners,
built somewhat on the design of the Zeppelin. These great airships will
travel in regular routes across the important countries of the world,
bearing heavy cargoes of merchandise and large numbers of passengers.
And we can easily imagine that in that day every traveler in the air
will be supplied with a parachute as the ocean traveler of to-day is
provided with a life-belt. Thus the simple little parachute will have
performed its useful mission in the triumphal progress of aeronautics.




                                 CHAPTER V

                        BALLOONING IN THE GREAT WAR


If you went down New York Bay during wartime you probably saw at the
entrance of the harbor a United States cruiser stationed, with a "kite"
balloon attached to it, standing sentinel against enemy submarines or
aircraft. From their positions high in the basket, the observers could
see far below the surface of the water, for the higher one rises in the
air the clearer the depths of the water become to the vision. They had
powerful glasses and by means of them could see far out over the water,
where at any moment a periscope might have shown its face. The observers
in that sentinel balloon could spot a submarine while it was still a
long way off. A telephone connection reaching from the basket to the
ship below made it possible for them to report a danger instantly, and
soon the news would be traveling by wireless to the waiting destroyers
and chasers.

This was probably the most important war duty that was being performed
by a balloon on this side of the Atlantic. But over in Europe the kite
balloon did valiant service above the trenches.

The coming of the heavier-than-air machine, with its powerful motor, its
bird-like body, its great speed and lifting power, seemed at first to
have driven the balloon from the field as an implement of war. And in
fact, in the early days of the World War the airplane was almost
exclusively employed by the Allies for scouting over the lines, watching
enemy movements, directing artillery fire, and keeping the general staff
informed of the strategic situation.

It was the Hun who first discovered that many of these duties could be
far more efficiently performed by the "kite" or "sausage" balloon--the
drachen balloon, as the Germans called it. This was not originally a
German invention. It was first proposed in 1845 by an Englishman named
Archibald Douglas, but his experiments did not meet with success and the
undertaking was allowed to drop. Two Prussian officers, Major von
Parseval and Captain von Sigsfeld, seizing upon the idea of the kite
balloon as of great military importance, set themselves to developing
it. In 1894 they produced the first drachen balloon, and it was this
that gave the German army at the outbreak of the war one of its greatest
advantages over the Allies.

The chief requirement for any observation balloon is that it shall rest
in the air absolutely steady and motionless, so that the observer may
not be interrupted in his study of the enemy's territory. The spherical
balloon is apt to sway and roll with every puff of wind. The "kite"
balloon therefore is a great improvement. Long and sausage-shaped, it
combines the features of a kite and a balloon. Set at an angle to the
wind, it is supported partly by the gas with which the main envelope is
inflated, and partly by the action of the breeze blowing against its
under surface, exactly as a kite is held in the air.

A smaller balloon, or steering ballonet, as it is called, is attached to
the stern of the kite balloon and acts as a rudder. This ballonet is not
inflated with the gas. It hangs limp while the balloon ascends, but the
breeze quickly rushes into its open end beneath the main envelope and
fills it out. This air-rudder, as it catches the breeze, acts as a
steadier for the balloon. The main envelope has also an air chamber or
section at the rear, which is partitioned off, and which is not filled
with gas but is kept inflated by the action of the breeze; while on
either side of the rudder there are two small rectangular sails, which
help resist any motion of the breeze which might cause the balloon to
sway.

Before the war the other large powers had made no attempts to imitate
the German "drachen," although they had every opportunity of observing
and studying it, and it seems very likely they actually underestimated
its military importance. But when the war began, Germany surprised the
Allies by the efficiency of these observation posts in the air. The fact
that they were captive gave them certain advantages over the airplane
for particular lines of work. They were able to direct artillery fire
and keep the general staff informed of the situation over the lines.
High in the air these lookouts could spot the tiniest change in the map.
Provided with the finest instruments for observing, and connected with
the artillery station or the headquarters by telephone, they could send
in momently reports of the progress of the battle. While the airplane
was circling the sky to watch the effects of the last artillery fire,
and had to get back to the ground before it could give full instructions
to the gunners, the man in the basket of the kite balloon with a
telephone in his hand, could report every second just where the last
shell struck, whether the shooting was too high or too low, and how to
vary the aim to get closer to the target. He was the eye of his battery.

The story of how the French military authorities at Chalais Meudon
succeeded in obtaining plans for the first French military kite balloon
was one of the carefully guarded secrets of the war. In the spring of
1915 the manufacture of kite balloons was well under way in France. In
record time whole battalions of them were ready for service on land and
on sea. They played a gallant rôle in the Dardanelles in connection with
the British fleet. Soon afterward they were employed over the trenches
in France.

The military kite balloon's first and chief aim is the directing of
artillery fire. This it can do better than the airplane, which travels
at high speed and must constantly circle or fly backward and forward in
order to keep close to and be able to watch the target that is being
aimed at. But the observer in the balloon basket sits practically
motionless, while with the aid of a powerful telescope he watches the
results of the firing. Before him he has a map on which he can plot the
location of the target, and through a telephone connection he can
advise the men in the ground station how to vary the range.

Think how much easier it is for him to explain to the men below by word
of mouth the results of his observations, than for the observer in an
airplane, soaring through the sky, to send that same message in a few
brief words by means of wireless.

As a matter of fact the kite balloon at the front usually carries two
observers in its basket: one to work directly with the artillery and the
other to do general look-out work. The first has his eye on the target
which the men below are trying to hit, and watches for the explosions of
shells fired by his battery. But his comrade lets his gaze roam all over
the horizon. He sees the movements of enemy troop trains, the massing of
men and supplies, the flashes of the enemy's batteries. Should some
objective of great importance loom up in the distance, such as a convoy
of ammunition, the word is passed instantly to the battery below, and
the guns are trained on it.

[Illustration: INFLATING A SERVICE BALLOON ON THE FIELD]

After the work in connection with the batteries, the second great rôle
of the observation balloon is to keep the commanding officer at
headquarters informed of the movements of the enemy, the effects of the
firing and the general situation. The men in a balloon of this sort must
know the territory very intimately, so that they can spot the tiniest
change. It is their duty to discover concealed batteries and other
objects behind the enemy's lines which may help the Divisional staff to
lay its plans. And remember that they have no landmarks to go by. Out in
that dread region of battle not a tree nor a mound has been left to vary
the dull monotony of the brown earth, swept clean by the constant rain
of shells. So it requires sharp eyes to distinguish the carefully
camouflaged batteries of the enemy.

[Illustration: ARMY BALLOON READY TO ASCEND]

Of course the observation balloon at the front has to be carefully
protected, for it furnishes a good target for the bombs from enemy
aircraft. Every kite balloon has its detachment of defending airplanes,
which circle round it in wide circles, on the lookout for approaching
bombing planes of the enemy. Anti-aircraft guns also stand guard against
the danger. Nevertheless the observer's life is a perilous one, the more
so because he is a fixed target, unable to shift his position. A story
is told of the heroism of Emile Dubonnet, the wealthy French sportsman,
who was observing for the French "75's" near Berry-au-Bac when he was
attacked by two German taubes. Appearing suddenly out of the clouds,
they swooped down upon him, hovering over his balloon and dropping
shells, which fortunately missed their aim. The taubes were so near to
the balloon that the French were forced to stop firing lest they hit
their own man. Coolly Dubonnet continued his observations of the enemy's
territory, telephoning the results of their fire to the French batteries
below him, until a couple of French planes arrived on the scene and
drove the taubes back to their lines. So severe is the strain of
constant scanning of the enemy's territory through high powered glasses
that it was found necessary to draw the observation balloon down about
every two hours in order to change observers. At dawn the first balloons
were sent up. All day long, except for the brief intervals when
observers were changed, they stood there in the sky. Often far into the
night they continued to play their silent rôle in the great drama of
war. Some of the observers in fact became so experienced that they were
able to do almost as good work at night as by day. It is said that enemy
guns so camouflaged that they are not visible by day not infrequently
show up in the darkness.

The kite balloon is connected with the earth by means of a strong steel
cable, which winds onto an immense reel. To send the balloon up, the
reel is turned and the cable is played out; when it is necessary to draw
the balloon to earth once more, the cable is again wound about the reel.
An electric motor is attached to the reel and turns it in one direction
or the other. Through the center of the cable runs the telephone wire
which connects the observer in the basket with the battery with which he
works. The observer is equipped with a parachute for use in case of
sudden danger. This parachute has straps like those of a man's
suspenders which hold it to his back. When he springs from the balloon
the parachute quickly opens and lands him gently and safely on the
ground.

The kite balloon itself has been greatly improved since it was first
constructed by the Germans. One of its greatest disadvantages lay in the
great drag upon the cable, which when the wind was very high caused
such an excessive strain that it was dangerous to use the balloon. The
German "drachen" was badly "streamlined," that is to say, its shape
offered great resistance to the wind. This resistance was increased by
the rush of air into the open mouth of the steering ballonet.

An attempt to improve the design of the kite balloon was made by an
American firm, the Goodyear Tire and Rubber Company of Akron, Ohio. They
constructed a balloon which in general outline resembled the German
"drachen," but which had not the steering ballonet or rudder at the
stern. In its place they substituted large flat fins at the stern, and
these, while they offered less resistance and thus reduced the strain or
tug of the balloon upon its cable, did not hold the balloon absolutely
steady in the air, as the steering ballonet had done. In order to give
great steadiness the Goodyear people designed a tail like that of a
kite, consisting of a number of very small inverted parachutes. These as
they caught the breeze produced a resistance which steadied the balloon
after the manner of the air rudder.

The Goodyear kite balloon was not an unqualified success, and it
remained for Captain Cacquot of the French army to produce the most
satisfactory design. His was an almost perfect streamline model. Long
and sausage-shaped like the German "drachen," it has, in place of the
steering ballonet, three small ballonets at the stern which are in
reality inflated fins. They are filled with air which is fed to them by
a mouth or opening underneath the main envelope. These inflated fins,
while acting as a rudder to hold the balloon steady in the air, do not
offer the resistance that was caused by either the flat fins of the
Goodyear model or the open-mouthed steering ballonet of the old type.
Thus the French streamline balloon came to be the accepted model of the
Allied nations, and proved itself an efficient arm of the service during
the war.

Ballooning in itself will probably never be the sport that it once was,
for the coming of the swift motor-driven dirigible and the still swifter
airplane has made the old wind-driven vessel a hopelessly obsolete
contrivance. It is therefore all the more interesting to know that the
captive balloon, developed to highest form of efficiency, gave good
service in the war against Germany and made itself a reliable and
valuable servant of our armies, accomplishing its mission in a
particular field in which neither the airship nor the airplane was able
to compete with it successfully.




                                  PART II

                                 CHAPTER I

                       DEVELOPMENT OF THE DIRIGIBLE


No sooner had the Montgolfiers and their colleagues constructed their
earliest balloon models than scientific men and the general public,
aroused by the possibilities of navigating the heavens, set themselves
to devising schemes for steering aircraft. For of course the one great
faculty which the balloon lacked was the ability to choose its own
course. Once it arose into the air it was carried along in the direction
and at the speed of whatever wind happened to be blowing.

Interest in the problem waxed so hot that there was scarcely a banker,
farmer or grocer of those early days who did not have his private theory
concerning the steering of balloons. Many learned essays on the subject
were written, and many foolish solutions were advanced, among them that
of harnessing a flock of birds to the balloon, with reins for guiding
them. But the idea every one thought most likely was that of oars, sails
and a rudder.

Now there are several very good reasons why this method, adapted from
sailing vessels, is useless when it comes to a balloon. In the first
place, no sooner has the balloon risen to its maximum height into the
atmosphere than it is caught in an air-current and carried along at
exactly the same rate of speed as that at which the air itself is
moving. To the occupants it seems to be hanging motionless in a dead
calm, where there is no breeze blowing. Since its motion and that of the
surrounding air are exactly equal, there is of course no resisting
pressure against a sail, which simply hangs dead and lifeless.

To "row" in the air, on the other hand, would require oars of enormous
size or else moving at a tremendous speed and a superhuman strength
would be needed for moving them. Stop to think of the great velocity and
power of the wind and then try to imagine the strength that would be
necessary to row against this tide.

These facts, however, did not occur to the early experimenters, and
balloons equipped with sails and oars were actually constructed. In
order that they might present less resistance to the air, they were made
egg-shaped, or long and cylindrical, sometimes with pointed ends, and
this, at least, was an advance.

Another step in the right direction was the suggestion of paddle wheels,
projecting from each side of the car, and beating the air as they
revolved. This was coming very close to the correct solution, that of a
revolving propeller.

But unfortunately at this early date the mechanical sciences were in
their infancy, and although soon afterward the idea of a screw propeller
did come up, the inventors were handicapped by the fact they knew of no
other power than "hand-power" with which to drive it.

The man who might almost be called the father of the modern dirigible
balloon was the French General Meusnier, an officer in the army and a
man of great scientific and technical skill. Meusnier just proposed that
air-bags or ballonets as they are now called be placed inside the
balloon proper. By pumping air into these the balloon envelope could be
filled out again when it had become partly deflated by loss of gas, for
one of the great problems was to maintain the _shape_ of the balloon
after a quantity of gas had escaped. This was a good idea, but
unfortunately its first public trial almost resulted in a tragedy. One
Duke de Chartres ordered a balloon of this sort to be built for him by
the brothers Robert, Parisian mechanics. Accompanied by the Roberts
themselves and another man he ascended in it in July, 1784. The balloon
was fish-shaped and was equipped with oars and a rudder. No sooner had
it started on its upward journey than it was caught in a violent swirl
of air which tore away the oars. The opening in the neck of the balloon
became closed over by the air bag inside, and there was no outlet for
the gas, which expanded as the balloon rose. Undoubtedly a terrific
explosion would have occurred, but the Duke, with great presence of
mind, drew his sword and cut a slash ten feet long in the balloon
envelope. He saved his own life and that of his comrades. The gas,
escaping through the rent, allowed the balloon to settle slowly to
earth, without injury to its occupants.

But the spectators did not understand the emergency, and the Duke was
covered with ridicule for his supposed cowardice.

The idea of the air-bags, however, was a useful one, and in later
experiments worked well.

Meusnier gave a great deal of earnest study and experiment to the
dirigible balloon, and he originated a design which was far ahead of his
day. He decided on an elliptical or "egg" shape for the envelope, with
small air bags inside it, and he suggested using a boat shaped car,
which would offer less resistance to the air than the old round basket.
The car was attached to the balloon by an absolutely rigid connection,
so that it could not swing backward as the balloon drove ahead. Halfway
between the car and the envelope he placed three propellers, and these,
for want of any form of motor, were driven by hand pulleys.

Meusnier's design for a dirigible was the cleverest and most practical
of its day, but owing to the cost, it was never actually carried out. In
1793, General Meusnier was killed at Mayence, fighting against the
Prussians. After his death, little was heard of the dirigible balloon
for another fifty years. Except perhaps for the novelty balloons at the
country fair, the science of aeronautics slept.

The next appearance of the dirigible in history was in 1852, when the
work of the Frenchman Giffard attracted widespread attention.

In 1851, Giffard had constructed a small steam engine, of about three
horsepower, and weighing only 100 pounds. He thought it could be used
for driving a balloon, and with the aid of a couple of friends he set
to work building an airship, which was somewhat the shape of a cigar,
pointed at the ends. It was 144 feet long and 40 feet in diameter at its
thickest part, and it held 88,000 cubic feet of gas. Over the envelope
was spread a net from which a heavy pole was suspended by ropes. At the
end of this pole, or keel, as Giffard called it, was a triangular sail
which acted as a rudder. Twenty feet below the pole hung the car, in
which was the steam motor and propeller.

With this new means of driving the propeller, the dirigible began to
show signs of proving a success, although as yet it could not develop
any very great speed. One reason was that the engine was too heavy in
proportion to the power it generated. Giffard's airship under the most
favorable conditions could only go at from four to five miles an hour,
when there was no wind.

One of the problems Giffard had to solve was that of preventing an
explosion of the gas escaping through the neck of the balloon, as it
came in contact with the heat of the engine. To avoid this, he placed a
piece of wire gauze, similar to that used in safety lanterns, in front
of the stokehole and the smoke of the furnace was allowed to escape
through a chimney at one corner of the car, pointing downwards.

Giffard's second airship, of somewhat different design, was destroyed by
an accident on its very first trip. He at once began working on a design
for a giant airship, which was to be 1,970 feet long, and 98 feet in
diameter at the middle. The motor was to weigh 30 tons, and he estimated
that the airship would fly at 40 miles an hour. He worked out the scheme
in every detail, but owing to the expense the dirigible was never made.

The first "military dirigible" ever built was that constructed by Dupuy
de Lôme for the French government during the siege of Paris, and tried
out in 1872. Its propeller was driven by a crew of eight men, a very
curious proceeding, since the steam engine had been successfully tried.

A dirigible which was almost modern in design was meanwhile being
constructed by Paul Haenlein in Germany, and made its appearance in
1872. It was long and cylindrical, with pointed ends, the car placed
close to the balloon envelope, to give a very rigid connection. Its
really noteworthy feature was the gas engine, replacing the steam engine
that Giffard had used as a means of driving the propeller. The gas for
the engine was taken from the balloon itself and the loss was made good
by pumping air into the air-bags. The balloon envelope held 85,000 cubic
feet of gas, and of this the engine consumed 250 cubic feet an hour.
This dirigible, on trial trips, attained a very fair speed, which would
have been greater had hydrogen gas been used in the envelope instead of
ordinary gas. But lack of funds prevented further experiment, and
Haenlein had to abandon his attempts.

Ten years now passed before the next notable effort at dirigible
construction. The delay was probably due to the fact that no suitable
driving power was yet known. In 1882 the famous French aeronauts Gaston
and Albert Tissandier constructed an airship somewhat similar to
Giffard's models, but containing an electric motor. But although this
dirigible cost £2,000 or almost $10,000 to build, it had the same fault
as all that preceded it; it could not develop speed. The problem of
finding an engine of sufficiently light weight and high power was a
difficult one, which has not to-day been wholly solved.

The public generally had begun to think of the dirigible balloon as
impractical and impossible, when in 1884 came the startling news that
two French officers, named Renard and Krebs, had performed some
remarkable feats in a balloon of their own design. An electric motor of
8-1/2 horsepower drove the propeller.

Several details of this dirigible are extremely interesting. The axis on
which the propeller blades were fixed could be lifted in order to
prevent them from being injured in case of a sudden drop. A trail rope
was also used so as to break the shock which might result from a sudden
fall. At the back between the car and the balloon was fixed the rudder,
of unusual design, consisting of two four-sided pyramids with their
bases placed together.

Renard and Krebs christened their dirigible "La France," and on August
9, 1884, they gave it its first public tryout near Chalais, with great
success. They traveled some distance against the wind, turned and came
back covering a distance of about 5 miles in 23 minutes. Never before
had a balloon been able to make a trip and return to the place of its
ascension.

But in spite of the success of Renard and his comrade, construction of
dirigibles in France paused for sometime, and it was in Germany that the
next attempts were made.

In 1880, a cigar-shaped dirigible, equipped with a benzine motor was
demonstrated in Leipsic. It had been built the year before by Baumgarten
and Wölfert. At its sides it had "wings" or sails and three cars were
suspended from it instead of one. This airship met with a serious
accident on its very first trip. A passenger in one of the cars
destroyed the balance, the whole thing toppled over and crashed to the
earth, the occupants miraculously escaping injury.

Not long afterward Baumgarten died. Wölfert constructed a new dirigible
of his own design containing a benzine motor in which he ascended from
the Tempelhofer Feld, near Berlin, in June, 1897. Wölfert had neglected
to provide against contact of the gas escaping from the envelope with
the heated fumes from the engine. An explosion took place in mid-air,
and the machine fell to earth in a mass of flames, killing Wölfert and
the other occupant.

[Illustration: GIFFARD'S AIRSHIP]

Next in the long series of attempts came that of an Austrian named David
Schwartz, who designed a dirigible with one entirely new feature: a
rigid aluminum envelope. This balloon had a petrol engine. It was tried
out in Berlin in 1897, but an accident to the propellers brought it
crashing to the ground. Its occupant jumped for his life and barely
escaped killing.

Up to this time there is little to record in dirigible history but a
long series of valiant attempts and failures, punctuated all too
frequently by grewsome disasters. But the nineteenth century was drawing
to a close, the twentieth century with its era of mechanical triumphs
was at hand, and the time was ripe for those champions of the dirigible
to appear who should make it a potent factor in modern warfare.

[Illustration: SANTOS-DUMONT ROUNDING THE EIFFEL TOWER]

Almost at the same time there stepped into the limelight of public
interest two men, representing Germany and France, whose names are now
famous in the aeronautic world. In 1898 there appeared in Paris a young
Brazilian named Santos-Dumont, who began constructing a series of
dirigibles whose success astounded the authorities.

In exactly the same year Count von Zeppelin, in Germany, formed a
limited liability company for the purpose of raising funds for airship
construction. His first dirigible balloon was the longest and biggest
that had ever been built. Although the envelope was not, like Schwartz's
dirigible, of solid aluminum, it was practically rigid, for it was made
by stretching a linen and silk covering over an aluminum framework.

Zeppelin's first airship had two cars, with a motor in each, giving
about 30 horsepower. On its trial trips it made a better speed than had
yet been attained.

With the experience he had gained Zeppelin set to work on a new design.
It was five years before he secured enough funds for its construction,
but it was finally ready in 1905. The most important improvement was in
the motors, which were as light in weight as those of the first
dirigible but had a greatly increased power. As before, there were two
cars, with an 80 horsepower motor in each.

Even this airship, in spite of its greater speed, was not an unqualified
success, for it was discovered that it had too great a lifting power, so
that when launched it rose at once to a height of about 1500 feet, and
was impossible to operate at a lower level.

Santos-Dumont, meanwhile, in Paris, had been performing feats of
aeronautics which had made him the acknowledged "hero of the air."
Santos-Dumont was probably far from being the scientific student of
balloon construction that Zeppelin was, but while his dirigibles did not
attain a great speed or represent a tremendous advance in actual theory,
his public performances served one great purpose, they aroused the ardor
and enthusiasm of the whole French people and of many in other countries
for the sport of ballooning. Santos-Dumont had great wealth, and a
sportsman's courage. He constructed in all 14 dirigibles, each time
seizing upon the experience he had gained and incorporating it into a
new model, casting aside the old.

Santos-Dumont's airships were altogether different from those of
Zeppelin. While Zeppelin's had an inner framework to maintain the shape
of the envelope, Santos-Dumont depended entirely on the linen air bags,
placed inside the balloon, which as it became flabby through loss of
gas, could be pumped full of air to hold the envelope in place. His
balloons were either long and cylindrical with pointed ends,
"cigar-shaped," or else "egg-shaped," with ends rounded.

In spite of all the curious accidents that beset this young Brazilian on
his early trips, in the vicinity of Paris, he was never once deterred
from his efforts. He almost lost his life several times in his first
airship, but he profited by the mistakes of construction in building the
second. His dirigibles increased in size as he installed in each
successive model a more powerful and consequently heavier motor,
requiring greater lifting power.

In his third balloon Santos-Dumont ascended from the Champ de Mars in
Paris and circled the Eiffel Tower amid the cheers of thousands of
onlookers, finally descending in an open field outside Paris.

Public interest was now thoroughly aroused. A prize of £4,000 was
offered by Monsieur Deutsch to the aeronaut who could circle the Eiffel
Tower and return to the starting-point at Saint Cloud within half an
hour. Santos-Dumont attempted this with his 4th and 5th machines, but it
was not until he built his 6th model that he finally accomplished it.
The Brazilian government sent him a gold medal and an additional £5,000
with which to build new balloons.

Number 9 was the most popular of all Santos-Dumont's machines. He became
the idol of the French public, whom he was always surprising with his
spectacular and unlooked-for adventures. During the races at Longchamps
he descended on the race course, stayed to view the performance, then
mounted in his car and rode away. He amazed the passersby by alighting
before his own front door in Paris where he left his airship while he
went and ate breakfast. He sailed up opposite the grandstand when
President Loubet was reviewing the French troops, fired a salute, and as
unexpectedly departed.

Santos-Dumont's power of escape from death seems almost uncanny but it
was due to his coolness in facing any situation. In the majority of his
airships he used a petroleum motor, and with this there is considerable
danger of the petroleum in the reservoir catching fire. On one occasion
a fire did start, but he succeeded in extinguishing it with his panama
hat. Among all his mishaps, including that of falling into the
Mediterranean Sea, he never really had a serious explosion.

Another young Brazilian, however, named Severo, was killed in a
dirigible of his own construction, when the petroleum in the engine
caught fire. He ascended in May, 1902, in a balloon which he called the
_Pax_. His car was seen suddenly to burst in flames, a violent explosion
followed, and the whole thing crashed to earth.

Santos-Dumont placed his last three dirigibles at the disposal of the
French military authorities. Actually he had not developed a type
suitable for military use. But his public performances had aroused
intense popular interest and had succeeded in opening the eyes of the
French authorities to the possibilities of the airship in time of war.
His remarkable aerial feats had attracted the attention in particular of
two Frenchmen of his own fine metal and courage, who from this time
forth left no stone unturned to excel him in his achievements.




                                CHAPTER II

                   FORERUNNERS OF THE ALLIED DIRIGIBLES


It is to the two French brothers Lebaudy that France and the Allies owe
the credit for the development of the big military dirigible such as is
used in the present War. These brothers were wealthy and full of
enthusiasm for aeronautics. From a distance they had watched the
achievements of Santos-Dumont and they determined to expend every
possible effort to excel him in the construction of dirigibles. In 1899
they commissioned an experienced engineer named Jouillot to make a study
of the problem, to discover if possible why previous experimenters had
failed to produce a model of satisfactory speed and power, and to draw
up designs for an airship which should correct the faults of those
already known.

It took two years before a finger could be lifted toward the actual
building, but finally in 1901 the work of constructing the first Lebaudy
airship commenced. It was ready for a tryout in November, 1902. The
envelope was of bright yellow calico: it was cigar-shaped, 187 feet long
and 32 feet in diameter. The envelope was fastened at the bottom to a
rigid floor-work of steel tubing and from this the car was suspended.
The dirigible was fitted with a 40 horse power benzine motor; and its
total weight, including a supply of benzine, water and ballast, was two
and one-half tons.

During the next year this dirigible made at least 30 trips, at very fair
speed. Meanwhile the builders were studying it in every detail, working
out ideas for improvements and drawing up plans for their next model. In
1904 they built their second airship. It was somewhat longer than the
first and about the same shape, but the pointed end at the rear had been
rounded off. Calico was again used for the covering of the envelope, and
it was made absolutely air-tight by coating it inside and out with
rubber. Besides the main valve there were safety valves in the envelope
for allowing the gas to escape when the pressure became too great. The
envelope was also provided with two small windows, so that the inside of
the balloon could be easily inspected. It had sails to give it greater
stability, and two movable sail-like rudders, placed together at a
V-shaped angle. The driver could alter the position of the sails and the
rudder according to the wind.

The car of this Lebaudy airship was boat-shaped with a flat bottom. To
diminish the shock in case of a fall steel tubing was placed in a
slanting position beneath it in a pyramid arrangement, the point facing
downwards. The car was set very close to the envelope or body of the
airship, and carried the 40 horse power benzine engine. At the front of
the car was an electrically worked camera, a 1,000,000 candle power
acetylene projector providing lighting by night.

Many improvements were later added to this second dirigible which was
christened the _Lebaudy_. The interest of the French Minister of War was
aroused and he appointed a commission from the Balloon Corps to follow
the progress of the experiments.

Every one now began to look upon the dirigible as a factor to be
reckoned with in the event of a war. The Lebaudy brothers offered their
airship to the French government, and after it had accomplished a series
of tests to prove its value as an instrument of war, it was accepted,
and became a model for later airship construction.

Germany was not far behind, for already Count von Zeppelin's second
airship had proved itself a success, and plans were being laid for a
third. From this time on the two European nations destined to become
powerful adversaries in the World War, though working along somewhat
different lines, kept almost neck and neck in their struggle for air
supremacy.

The French military balloon department began at once the work of
constructing an airfleet with the _Lebaudy_ as a model and with the
engineer Jouillot as chief adviser, this work went forward with great
rapidity. The _Lebaudy_ was followed in design pretty closely, but a few
changes were made which experience had suggested. For one thing the
balloon envelope was rounded at the front and pointed at the rear,
exactly the reverse of the Lebaudy model, as this arrangement was
thought to offer less resistance to the air. It had an internal air-bag
or ballonet whose capacity was one-fifth that of the envelope. This
ballonet was of course empty on the ascent. It was calculated that the
balloon could reach a height of about a mile. To descend, gas would then
be allowed to escape, and, in order to keep the envelope fully inflated,
air would be pumped into the ballonet.

This first type of dirigible actually constructed by the French army was
called the _Patrie_. It was 197 feet long and carried a benzine motor of
from 30 to 40 horse power, which drove the two double-bladed steel
propellers. As in the case of the _Lebaudy_, the _Patrie_ was protected
from injury by a strong steel framework, coming to a point below the
car. In case of a sudden drop, this point would strike the ground first
and ward off the blow from the car, and the propellers. Good as this
plan _seemed_, it did not always work. The _Patrie_, after many
successful journeys, met with an accident to her motor, escaped her
guard of soldiers and drifted off alone. She crossed the English Channel
and fell in Ireland, breaking off her propeller. Before she could be
captured she rose again into the air, drifted out over the sea and was
never again heard from.

M. Deutsch, who had done so much to encourage the efforts of
Santos-Dumont, stepped forward in the emergency and offered the French
government his airship the _Ville de Paris_. This had been designed for
him by an engineer named Tatin. It was 200 feet long, made of German
Continental Rubber Fabric, and, like the _Patrie_, had an internal
air-bag of one-fifth its capacity. In one important respect it was
different from those that preceded it. At its stern it had eight small
cylinders, or ballonets, filled with gas, which added greatly to its
stability, though they detracted from its speed by causing a
considerable resistance to the air.

While the car of the _Patrie_ was about 16 feet long, this new airship
had a car measuring 115 feet, and the propeller was at the _front_, so
that as it revolved it _drew_ rather than _pushed_ the car through the
air. A propeller of this sort is termed a "tractor," and figures to-day
in many models of aircraft.

During these years of experiment in France, England and America had
looked on in comparative idleness. In 1902 England did indeed possess
one small airship, designed by Colonel Templer of the Army Balloon
Department, and christened the _Nulli Secundus_ (_Second to None_). She
was "sausage shaped:" rounded at the front and pointed at the stern with
a peculiar rudder design. Her car was boat-shaped and her propellers
were aluminum, both revolving in the same direction, which gave her a
curious tendency to "somersault." In spite of their "baby" dirigible's
rather pretentious title, the military authorities, and the English
public in general, evidently took slight store in the infant prodigy,
for from 1902 to 1908, she only came out of her shed for a few short
trips. In 1908 she was completely remodelled, and emerged for a trial
trip. But neither the government nor the public seemed interested in
Colonel Templer's schemes. The valiant little pioneer ship of England's
airfleet went back to her sheds, resigning herself to obscurity.

Our own country, which in many other lines has led the world in its
mechanical skill and enterprise, did not have a single army dirigible
till as late as 1908, when it gave out a contract for an airship which
was built by Captain Thomas S. Baldwin. The motor was designed and built
by a young mechanic in Hammondsport, N. Y., who for several years had
been manufacturing motors for automobiles. His name was Glenn Curtiss
and he afterward became one of the world's most famous aviators.

United States Army Dirigible No. 1 was long and cylindrical, pointed at
both ends, and covered with Japanese silk, vulcanized with rubber. The
water-cooled Curtiss motor was a 20 horse power, and the wooden
propeller was of the "tractor" type, placed in the front of the car.

Germany, while America and England stood idle, had been rapidly forging
ahead. By 1908 Count von Zeppelin had constructed his third and fourth
models, and his public demonstrations had aroused the whole German
people to unbounded enthusiasm. The Crown Prince made a trip in Zeppelin
No. 3 and its originator was decorated with the Order of the Black
Eagle. The German Association for an Aerial Fleet was formed, and within
a short time over a million dollars had been contributed by the people
for the purpose of building dirigibles.

Zeppelin No. 4 was destroyed by an accident, but Zeppelin No. 3 was
recalled into the national service and in 1909 given the official title
of _S.M.S. Zeppelin I_. From this time on dirigible construction in
Germany went forward with the greatest speed. Two other names became
prominent in the enterprise: those of Major von Parseval and Major von
Gross. The "Parseval" design resembled more the French, for it was
covered with "Continental fabric," was long and cylindrical, rounded at
the front and pointed at the stern, with a large internal air ballonet.
The car was suspended from two steel cables or trolleys, which it could
slide along, altering its position and the "balance" of the whole
airship.

The "Gross" type of airship resembled the _Lebaudy_ and the _Patrie_,
with its boat-shaped car hung from a steel platform attached to the
bottom of the envelope.

Out of this brief story of the development of the early airship models
of all the nations, we can, if we look carefully, see certain definite
types of dirigibles emerging. The experimenters had to solve this
problem: What shall we do when owing to loss of gas the balloon envelope
begins to get flabby? For of course a flabby, partially filled envelope
would flop from side to side, destroying the balance of the airship and
checking its speed.

[Illustration: BALDWIN U. S. "DIRIGIBLE NO. 1"]

The German inventors settled the problem by making the envelope _rigid_,
either with a solid covering or with a covering of fabric stretched over
an inner framework. Thus the _rigid type_ of airship was evolved.

The French inventors solved the same problem by placing inside the
envelope a large _empty_ bag of fabric, into which air could be pumped
when necessary to fill the balloon out and hold the envelope firm. The
air could not be pumped directly into the envelope itself as it would
produce an explosive mixture with the gas already there. From this
method of dealing with difficulty, the _non-rigid_ type of dirigible was
evolved.

[Illustration: THE BRITISH ARMY "BABY" DIRIGIBLE]

But the _non-rigid_ dirigible presented a new difficulty: how could the
car be suspended from it in such a way that it would not swing? For only
with a rigid connection between the car and the envelope could the
greatest speed be obtained. The _Lebaudy_ solved this problem by
attaching to the base of the envelope a rigid steel flooring, from which
the car could then be suspended by an immovable connection. And so was
evolved the _semi-rigid_ type of airship.

In recent years another solution of this problem of preventing the car
from swinging has been employed to some extent: By making the car almost
as long as the envelope, the connecting cables by which the car is
suspended hang almost perpendicular, and there is not the same tendency
to swerve as with cables slanting down to a comparatively small car.
This type of airship is called the _demi-semi-rigid_.

These then are the four general classes of dirigibles which were used in
the Great War.




                                CHAPTER III

                        DIRIGIBLES IN THE WORLD WAR


When in August, 1914, the sinister black cloud of a world war appeared
on the horizon, only the Hun was prepared for the life and death
struggle in the air. His formidable fleet of super-Zeppelins had not
their match in the world, and his program of airship construction was
being pushed forward with the utmost speed and efficiency.

France had the largest fleet of dirigibles among the Allied nations.
They were of the semi-rigid type, of only medium size and slow speed.
They could not hope to compete on equal terms with the swift and
powerful German airships.

Great Britain was far worse off than France, for her airship fleet
practically did not exist. The army had only two large modern dirigibles
and a few very small vessels like the old _Nulli Secundus_, of little
practical value. The navy had no airships at all.

Italy had a few good medium sized vessels, and four large dirigibles
were in process of building. Russia, too, had several airships purchased
from the other countries, of various makes and types, but she lacked
experienced aeronauts with which to operate them.

Both France and England had already made extensive plans for the
building of dirigibles, but few of the ships ordered were near to
completion in 1914. Only the Prussian was ready for hostilities; his
airships gave him a great strategic advantage. By means of them he
gained information about the movements of Allied troops and munitions;
directed his artillery, bombed Allied positions, and went his way, for
the most part unchallenged. His naval airships were likewise a terrible
menace. One of them, in the early part of the war, received an iron
cross for its work in connection with a German submarine, in an attack
on three British cruisers.

Every one knows of Germany's record in the bombing of cities and towns
by means of Zeppelins. In the first days of the war the Allies had no
anti-aircraft guns and very few airplanes with which to protect
themselves, and so Germany went unmolested while she waged her war
against defenseless civilians, women and children.

The spirit of the Allies, however, could not be daunted. England put her
few small dirigibles on duty over the English Channel, where they served
as patrols against submarines. For this work airships are very
effective, since it is a curious fact that from their height in the
atmosphere it is possible to see far below the surface of the water. So
during the first tragic weeks, when France and Belgium were pouring out
their life-blood to check the onward sweep of the Hun, these tiny
aircraft stood guard over the Channel across which the "contemptible
little army" of Britain was being hurried on transports to meet the
invader. Like the contemptible little army itself they proved a factor
to be reckoned with. Such aerial scouts now form a large arm of the
British, French and American navies. Soon after the war began they were
constructed in large numbers to serve as patrols against submarines. In
the language of the air, these little dirigibles are known as _Blimps_.

The _Blimp_ was first developed for use in the war by the British Naval
Air Service, but the United States soon saw its advantage as a means of
patroling and guarding our harbors and coastline, and so she set to
work to manufacture this type of dirigible in large numbers. To-day it
is the chief dirigible of our aerial fleet. In some important ways it
has the advantage over the airplane in combating the submarine. For the
airplane can only remain in the air while it keeps going at high speed.
Just as soon as its engines are stopped it commences to descend. But the
dirigible can sail out over the harbor, shut off its power and remain
motionless in the air for hours, while its observer keeps a constant
lookout for enemy undersea craft. When speed is necessary its powerful
motor makes it a fast flying craft, sometimes considerably faster than
the airplane. For the airplane must often travel against the wind, while
the dirigible simply rises until it reaches a current of air moving in
the desired direction, when it has the combined power of the wind and
its engine to drive it forward.

[Illustration: CROSS SECTION OF THE GAS-BAG OF THE _ASTRA-TORRES_,
SHOWING METHOD OF CAR SUSPENSION]

The U. S. A. _Blimp_ is about 160 feet long, rounded in front and
tapering to a pointed stern. Its stability and balance are increased by
five "fins" at its stern; and it has also four rudders. The car, which
is exactly like the ordinary airplane body, has two seats, for pilot and
observer, suspended directly from the base of the envelope by wire
cables. The _Blimp_ carries a 100 horse power Curtiss aviation motor,
and is equipped with wireless for exchanging messages.

The French have a small airship very much like the _Blimp_ which they
use for scout duty. It is called the _Zodiac_, and before the war was
designed as a private pleasure car. Because of the fact that it could be
easily packed and transported from place to place it was drafted into
the service early in the war. Naturally, if an airship has to be kept
inflated when not in use it is a constant target for the enemy's
gunfire; and a small dirigible which can be packed up in an hour when
not needed and readily inflated when the call for action comes is a very
much safer proposition.

There are several sizes and slightly different shapes of the _Zodiac_,
but the shape of the envelope in all of them is very similar to the
_Blimp_, tapering toward the stern with fins to give stability. A large
sail-like rudder is set beneath the stern of the ship.

Probably the most interesting thing about the _Zodiac_ is the car which
in most models has a very long wooden framework. This framework, or
girder, by its length distributes the weight along the whole length of
the envelope. The car, in which the pilot and observer sit, is set in
this girder.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

       THE "BLIMP," C-1, THE LARGEST DIRIGIBLE OF THE AMERICAN NAVY]

Nothing is more interesting to note in modern airships than the
simplification of the method of car suspension. In the early airships
the car was hung from the envelope by a large number of cables, which
either connected with a network that fitted over the envelope, or else,
in a semi-rigid dirigible, to the platform or keel at the base of the
balloon.

Now of course all these cables offered a great resistance to the air and
were an enemy to speed. Just as the question of speed affected the shape
of the envelope, until to-day we have the streamline balloon, tapering
to the rear, and just as it made the question of a rigid or non-rigid
envelope so important, it likewise finally did away with complicated
connections between the envelope and the car.

[Illustration: _Copyright International Film Service, Inc._

                   THE BALLOON OF THE U. S. S. OKLAHOMA]

From the point of view of car suspension one of the most interesting of
the modern French airships is the _Astra-Torres_. This is a dirigible of
the non-rigid type. Canvas partitions are stretched across the interior
of the envelope in such a manner as to form a triangle, its apex facing
downwards. The sides of this triangle are strengthened by cables and
from its apex hang the cables which support the car. The air resistance
produced by the cables is therefore very slight, since only two lines
are exposed.

Among the aerial war fleets of the Allied nations, the French offers by
far the greatest field for study, since it possesses many different
types of dirigibles. The _Astra_ and the _Astra-Torres_ are perhaps the
chief representatives of the non-rigid design, and are generally
considered the most successful of the French airships. The _Astra_ is
the older model, and, like the _Zodiac_, has the long wooden framework
or car girder, hung directly to the base of the envelope and
distributing to all parts of it the weight of the car. It can be
recognized by this and by its stabilizers or small inflated gas bags
around the stern of the envelope. The _Astra_ is of medium size, varying
in length from 199 to 275 feet. The _Astra-Torres_ is very much
longer, those of the 1914 type measuring 457 feet from nose to stern.
From the exterior, this airship has a peculiar three-lobed appearance.
It tapers very slightly to the stern and is pointed at both ends, but it
has not the _Astra's_ inflated stabilizers.

Another French airship of non-rigid design is the _Clement-Bayard_. It
is similar in design and in size to the _Astra_, but without the
inflated stabilizers. Rounded slightly at the nose, the envelope tapers
to a sharp-pointed stern.

The _Lebaudy_ is the chief example of a French semi-rigid airship. The
envelope is long and cylindrical, pointed at the nose and rounded at the
stern, where it is fitted with stabilizing "fins." The base of the
envelope is fitted to a long keel, which ends at the rear in a rudder
and fins. From this keel the car is suspended by strong cables, and
beneath the car extends a conical structure of steel tubes, with points
falling downward. These serve as a protection in case of a sudden
landing. In front of the car and on each side of the keel are planes
similar to those of an airplane, which help to give balance to the ship.

Among airships of the Allies, the French _Speiss_ furnishes an example
of the purely rigid design. Constructed on the plan of the German
Zeppelin, its envelope has an inner wooden framework which holds it in
place. The _Speiss_ is a large dirigible, measuring about 450 feet. It
carries two cars, and in each is a two-hundred horse power motor, giving
it great speed.




                                  PART III

                                 CHAPTER I

             EARLY EXPERIMENTS WITH HEAVIER-THAN-AIR MACHINES


For many centuries before the ascension of the first Montgolfier
balloon, which, as we have seen, marked the beginning of aerial flight,
men had dreamed of a different method of conquering the skies,--in fact,
the very natural one suggested by the flight of birds. To build
artificial wings was the ambition of many an old-time scientist. Yet
practicable as the idea seemed, its working out was, as a matter of
fact, beset with difficulties. The Montgolfier balloon rose in the air
because it was _lighter_ than air,--just as a piece of cork rises in
water because it weighs less in proportion to its volume than the water.
But a man equipped with wings is a fairly heavy object; where is the
force that is to lift him and carry him soaring into the sky?

Unfortunately the early experimenters in aeronautics were not men who
had had the long training in keen observation nor the groundwork of
mechanical knowledge which would have fitted them for their task of
devising a flying machine. They were dreamers and philosophers, often
with very clever ideas about how man might succeed in flying. But the
exact science of mechanics was yet unborn, and it was not until the
nineteenth century, with its great advance in this direction, dawned,
that the time was ripe for any measure of success. Still, in many old
pictures and medieval manuscripts there are curious examples of the
ideas of these old philosophers, designs which were never actually tried
out, but which show the longing of men, even in those days, for the
great adventure of sailing above the clouds.

All these strange theories of the middle ages were hampered by the
superstition that there was some "magic" connected with the power of
birds to fly. Cameras were unheard of, or it would have been a simple
matter to have recorded on paper the actual motions of the bird's wings
in order to study their significance. The astounding ease with which
these little winged creatures were able to float across the heavens was
indeed baffling; it was difficult to determine just how it was
accomplished. Any one who watches the flight of a seagull realizes that
here is an accomplished aeronaut, able to balance himself with perfect
ease in the atmosphere, to mount upward on flapping wings, or, taking
advantage of a rising air current which can support him, to float
motionless with wings extended. All this requires an unusual amount of
skill, particularly in balancing. Drop a piece of paper and watch how it
turns and tumbles at every angle before it reaches the floor. That is
just what a bird or an airplane has a tendency to do, and it takes a
perfect system of control and a skilled pilot indeed, to keep it right
side up.

The first idea, of course, for a heavier-than-air machine, was that of
a pair of wings to be _attached directly to the human body_, and to be
worked with the arms. As early as 1480 Leonardi da Vinci drew up a
design for an apparatus of this sort. And the idea was not a bad one: it
would have worked all very well had it not been for one small fact which
the philosophers overlooked, that man is not provided with the powerful
shoulder muscles such as the bird possesses for moving his wings.

Altogether, it was not until the nineteenth century that any real
progress toward flight in a heavier-than-air machine was made. It came
when experimenters began to investigate the definite laws of air
resistance and air pressure which control the action of a bird just as
they do the action of a kite. As a matter of fact, a bird, or an
airplane, is nothing more than a complicated kite, controlled by an
intelligence within itself, rather than by an operator standing on the
ground and guiding it by means of a cord.

[Illustration: Kite]

Every one knows that a kite, if placed at an angle to the wind, will be
carried upward. The reason for this can be seen from a very simple
diagram.

The pressure of the wind would, if unhindered, push the kite into a
horizontal position. But the string prevents the angle of the kite from
altering, and since the pressure on its lower surface is greater than
that on its upper, it naturally rises. This is just what happens when
the bird sets his wings at such an angle to the wind that he is lifted
into the sky. It is also the principle which governs the airplane or
glider, whose planes are kept at a definite angle to the air current.
The bird can of course readjust the angle of his wings when he has risen
high enough, or when he meets a current of air moving in a different
direction, and in the same way the elevating plane of a modern airplane
can be lifted or deflected at the will of the flyer, to produce an
upward or a downward motion.

The first man to study seriously the effects of air pressure on plane
surfaces was an Englishman named Sir George Cayley, who in 1810 drew up
plans for a flying machine somewhat resembling the modern monoplane. In
1866 Wenham patented a machine which involved an ingenious idea, that of
several parallel planes ranged above each other, instead of the single
surface, as of the bird's wing. Wenham believed that the upward pressure
of the wind, acting on all these surfaces would give a far greater
lifting power, as well as a greatly increased stability, for the machine
could not be so easily overturned. Here was the principle of the modern
biplane and triplane in its infancy. Yet the idea of strict "bird-form"
was more appealing to the imagination, and the experimenters who came
after Wenham did not adopt his suggestions.

The man who may truly be said to have given the airplane its first real
start in life, was a German named Otto Lilienthal. His figure is a very
picturesque one in the long story of the conquest of the air. Lilienthal
was a very busy engineer, but from boyhood he had had a consuming
interest in the problems of flight, and as he traveled about Germany on
his business undertakings he cast about in his mind incessantly for some
plan of wings which would support the human body and carry it up into
the air. He finally began a very systematic study of the wings of birds
with the result that he made some unusual and important discoveries.
While the men who had preceded him had attempted only flat wings in
their plans for flying machines, Lilienthal decided that the wings
should be arched, like those of a bird, heavier in front, with an abrupt
downward dip to the front edge, and then sloping away gradually to the
rear where their weight was comparatively slight. When still quite a
young man he began building kites with planes curved in this manner. To
his surprise and joy he found that they rose very rapidly when set to
the breeze. They even seemed to move forward slightly in the air, as
though they had a tendency to fly. Like a bird resting on a current of
air with wings motionless, these little toy wings were carried along
gracefully on the breeze. Lilienthal was jubilant. A man equipped with
wings like these, he said to himself, would have no difficulty at all
in flying.

Lilienthal was not a rich man and it was many years before his
opportunity to test his ideas with a real flying machine came. When by
hard toil at his profession he had accumulated a comfortable fortune, he
turned at last to his beloved study. He had often watched the baby birds
in their efforts to fly, and he knew it would be a long time before he
attained any skill with wings, but he was absolutely confident that with
much practise and perseverance he could actually learn to fly like the
birds. So he constructed for himself a pair of bird wings, arched
exactly like those which he had studied. They were arranged with a
circular strip of wood between them for his body. Here he hung, with his
arms outstretched on each side, so that he could operate the wings.

The difficulties Lilienthal had looked for he experienced in large
measure. It was no easy thing to attempt to fly in this crude apparatus,
but day after day he went out upon the road, turned to face the breeze
as he had seen the baby birds do, ran swiftly a short distance, and then
inclined the wings upward so that they might catch the current of air.
For a long time he was unsuccessful, but imagine his joy when he
actually did one day feel himself lifted off his feet, carried forward a
few feet and set down. It was scarcely more than a tiny jump, but
Lilienthal knew he had commenced to fly. From that time on his efforts
were ceaseless. He succeeded in being lifted a number of feet off the
ground and carried for some distance. But try as he would he could not
get high in the air. He realized that what he lacked was any form of
motive power, and for want of a better, determined to make use of the
force of gravity to start him through the air at greater speed.
Accordingly he had built for him a hill with a smooth incline, and from
the top of this he jumped in his flying machine. The wings he had first
constructed he had since improved on, adding two tail planes at the rear
which gave greater stability and decreased the tendency to turn over in
the air. As he sprang from the hilltop in this curious apparatus, he
turned the wings upward slightly to catch the breeze, which supported
him exactly as if he had been a kite while he glided out gracefully and
finally came gently to earth. This spectacle of a man gliding through
the air attracted large crowds. People assembled from far and wide to
behold the flying man, and his achievements were greeted with wild
cheering. On his huge winged glider he floated calmly over the heads of
the astounded multitude, often landing far behind them in the fields. In
the difficult matter of balancing himself in mid-air he became
exceedingly skilful. Every slight gust of wind had a tendency to
overturn him, but Lilienthal constantly shifted the weight of his body
in such a manner as to balance himself. As he gained confidence he began
practising in stronger winds. His great longing was to soar like a bird
up into the sky, and so when he felt a rising air current, he inclined
his wings slightly upward to take advantage of it. Often he did rise far
above the hilltop from which he had sprung, but he never succeeded in
actually flying like a bird. His glider had not the motive power to
drive it against the breeze with sufficient velocity to send it up into
the air, and his wings were but crude imitations of the wonderful
mechanism on which the bird soars into the sky. Undaunted by his failure
he set to work on a double set of wings, very similar to a modern
biplane. He thought these would have greater lifting power, but when he
came to try them he found them exceedingly unwieldy and hard to control.
For where the biplane has an intricate control system, Lilienthal relied
entirely upon his own body to operate his glider.

Lilienthal became more and more reckless in his gliding efforts, and in
1896, while gliding in a strong wind, he lost control of his winged
contrivance and came crashing to the earth from a great height. When the
horrified spectators rushed to the spot, they found the fearless pioneer
flier dead beneath the wreck of his machine.

What Lilienthal had done for the cause of aviation, however, would be
hard to estimate. He had drawn the attention of thinking people the
world over to his experiments. He had pointed the way to the real
solution of the problem of flying: that of studying and imitating the
birds; and he had discovered the form of plane which on airplanes to-day
is well known to give the greatest lifting power: that of an arched
surface, deeply curved in front and sloping gradually back to its rear
edge where its thickness is very slight. Moreover, his attempts at
flight had presented a challenge to engineers and scientists--a
challenge which was quickly to bear fruit.

An Englishman named Percy S. Pilcher had followed the work of Lilienthal
with the deepest interest, and he now determined to begin a series of
experiments on his own account. Like Lilienthal he realized that it
would be useless to attempt a motor driven airplane until the principles
of glider construction were fully understood. A glider is simply an
airplane without an engine, and Lilienthal succeeded in giving it a
certain motive power by starting from a high point, so that the force of
gravity could draw him forward and downward. Pilcher adopted an even
more original scheme for making his glider "go." He treated it exactly
as if it had been a huge kite, fastening a rope to it and having it
pulled swiftly by a team of horses, until it had gained sufficient
momentum to carry it up in the air. The moment it began to rise,
Pilcher, who hung between the two large wings much as Lilienthal had
done, detached himself from the rope and went soaring into the air like
a kite, attempting to balance himself and prevent his glider from
overturning. But he had not the experience that long and careful
practise had given to Lilienthal, and before he had made very many
flights in his glider, he fell and met his death.

In 1896 an Australian, Hargrave, experimented with kites in order to
discover a glider form which possessed both lifting power and stability.
He was the originator of the familiar "box-kite," which flies so
steadily even in a strong breeze. Hargrave connected four very large
kites of this sort by a cable, swung a rope seat beneath them and
succeeded in making ascents without fear of accident.

Chanute, a Frenchman, now devised a biplane glider with which he
succeeded in making brief flights of a few seconds.

The way was now paved for the coming of two great pioneers in the
history of aviation. Wilbur and Orville Wright were owners of a small
bicycle shop in Dayton, Ohio. They were men with an innate mechanical
skill and with the same dogged persistence and indifference to physical
hardships which might have brought success to Lilienthal if he had had
the time to devote to his experiments.

The Wright brothers had read with fascination accounts of the gliding
efforts of Lilienthal. They determined to set to work to solve the
problem of human flight. For two years they read and studied everything
that had been written upon the subject, and then finally they felt ready
to make a trial of a glider of their own construction. They had made up
their minds that Chanute's idea of the biplane was most practicable, and
so the machine which they built was not strictly bird form, but had two
long planes extending horizontally and parallel to each other, attached
by wooden supports. The operator or flier lay face downward in the
center of the lower plane.

Their glider was too large to be operated with the arms as Lilienthal's
had been, and so they had to devise some new method for controlling and
balancing it in the air. This they managed by the use of small auxiliary
planes, which were operated by levers and ropes. In front of the two
large planes was a small horizontal plane which could be raised or
lowered. When raised to catch the wind it gave the glider an upward
motion which carried it into the air, bringing the large planes to an
angle with the wind where they could continue the climbing process.

One of the great difficulties of the early gliders was their tendency to
turn over sidewise. Lilienthal counteracted this whenever he felt one
side of his glider falling by shifting his weight toward the highest
wing and thus pulling it down. This crude method was impossible in the
Wright biplane. The brothers set themselves to seeking a solution from
the balancing methods of birds, and right here they made a discovery
which was of the greatest importance to the progress of the airplane.
The bird when he feels one of his wings falling below the level of the
other, simply droops the rear portion of the wing which is lowest,
forming a cup or curve at the back which catches the air as it rushes
under. This increased pressure of air forces the wing up again until in
a second the bird has regained his balance. Imitating this method, the
Wright brothers constructed the planes of their glider in such a manner
that a cord fastened to the rear sections of each plane could be pulled
to draw the rear edge downward. If the left side of their machine became
lower than the right it was a simple matter to pull down the left halves
of the rear edges of the two planes, and so catch the air currents which
would force that side upward. This ingenious scheme of obtaining
sidewise or "lateral" balance is used in a modified form in airplanes
to-day, and is known as "wing-warping."

The brothers chose the coast of North Carolina as the best place for
their first attempts to fly, for there the breezes were usually not too
strong. After a good deal of difficulty they learned not only to glide,
as Lilienthal had done, but also to soar some distance into the air.
They had so far no means of turning around, but this was remedied by
fastening at the rear of the two large planes a small vertical plane
which could be moved from side to side and which served to turn the
glider.

There were three achievements in airplane construction which so far
could be placed to the credit of the Wrights. One was the _elevating
plane_ by means of which an upward or downward motion of the glider was
obtained. The second was the ingenious _wing-warping device_, for
securing stability. The third was the _rudder_, which enabled the pilot
to turn around in mid-air.

Not satisfied with what they had already accomplished, the brothers now
turned their attention to constructing a motor suitable for use in a
flying machine. This had to be exceedingly light and at the same time
strong, and some means had to be discovered for converting its power
into motion. The first engine they built was a four-cylinder petrol, and
it was used to revolve two wooden propellers acting in opposite
directions. The blades of these propellers as they churned the air, gave
"thrust" to the airplane exactly as the propellers of a ship drive it
through the water. In this new model airplane the flier no longer lay
face downward as in the old glider, but sat on a bench between the
planes, from which he controlled the action of the engine, the elevating
plane, the rudder and the wing warping arrangement by means of levers
and cords.

It was in the memorable year of 1903 that this first real airplane was
flown by the Wrights. They continued to work steadily upon the problems
of design and construction, and after many trials in the next two years,
they succeeded by 1905 in building an airplane which would actually fly
a number of miles.

They determined to offer their precious secret to some government, and
decided on France, which has always been the patron of aviation. But the
French government, after an investigation did not accept their offer,
and so, disappointed, but still dogged, they retired into silence for a
period of several years. In 1908, when their inventions had been
patented in every country, they began a series of public demonstrations
of their remarkable machine, Orville in America and Wilbur in France.

By that time, unfortunately, other pioneers had stepped forward to claim
honors in the field which they first had explored, but the Wright
biplane easily outstripped its contemporaries. Their wonderful
demonstration flights made them heroes, acclaimed by millions, and their
achievements aroused immediate and intense interest in aeronautics.




                                CHAPTER II

                      FIRST PRINCIPLES OF AN AIRPLANE


It is almost humorous that man, who for centuries had nourished the
secret ambition of acquiring wings, should have found his dream
imperfectly realized in the twentieth century by riding in a kite. For
that is all an airplane actually is. Yet a "kite" which is no longer
tied to earth by a cord and which is equipped with a motor to drive it
forward at a great speed has one decided advantage over the
old-fashioned sort. The paper kite had to wait for a favorable breeze to
catch it up and bear it aloft. We saw in the last chapter how the push
of the air against the underneath side of the kite caused it to rise. If
instead of the air current pushing against the kite, the kite had pushed
against the air, exactly the same result would have been attained. A
bird, flying in a dead calm, creates an upward pressure of air by his
motion which is sufficient to support his weight. But the bird, as he
flies forward against the air creates more resistance under the front
portion of his body than under the rear, and this increased upward
pressure would be sufficient to turn him over backward if his weight
were not distributed more toward the front of his body, in order to
counterbalance it.

This fact can be easily illustrated with a piece of cardboard. Take a
small oblong sheet of cardboard and mark a dot at its center. If the
cardboard is of even thickness this dot will be the _center of its
weight_. Now hold the cardboard very carefully in a horizontal position
and allow it to drop. It should fall without turning over, for it is
pressing down evenly on the air at all points. You might say it is
creating an upward air pressure beneath it, which is evenly distributed.
The _center_ of the supporting air pressure exactly coincides with the
center of weight. If you have not held the cardboard in a precisely
horizontal position this will not be true. The unequal air pressure will
cause it to lose its balance and "upset." This is very much the sort of
experiment that Lilienthal tried when he jumped from the top of a hill
in his glider, and it is easy to imagine how much skill he must have
required in balancing himself in order to prevent his crude contrivance
from overturning.

But now suppose that instead of dropping the piece of cardboard straight
down, we give it a _forward push_ into the air. As the cardboard moves
_forward_ it naturally creates more air resistance under the front than
under the rear, and this unequal pressure will cause it to do a series
of somersaults, before it reaches the floor. The same thing would happen
to the bird or the airplane whose weight was evenly and equally
distributed.

Now since the air pressure is greater under the front of the cardboard,
add a counterbalancing weight by dropping a little sealing wax at the
center front. The dot that you made in the middle of the sheet is no
longer its center of weight. The _center of weight_ has moved forward,
and if it now corresponds to the _center of pressure_ the cardboard can
be made to fly out and across the room without overturning.

The whole problem of balancing a glider or an airplane is simply this
one of making the center of weight coincide with the center of the
supporting air pressure. Adding weight at the front of the glider is not
the only way of doing this: perhaps the reader has already thought of
another. Since the air pressure is caused by the weight of the cardboard
and its forward motion, we could cut the sheet smaller at the front so
as to lessen its air resistance there, or we could add a "tail" at the
stern in order to create more air resistance at that end. Either of
these plans would move the _center of pressure_ back until it
corresponded with the _center of weight_, and so would complete the
balance of our cardboard glider.

In the bird's body all of these methods of obtaining balance are
combined. His body and head taper to a point at the front in order to
decrease the forward air resistance. The weight of his body is
distributed more toward the front, thus counterbalancing any tendency to
whirl over backward. His tail increases the stern resistance, thus
helping to draw the center of pressure back to correspond to the center
of weight.

We begin to see some reasons why a man equipped with wings could never
be taught to fly,--as well as how perfectly the form of the bird is
planned to correspond to his mode of travel. No wonder the early
experimenters with wings, finding themselves so utterly helpless and
awkward, attributed the bird's ease and grace of carriage to "magic."

[Illustration: DIAGRAM SHOWING THE ESSENTIAL PARTS OF AN AIRPLANE]

The modern airplane is constructed with the most painstaking attention
to this principle of _balance_. Next to it in importance is that of
_wing construction_: that is, the size, shape and proper curve of the
supporting planes. Here again the construction of the airplane follows
very closely the general form of the bird. A large bird which flew very
high would be found to have his wings arched high in front, where they
would have considerable thickness, and sloping down very rapidly toward
the rear, while their thickness rapidly diminished. This sort of wing
has great lifting power, and it is the sort that is used on an airplane
which is built to "climb" rather than to develop speed.

As the arched wing cuts through the air it leaves above it a partial
vacuum. Nature always tends to fill a vacuum, and so the airplane is
drawn upward to fill this space. As the wings cut through the air a new
vacuum is constantly created and so the airplane mounts higher and
higher. The airplane is being carried upward by two forces: the air
pressure beneath it and the vacuum above it which draws it up. The air
pressure beneath it increases with the speed at which the airplane is
traveling, and it has a tendency to press the wing into a more
horizontal position, thus destroying its climbing properties. At the
same time, when this happens, the thick front section of the wing
presents a great "head resistance" which retards progress, and a very
high speed becomes impossible.

Wings of this type can never be used on an airplane which is intended to
travel at high speed. They were used on the heavy bombing and battle
planes of the Great War, for they are capable of lifting a very great
weight. But on the scouting planes, where speed is essential, a totally
different sort of surface was employed. Here the plane is very little
arched and of almost even thickness, tapering only very slightly to the
rear edge. It also tapers somewhat at the front, so as to lessen its
"head resistance" as it cuts through the air.

Such a surface creates little vacuum above it, and consequently has not
a great lifting power. On the other hand it offers little "head
resistance" and so permits a high speed. And right here it should be
mentioned that a powerful motor does not in itself make a swift
airplane, unless the wings are right,--for if the wings create a strong
resistance _in front of the airplane_ they destroy speed as fast as the
motor generates it.

Remember that the lifting power of the airplane wing is made up of two
factors. _First_, there is the resistance or the supporting air pressure
created by the weight and speed of the wing; _second_, the arch of the
wing creates a vacuum above it which tends to lift the airplane up. Now
when for speed the arch is made very slight, the lifting power can still
be increased by increasing the _area_ of the wing, thus adding to the
upward pressure. Thus for certain war duties an airplane with very
large, comparatively flat wings can develop both a very good lifting
power and a very high speed.

We have already mentioned the "head resistance" of the airplane wing. If
the wing could strike the air in such a way as to sharply divide it into
currents flowing above and below, there would be no head resistance. But
the very arch of the wing in front gives it a certain amount of
thickness where it strikes the air, so that instead of flowing above or
below, a portion of the air is pushed along in front, retarding the
progress of the airplane. This resistance is called by aviators the
"drift." The best wing is the one which has the maximum lifting power
with the minimum head resistance, or, to use technical language, the
greatest "lift" in proportion to its "drift."

Of course, not only the wing but all parts of the airplane offer
resistance to the air. In order to reduce this total head resistance to
the minimum, every effort is made to give the body or "fuselage" of the
airplane a "streamline" form,--that is, a shape, such as that of a fish
or a bird, which allows the air to separate and flow past it with little
disturbance. For this purpose the fuselage of the airplane is usually
somewhat rounded and tapering toward the ends, often "egg shaped" at the
nose.

The method of "wing warping" invented by the Wright brothers is still
used on all modern airplanes to preserve lateral stability. The part of
the wing which can be warped is called the _aileron_. There are two
ailerons on every wing, one on each side at the rear, and they may be
raised or drawn down by the action of a lever operated by the pilot.

If the pilot feels that the left side of his machine is falling, he
draws down the aileron on that side and raises the right hand aileron.
The aileron which is lowered catches the air currents flowing beneath
the wing on that side. At the same time the raised aileron on the right
lessens the pressure under the wing on that side and so gives it a
tendency to fall. In this way, in a fraction of a minute the wings are
brought level again and lateral stability is restored.

Whereas the old Wright biplane had an elevating plane in front of the
main planes, most machines to-day have the elevating surfaces at the
rear. By raising the "elevators" an upward motion is obtained, or by
lowering them, a downward motion.

[Illustration: WRIGHT STARTING WITH PASSENGER]

Steering to right and left is accomplished by a rudder at the rear of
the airplane body or "fuselage." This rudder may be turned to right or
to left, working on a hinge.

[Illustration: AN EARLY FARMAN MACHINE PRIOR TO START]




                                CHAPTER III

                                THE PIONEERS


While the Wright brothers, lacking both funds and encouragement to
continue their remarkable project, remained, from 1905 to 1908 in almost
total obscurity--their wonderful flying machine packed away
ignominiously in a barn,--in France a number of eager experimenters were
working assiduously to outstrip them, and it was only by great good
fortune that when Wilbur Wright arrived in France in 1908 he did not
find himself beaten from the field. Actually the Wright machine was far
in advance of the early French models, and although the French, with
true spirit of sportsmanship, were quick to admit it when the fact was
demonstrated, yet prior to 1908 they had no idea that such was the case,
and were enthusiastically proud of their home-made models.

Among the very first of the French pioneers of flight was that gallant
little Brazilian, Santos-Dumont, whose exploits with the dirigible had
done so much to popularize air sports. His name was a household word
with the French, who literally lionized him. Impatient of the limited
opportunities for adventure presented by the dirigible, Santos-Dumont
cast about in his mind for some means of procuring a more agile steed
on which to perform his aerial tricks. In 1904 he became deeply
interested in the subject of gliding, and made up his mind to try a few
gliding experiments of his own. Like everything else he had attempted
his method of attacking this new problem was startlingly original.
Lilienthal and the other gliders had all made their flights above the
solid ground. Santos-Dumont liked the idea of rising from the water much
better. He ordered built for him a glider of his own design for this
particular purpose. On every clear day when the wind was favorable, the
plucky little aeronaut was out, learning to use his new-found wings. His
glider, which floated on the surface of the water, had to be towed
swiftly for some distance by a boat in order to give it the initial
speed which Lilienthal secured by taking advantage of the force of
gravity in his downward jump from the hilltop. Once he felt his speed to
be sufficient, Santos-Dumont gently inclined his wings upward to catch
the air current. To the surprise of every one he was remarkably
successful. He actually succeeded in soaring short distances, and after
a series of efforts he acquired a fair amount of skill in the use of his
glider apparatus.

The next step was to attach some motive power to his flying machine.
Before very long he had ready for trial a much more pretentious biplane
glider, equipped with an 8 cylinder motor which drove a two-bladed
aluminum propeller, and fitted with several original appliances to
increase its soaring powers and its stability. In front was a curious
arrangement resembling a box-kite, which was intended to fulfil the same
purpose as the elevating plane which the Wright brothers placed in front
of the two main planes of their machine. Santos-Dumont had experienced
the same trouble as all the other gliders: the difficulty of keeping his
machine in a horizontal position. The tiniest gust, blowing from one
side or the other, was sufficient to cause it to lose its balance, and
over it would topple sidewise. To overcome this obstacle the Wright
brothers had adopted the ingenious method of wing-warping, imitated
directly from the habits of birds. Santos-Dumont was not nearly of so
scientific a turn of mind as the two great American pioneers. Without
having gone so deeply into the subject, he determined to place upright
planes between his main planes, to ward off gusts and increase the
lateral stability. The idea was not a bad one, though far from being the
best. In the summer of 1906 he flew with his glider successfully very
short distances. In October of the same year he accomplished _a
demonstration flight of 200 feet_ at Bagatelle, near Paris. At the
present day when airplanes go soaring above our heads faster than
express trains, making long, continuous cross-country flights, that
journey of 200 feet seems humorous, but at the time it was the European
record. It aroused a great deal of popular enthusiasm, for the French,
with their vivid powers of imagination, were quick to see the
possibilities in this new, heavier-than-air contrivance. At once the
Brazilian set to work to outstrip this first achievement. This time his
originality took an entirely new turn. Instead of the biplane type he
decided on a monoplane, and he began laying out plans for a monoplane so
tiny, yet so efficient, that it was destined to become famous. But it
was several years before this miniature flier was ready, and so for a
while the idol of the French public dropped almost completely out of
sight.

In the meantime others were up and doing in France. Henry Farman, who
already had made his name famous in motor car racing, was the next to
win popular acclaim for exploits in the air. Farman was known as a man
of the most consummate daring, cool-headedness in emergency, and quick
judgment. An Englishman by birth, he had resided all his life in France,
where with his brother Maurice he had achieved an enviable reputation as
a sportsman. Farman afterward designed and constructed airplanes of his
own, but it was in one built by the Voisin brothers that he first took
to the air.

The Voisins were very ambitious indeed in their first airplane project.
The machine which they built was both large and heavy, and possessed of
many unscientific features. Like the Wrights' machine it had two large
horizontal planes, in front of which was placed a small elevating plane,
which could be inclined up or down to lift the airplane into the air or
bring it to earth again. Unlike the Wright model it had a large "tail,"
or horizontal plane at the rear, intended to give it increased
longitudinal stability. This feature represented an improvement. The
Wrights had to keep their machine on the level by raising or lowering
the front elevating plane in such a way as to counteract any pitching
motion, but the tail of the Voisin biplane gave it a great deal more
steadiness in the air. Fitted to the tail was a rudder, by which turning
to right or left was accomplished. But the Voisin brothers had no
wing-warping device on their large flier. Instead they used the upright
curtains or planes between the main planes, which we have already seen
on the machine designed by Santos-Dumont. Their airplane was equipped
with an 8-cylinder motor, which turned a large propeller.

In this large and unwieldy machine, weighing possibly 1400 pounds, Henry
Farman made a short flight in a closed circuit in 1908. At the time it
was the record flight in Europe, and the French people fondly imagined
it was the best in the world. That same year Wilbur Wright arrived on
French soil and showed them in a few astounding experiments what the
Wright biplane could do.

The successes of this tall, untalkative American, who had come over to
France and with ease made the aerial adventures of Santos-Dumont and
Farman seem like the first efforts of a baby learning to crawl, greatly
as they surprised, and, perhaps, disappointed the French people, in the
outcome had the result of spurring Frenchmen on to greater effort in the
problem of airship design. Before the end of 1908 Henry Farman, in an
improved Voisin, had wrested back the lost honors by flights which were
longer than those made by Wilbur Wright.

And other Frenchmen were hard at work. After building a number of
machines and meeting with many accidents and failures, Blériot emerged
in the summer of 1909 with a successful monoplane. At almost the same
time the Antoinette monoplane made its appearance, and soon these two
similar machines were pitted against each other in a famous contest.

The London _Daily Mail_, with the intention of stimulating progress in
aviation, put up a prize of £1000 for the first machine to fly the
British Channel. In July, Blériot brought his monoplane to Calais; and
Hubert Latham appeared as his antagonist, with an Antoinette machine.
Both of the contestants were skilled pilots, and both were men of
fearless daring. The feat which they were about to attempt required men
with those qualities, for in these pioneer days of aviation it was not
the easy task to fly the Channel which at first glance it might seem to
be. Over the Channel the winds were almost always very severe, and they
represented the greatest danger the airman had to face. The first
airplanes had so small a factor of stability that it was almost
impossible to fly them in even the gentlest breeze. The most intrepid
aviators never once thought of attempting flight in unfavorable weather.
To be overturned in crossing the Channel meant taking a big risk of
death, and both Blériot and Latham realized that they were taking their
lives in their hands in undertaking the trip. They had a long wait for
calm weather, but on July 24th conditions seemed right for a start the
next morning. Just at dawn Latham flew out across the sea and
disappeared in the distance. Not very long behind him, Blériot, having
tested with the utmost care every part of his little machine, climbed
into the pilot's seat, and with a "Good-by" to the little group of
mechanics and friends who stood about, sped away, hot on the trail.

On and on flew Latham in his larger Antoinette monoplane, and the hope
of victory began to loom big. Far out over the Channel however, his
engine suddenly "went wrong," as engines in those days had a habit of
doing, and the much feared thing happened: he began to fall. In a very
few moments the plucky pilot was clinging to his airplane, as it floated
for a few moments on the choppy sea. Before it could sink a vessel had
hurried to the rescue, and Latham was hauled on board, disappointed, but
safe.

Blériot, meanwhile, was far from being sure of his course as he flew on
steadily through the early morning haze. But his engine continued to run
smoothly, and finally far ahead, the white cliffs of England began to
emerge out of the distance. With joy in his heart the Frenchman flew
proudly in over the land and brought his airplane to the earth in the
vicinity of Dover Castle. He was greeted as a hero by the British and
the glad message of his triumph was speeded back to Calais.

Loth to be behindhand in airplane activities, America was also busily at
work developing the heavier-than-air machine, and another famous name
had by this time been added to that of the Wright brothers. By 1909
Glenn Curtiss with a group of distinguished co-experimenters had
succeeded in constructing several very interesting flying machines.
Curtiss' story is an interesting one. In 1900 he was the owner of a
small bicycle shop in Hammondsport, New York. He had a mania for speed,
having ridden in many cycling races, and it was he who first thought of
attaching a motor to a bicycle for greater speed. He soon sprang into
the limelight as a motorcyclist and a manufacturer of motorcycles. A
small factory went up at Hammondsport, and achieved a reputation for the
very good motors it turned out.

Curtiss first became interested in flying through an order he received
from Captain Thomas Scott Baldwin for a motor to be used in a dirigible
balloon. He set to work on the problem of constructing a motor suitable
for the purpose, and, as might be expected, he became fascinated with
the possibilities of flight. Curtiss and Baldwin made some very
interesting experiments with the dirigible. Then, in 1905, Curtiss made
the acquaintance of Dr. Alexander Bell. The famous inventor of the
telephone was engrossed in the study of gliding machines, and had been
carrying on a series of experiments with kites by which he hoped to
evolve a scientific airplane. To further these experiments he had called
in as associates in the work two engineers, F. W. Baldwin, and J. A. D.
McCurdy, while Lt. Thomas Selfridge of the U. S. Army was also greatly
interested.

Thus it came about that in the summer of 1907 this group of capable men
formed what they were pleased to call the "Aerial Experiment
Association," of which Curtiss was perhaps the moving spirit. The first
machine built by the Association was christened the _Red Wing_, the
second the _White Wing_; the third was called the _June Bug_, and it
proved so successful a flier that on July 4th, 1908, it was awarded the
_Scientific American_ trophy for a flight of one kilometer, or
five-eighths of a mile.

While, in France, Farman and the Voisin brothers, Latham and Blériot
were pushing steadily along the rough road to aviation successes,--in
America, the Wright brothers and Curtiss with his associates, were
demonstrating to the public on this side of the water what flying
machines could do.

In fact, the airplane had definitely begun to assert its superiority as
master of the air, and many eyes in all parts of the world were fixed on
it and on the great future possibilities for which it stood. Everywhere,
warm interest had been aroused, and, at least in France, the military
importance of the heavier-than-air machine was coming to be realized.

Now the time was ripe for the great public demonstration of the world's
airplanes which took place at Rheims in August, 1909. The Rheims Meeting
is probably the most memorable event in the history of aviation. It
placed the work of a dozen or more earnest experimenters definitely in
the limelight, and gave the chance for comparisons, for a summing up of
knowledge on the subject of flight, and for a test of strength, which
resulted in the mighty impetus to aerial progress which followed
immediately afterward.

Here at Rheims were gathered many famous flying men who already had made
their names known throughout Europe and America. There were Farman,
Latham, Paulhan, Blériot, Curtiss, and the three who flew Wright
machines, the Comte de Lambert, Lefevre and Tissandier,--as well as many
others, for there were thirty contestants in all. Many unusual feats
delighted the spectators. Lefevre, a student of the Wrights, and up to
that time unknown, amazed the assemblage by his wonderful aerial stunts.
He circled gracefully in the air, making sharp, unexpected turns with
the utmost skill, and winning round after round of applause.

Curtiss and Blériot emerged as contestants for the speed prize over 10
kilometers, and after several breathless attempts in which records were
made and broken, the honor was finally carried off by Blériot, who
covered the distance of 10 kilometers (about 6-1/4 miles) in 7 minutes,
47.80 seconds. Curtiss replied by beating his famous opponent in the
contest for the Gordon Bennett Cup, offered for the fastest flight over
20 kilometers; and Curtiss also was the winner of the 30 kilometer race.

It was Farman, in a biplane of his own design, who surprised every one
by his remarkable performance, and turned out to be the victor of the
occasion. Flying for three hours without stopping, round the course, he
covered 112 miles without the slightest difficulty, and was only forced
to make a landing because of the rapidly approaching dusk. For his feat
he was awarded the Grand Prize, and was hailed as the most successful of
all the contestants.

Finally Latham, in an Antoinette monoplane, proved he had the machine
with the greatest climbing powers, and carried off the Altitude prize on
the closing day of the meeting.

Among those who looked on at the famous Rheims Meeting of 1909 there
were none more keenly and intelligently interested than the
representatives of the French military authorities. They had come for
two reasons: to ascertain at first hand which were the best machines and
to order them for the French Government; on the other hand, to encourage
to the fullest extent possible all those men present who were earnestly
working in the interests of aviation. France was ready and willing to
spend money freely for this purpose, and the Rheims Meeting resulted in
orders for machines of several makes. Some of these were regarded as
having great possibilities from a military point of view; and others,
though not looked on so favorably, were purchased as a sign of goodwill
and support to future experiment. It was this far-seeing patronage which
paved the way for France's later aerial triumphs, for it gave her a
diversity of machines and a devoted coterie of workers all following
original lines of experiment.

Let us glance for a moment at the little group of machines which stood
out by their merits most prominently at that Rheims Meeting of 1909,
and which gave the greatest promise for the future. To-day they seem
antiquated indeed, but for all their rather curious appearance they were
the legitimate forefathers of our powerful modern airplanes. Among the
biplanes, those especially worthy of note were the Farman, the Wright,
and the Voisin; while the Blériot and Antoinette monoplanes gave a most
excellent account of themselves.

Farman, who had first learned to fly in a machine designed and built by
the Voisin brothers, was far from satisfied with his sluggish,
unmanageable steed and at once set to work on a design of his own. His
one idea was to construct a biplane of light weight, speed and general
efficiency. He did away with the box-kite tail of the Voisin model and
substituted two horizontal tail planes with a vertical rudder fitted
between them. Instead of the vertical planes or "curtains" between the
main planes by which the Voisins attempted to preserve the lateral
stability of their airplane, Farman adopted the "wing-warping" plan of
the Wrights in a somewhat modified form. The Wright machine, it will be
remembered, had wings whose rear portions were flexible, so that they
could be drawn down at the will of the pilot. If the latter felt that
the left side of his machine was falling he simply drew down or "warped"
the rear edges of the wings on that side. The air rushing under the wing
was blocked in its passage and the greater pressure thus created forced
the wing upward on the left side until balance had been restored.
Acting on this principle, Farman attached to the rear edges of the main
planes at each side a flap, or as it is called to-day, an _aileron_,
which worked on a hinge, so that it could be raised or lowered.

Another novel feature of this first Farman biplane was its method of
starting and landing. Below the planes had been placed two long wooden
skids, and to these small, pneumatic tired wheels had been attached by
means of strong rubber bands. In rising, the airplane ran along the
ground on these wheels until it had acquired the momentum necessary to
lift it into the air. When a descent was made, the force of contact with
the ground sent the wheels flying upward on their flexible bands, and
allowed the strong skids to absorb the shock. This underbody or
_chassis_ was a distinct improvement on anything that had yet been
devised, for it was light in weight and efficient.

In one other important respect the Farman machine was superior to all
those demonstrated at Rheims in 1909, and that was in its engine.
Airplane engines up to this time had been nothing more or less than
automobile engines built as light in weight as possible. But in France a
new engine had made its appearance, designed especially for airplane
needs. Hooted as a freak at the first, and rejected by experts as
"impossible," it carried Farman round the course on his three hour
flight without a hitch and made him the winner of the Grand Prize. This
remarkable engine was the Gnome and the reason for its excellence lay in
its unusual system of cooling. The overheating of his motor was a thorn
in the flesh of many an early aviator. An engine which gave good service
in an automobile would invariably overheat in an airplane because of the
constant high speed at which it must run. Now motor car engines of
whatever type, and whether water-cooled or air-cooled, had fixed
cylinders and a revolving crankshaft. In the Gnome motor the cylinders
revolved and the crankshaft was stationary. Flying through the air at
tremendous speed they necessarily cooled themselves. This was the secret
of the perfect running of the Farman biplane. Though Farman had been the
first to recognize the merits of the Gnome and install it in his
machine, he was not the last, for after the Rheims Meeting it rapidly
became the favorite of practically all builders.

Next to the Farman, the Wright machine was probably the best for
all-around service of the many demonstrated at the great meeting. Its
one greatest disadvantage was the fact that it had to be launched from a
rail. It carried no wheels--merely skids for landing--and so to gain
initial momentum it had to be placed on a small trolley which ran down a
rail. Such a method of gaining speed was exceedingly complicated, and
the question at once arises: What would the pilot do if forced to make a
landing far from his starting point? Of course it would have been quite
impossible for him to have risen into the air for a return trip, and his
machine, though in perfect condition, would have to have been packed and
carted back home.

The Voisin biplane, though improved since Farman had piloted it in
1908, was still in 1909 an overly heavy, slow flying machine, more or
less difficult to steer. It still had its "box-kite" tail and its
upright curtains between the main planes. And it carried a rather
weighty landing chassis built of hollow metal tubing, to which were
attached pneumatic-tired bicycle wheels. Small wheels were also placed
under the tail, to support it when running along the ground.

The Blériot monoplane could have claimed the honors for _simplicity_. It
had a body built up of light woodwork, over part of which fabric had
been stretched. On either side of the body extended the two supporting
planes, supported above and below by wires. In the front of the body was
the engine and at the rear extremity a small stabilizing plane. At the
ends of the stabilizing plane, on either side, were two small planes
which could be moved up and down. They took the place of the front
elevating plane employed on the other machines. Just behind the
stabilizing plane was the vertical rudder, which turned to right or
left. The wings of the Blériot had the Wright brothers' wing warping
arrangement. The pilot sat just behind the engine, operating the
controls.

Larger in wing span and longer in body than the Blériot was the
Antoinette monoplane. Like the Blériot it had its elevating planes at
the rear, and carried its engine in the bow. Instead of the wing warping
device it made use of movable flaps or _ailerons_ at the rear edges of
the wings. Another idea had been incorporated in this machine for the
purpose of maintaining lateral stability. Its wings, instead of
extending in a horizontal position from the body were inclined slightly
upward,--a plan which met with serious condemnation from the engineering
experts.

These five then, were the machines which claimed most attention in 1909,
although many others,--as for instance the R. E. P. monoplane, built by
M. Esnault-Pelterie, and the Breguet biplane--were flown at the famous
meeting.

The Rheims event had been hugely successful, and the news of the
splendid achievements of the airplane spread like wildfire throughout
the world. Smaller meetings were arranged for in other cities, and
everywhere the great aviators were called for to give exhibition
flights. In September Santos-Dumont came once more before the public
with the tiniest monoplane in existence, a little machine which he
called the _Demoiselle_, and in a series of experiments proved its
remarkable capabilities. Santos-Dumont had been residing for some time
at St. Cyr, where he had worked on his designs for the _Demoiselle_. One
of his aviator friends, M. Guffroy, was also experimenting at Buc, five
miles away. The two men agreed that the one who first completed an
airplane should fly in it to the home of the other and collect £40. In 6
minutes and 1 second Santos-Dumont covered the five miles on the 14th of
September and claimed his reward.

Orville Wright at about this time was exhibiting his airplane in Berlin
and winning new laurels before the Crown Prince and Princess of Germany.
By the middle of October he was in France, and was present at the Juvisy
Meeting, when the Comte de Lambert, leaving the course unexpectedly,
made his sensational flight over Paris, circling round the Eiffel Tower
at a height of 1,000 feet. Paris was filled with amazement and delight
at the sight of an airplane soaring over the city. It was almost an hour
before the Comte de Lambert, flying with the greatest ease, arrived once
more at the course, to be overwhelmed with congratulations.

[Illustration: WRIGHT MACHINE RISING JUST AFTER LEAVING THE RAIL]

[Illustration: AN EARLY WRIGHT MACHINE, SHOWING ITS METHOD OF STARTING
FROM A RAIL]

On November 3rd, Henry Farman made a world's record of 144 miles in 4
hours, 17 minutes and 53 seconds, wresting from Wilbur Wright the
coveted Michelin Cup. In December Blériot attempted an exhibition of his
monoplane in Constantinople, but his machine lost its balance in the
severe wind which was blowing and came crashing to earth. Though
severely wounded, the great aviator recovered rapidly, justifying the
oft-repeated superstition that he was possessed of a charmed life.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

      THE PROPELLER DEPARTMENT IN ONE OF THE GREAT CURTISS FACTORIES]

Thus the year which had meant so much in the forward march of aviation
drew to a close. Beginning at Rheims, the reputation of the
heavier-than-air machine had spread in ever widening circles throughout
all civilized lands. Most important of all, the military authorities of
several nations had opened their eyes to tremendous importance of the
airplane as an implement of warfare, and their realization of this fact
was destined to bring about new and weighty developments within the next
few years. Among the great European states only one nation slept while
the rest were up and doing, and she saw the day when, with the shadow
of war looming on the horizon, she had cause for bitter regrets.

The beginning of 1910 saw the famous aviator Paulhan in the United
States for a series of exhibition flights. On January 12th he made a
world's record for altitude, climbing at Los Angeles to a height of
4,140 feet, in a Farman machine.

In the Spring there occurred in England a memorable contest between
Paulhan and a young flier who up to that time was unheard of, but who
rapidly made a reputation for himself in aviation. The London _Daily
Mail_, which had already done so much to arouse enthusiasm for the
airplane in the British Isles, now offered a prize of £10,000 for the
first cross-country flight from London to Manchester. There arose as
England's champion Claude Grahame-White, and Paulhan with his Farman
biplane was on hand to dispute the honors with him. The distance to be
covered was about 183 miles, and the task seemed almost impossible,
largely owing to the nature of the country over which the flight must be
made. It was rough and hilly and thickly sprinkled with towns, making
the task of a forced landing a very perilous one. Engines in 1910 were
none too reliable and were apt to play strange tricks. To be forced to
descend over a town or in rough country meant a chance of serious
accident or death. Rough country moreover is apt to be windy country,
with sharp, unlooked-for gusts blowing from unexpected quarters. It was
these above all things which filled the airman's heart with dread, for
he knew only too well the limited stability of his pioneer craft.

Late in the afternoon of April 27th, Paulhan, whose biplane, in perfect
repair, was awaiting him at Hendon, near London, ascertained that the
wind was favorable, and at once rose into the air and started on his
long trip. Grahame-White had assumed that it was too late in the day to
make a start, and had left his machine, all ready for flight, at
Wormwood Scrubbs, intending to make a start in the early morning.
Shortly after six the news was brought to White that Paulhan was on his
way, and he immediately rushed to his starting point and hurried after
his rival.

Paulhan had studied every inch of the ground and knew what conditions to
expect. His earlier start gave him a great advantage, for he managed to
get farther before nightfall, and also before any adverse winds arose.
With darkness both pilots were forced to make landings, but Paulhan was
far ahead, and the prospect of victory began to wane for the plucky
young English flier. In the emergency he determined on a desperate
attempt to overcome his handicap. Night flying then was a thing unheard
of, but Grahame-White prepared to try it, however risky. At half past
two in the morning, by the wan light of the moon he arose from the field
where his machine had been landed and flew off into the murky night.

Disappointment awaited the dauntless pilot, however. He had a stern
struggle with the wind, his engine began to give trouble, and finally he
was compelled to come to earth.

Paulhan got away at dawn and being the more experienced pilot of the
two, managed, after a sharp tussle with the wind, to arrive intact at
his destination. He was greeted with wild enthusiasm and was indeed the
hero of the day.

But England was not without gratitude to her defeated airman, who in the
face of enormous difficulties, had persisted so gallantly in his effort
to uphold his country's honor in the records of aviation. Though
official England was slow to recognize the airplane's claims, the
British public showed keenest interest in all the exploits of their
sportsmen of the air, and before long there was quite a fair-sized group
of such men demanding attention.

America also had a remarkable feat to record in the summer of 1910. The
New York _World_ had offered a $10,000 prize for a flight down the
Hudson River from Albany to New York. The difficulties were even greater
than those of the London-Manchester contest, for here the airman had to
fly the entire distance over a swift stream. The high hills on either
side meant increased peril, for there were sure to be powerful wind
gusts rushing out between the gaps in the hills and seeking to overturn
the machine. If the engine should give out, there was no place to land
except in the water itself, with slight chance of escape for either the
pilot or his airplane.

Nevertheless, Glenn Curtiss, whose accomplishments at the Rheims Meeting
we have already witnessed, determined to try for the prize. His machine
was brought from Hammondsport to Albany ready for a start, and on May
31, after a long wait for favorable atmospheric conditions, he was on
his way. A special train steamed after him, carrying newspaper reporters
and anxious friends, but he left it far in the distance while he flew
swiftly down the Hudson. Villagers and boatmen waved and shouted to him
as he passed. At one point he encountered an air "whirlpool" that almost
sucked him down, but he succeeded in righting his machine and getting on
his way again. Near Poughkeepsie he made a landing to obtain more fuel,
and from there he flew straight on to his journey's end, reaching New
York City and descending in a little field near Inwood.

In July of 1910 came the second big Rheims Meeting, to show what
unprecedented advances had been made in one short year. Almost 80
contestants appeared, as compared with the 30 of 1909. Machines were in
every way better and some very excellent records were made. The
Antoinette monoplane flew the greatest distance (212 miles), and also
reached the greatest height; while a new machine, the Morane monoplane,
took the prizes for speed.

Meanwhile the French Army had been busy training aviators and securing
new machines. In the Fall these were tried out at the Army Maneuvers in
Picardy, and for the first time the world saw what military airplanes
really could accomplish. In the sham warfare the army pilots flew over
the enemy's lines and brought back astonishingly complete reports of the
movements of troops, disposition of forces, etc. The French military
authorities themselves, enthusiastic as they had been over the
development of the airplane, had not anticipated such complete success.
They were delighted with the results of their efforts, and a strong
aerial policy was thereupon mapped out for France.

England at this date possessed _one_ military airplane, and it was late
before she awakened to the importance of aviation as a branch of
warfare.

Germany, Italy, Russia, and America were looking on with keen interest,
but for a while France maintained supremacy over all in her aerial
projects. By the end of the following year she had over 200 military
machines, with a competent staff of pilots and observers.

To follow the course of aviation achievement we must now go back to
England, where in July, 1911, another big _Daily Mail_ contest took
place. This time the newspaper had put up a prize of £10,000 to be won
by flying what was known as the "Circuit of Britain." This had been
marked out to pass through many of the large cities of England, Scotland
and Ireland. There were seventeen entrants for the contest, which was
won by a lieutenant of the French navy, named Conneau. Cross-country
flights were growing longer and longer, keeping pace with the rapid
strides in the development of the airplane. Still another contest during
1911 was the "Circuit of Europe," which lay through France, Belgium and
England; while a flight from Paris to Rome and one from Paris to Madrid
served to demonstrate the growing reliability of the aircraft.

Money had always flowed freely from French coffers for this favorite of
all hobbies. At the Rheims Meeting in October of 1911 the Government
offered approximately a quarter of a million dollars in prizes for
aerial feats and in orders for machines. Representatives from many
countries visited the meeting to witness the tests of war airplanes.

In the two years since the first Rheims Meeting many vast changes had
taken place. Pilots no longer feared to fly in high winds; machines were
reliable, strong and swift. A number made non-stop flights of close on
to 200 miles, and showed as well remarkable climbing abilities.

It was the Nieuport monoplane which led all others at this Rheims
Meeting. To-day the name of Nieuport is familiar to every one, for the
little scout machines carried some of the bravest pilots of France and
America to victory in the air battles of the Great War. Even in 1911 the
Nieuport monoplane was breaking all records for speed. Carrying both a
pilot and a passenger it flew as fast as 70 miles an hour at Rheims.

Another new machine that attracted attention was the Breguet biplane, a
heavy general service machine weighing 2420 pounds and carrying a 140 h.
p. Gnome motor. The Gnome had so far outdistanced all competitors that
it had virtually become the universal motor for airplanes, and, many of
those seen in 1911 were equipped with it. Since then vast improvements
have been made in stationary engines but at that time they almost
entirely failed to meet the requirements of light weight, high power and
reliability.

One development in the biplanes of 1911 cannot be passed over, for it
bears a very interesting relation to their efficiency as war machines.
Any one who has seen a photograph of one of the early biplanes must have
been struck by the curious kite-like appearance it presented, due to the
fact that it had no _body_ or fuselage, but only two large planes,
connected by strong wooden supports, and usually with a seat for the
pilot in the center of the lower plane.

It was in the monoplane that a car or airplane body first made its
appearance, and to it the wing surfaces of the monoplane were strongly
braced with wires. Many of the biplanes of 1911 had adopted the idea and
in consequence began to take on a more modern appearance. It was a
thoroughly good idea, for by means of its greater stability and strength,
protection for the pilot and general efficiency were obtained. Biplanes
of this type now carried their engines in the fuselage bow with the
pilot's seat just behind it, while instead of the _front_ elevating
plane of the earlier models, the elevating surfaces were at the rear of
the fixed tail plane. The Breguet was one of these progressive type
biplanes of 1911. Constructed very largely of steel, it had a long,
tapering body with its controlling planes--rudder and elevators--at the
rear. Instead of a number of wooden supports between the planes the
Breguet had exactly four reliable struts.

Henry Farman developed a military biplane in 1911 which had one
particularly new feature. Instead of the upper main plane being placed
exactly above the lower it had been moved slightly forward or
"staggered"--giving it an overhang in front. The idea was that this gave
a greater climbing power and was helpful in making descents, though the
point has never been satisfactorily proved.

Until 1911 Germany had pinned her faith almost wholly to the Zeppelin as
the unit for the aerial fleet which she had hoped to build up, and she
had confidently expected it to prove its superiority to the
heavier-than-air machine in the event of war. No funds had been spared
to rush the work of designing and constructing these huge air monsters.
Carefully and quietly the perfecting and standardizing of the Zeppelin
under government supervision had moved forward, and German engineers had
not been behindhand in designing engines particularly suitable to
aircraft. While France was amusing herself with the clever little
monoplanes and biplanes of the pioneer days--machines which could fly
but a few yards at low altitude, Germany, possibly with the dream of
world conquest tucked away in her mind, was sparing no expense to get
ready her fleet of lighter-than-air craft. Imagine her chagrin when the
feeble winged birds of 1908 and 1909 became the soaring eaglets of 1911,
swiftly circling the sky, swooping, climbing and performing aerial
tricks which made the larger and clumsier Zeppelin appear as agile as a
waddling duck.

Whatever the feelings of the German military authorities were on the
subject, they wasted no time in crying over spilt milk, but at once
began a policy of construction by which they hoped soon to outstrip
their brainier French neighbors. As in everything German, _method_ was
the characterizing feature of the airplane program they instituted.
France had sought to encourage makers of all types of planes, and thus
obtain a diversity of machines of wide capabilities. The plan did not
appeal to Germany. From the very beginning she aimed at reducing
everything to a fixed standard and then turning out airplanes in large
numbers. When the War broke out it seemed for a time that she had been
right, but it was not long before she looked with sorrow upon the sad
lack of versatility of her fleet of standardized biplanes. They were
hopelessly outdistanced and outmaneuvered by the small, fast fighting
machines of the French, while they were by no means so strong as the
heavy service planes the French could put into the air.

Italy, Austria, Russia, America and Japan began also to make plans for
the building of aerial fleets about 1911. The Italian Government relied
at first on machines secured from France, or on those copied from French
designs. Soon her own clever engineers began to be heard from and she
was responsible for developing several of the powerful modern types.
Russia would scarcely seem a country where aerial progress might be
expected, yet she has given a good account of herself in aviation, and
one of her machines, the giant _Sikorsky_ did splendid work on the
several fronts during the war.

I. I. Sikorsky, the inventor of the big Sikorsky machine was a little
while ago merely a clever student at the Kieff Polytechnic. Like many
other young men he dreamed of aerial conquest, but received little
encouragement in carrying out his projects. At twenty-four, however, he
became a student aviator, and almost immediately began work on original
airplane designs. He succeeded in building a small monoplane which in
some ways resembled the Blériot, except in its habits of flight. In
these it was quite balky, refusing to fly except in short hops and
jumps. Sikorsky's friends good-naturedly nicknamed it _The Hopper_. But
the young student was not one wit daunted. He plugged along steadily at
new designs, and in the autumn of 1910 he actually took to the air in a
tractor biplane of his own construction. Several other machines of
somewhat the same type followed, and his efforts finally won the
attention of the great Russo-Baltic Works. They offered him financial
assistance to carry on his study of the airplane problem. With this
backing Sikorsky moved forward to sure success. In the meantime he had
secretly prepared plans for an enormous airplane which at first he dared
not divulge for fear of ridicule and disappointment. Finally he took
courage and laid them before his friends at the Russo-Baltic Works.
Whatever they may have thought of his wild scheme of air supremacy they
consented to give it a tryout, and in the Spring of 1913 the first of
the giant "Sikorsky" machines stood awaiting a flight. It was viewed
with grave misgivings by a number of experts, but to their frank
surprise it took to the air with ease and flew well. The sight was a
strangely impressive one. In wing span the big machine measured almost
92 feet, while the body or _fuselage_ was over 62 feet long. The weight
of the amazing monster flying machine was 4 tons. In the forward part of
the fuselage cabins had been fitted, with a small deck on the bow. The
fuselage construction was of wood, with a strong 8-wheeled landing
chassis beneath it. Four 100 h. p. German "Argus" engines, driving four
tractor propellers sent it racing triumphantly through the air. Its
weight lifting ability was enormous, and it made a world record for
flight.

Prodigious as this first great master of the air had seemed it was
followed in 1913 by one still larger. The new machine was to the fullest
extent an aerial wonder. Its enormous body consisted of a wooden
framework covered with canvas, and in its interior a series of cabins
were provided. There were three decks: the main one in the center of the
fuselage, designed to carry heavy armament of machine guns and a
searchlight; a small deck at the stern; and one set in the
undercarriage, where additional heavy armament could be placed. Only a
few months before the storm of war broke over Europe this Air Leviathan
was born, and at the time no one suspected it would so soon be called
into active service. In the Spring of 1914 it made flight after flight,
scoring a succession of triumphs by its record breaking performances,
and winning for its designer a decoration from the Emperor.

Sikorsky was a man of wealth but so recklessly did he lavish his
personal funds on his airplane ventures that on many occasions he came
very near to want as a result. It was no unusual thing to see him during
those years of reckless experiment, braving the bitter winter weather of
Russia in threadbare garments, shivering, but grimly and sternly
determined. Then came the War, and at the first call his machines were
ready to prove themselves in the battle against the Hun.




                                CHAPTER IV

                       THE AIRPLANE IN THE WORLD WAR


Picture to yourself a scene outside one of the Allied hangars or
airplane sheds, just back of the front lines, while the Great War is in
progress. It is early morning, gray and chilly. Small fighting machines,
which their trusty mechanics have carefully gone over for the tiniest
flaw, now stand ready to take to the air. Pilots, wrapped in their heavy
clothing--leather jacket, helmet and overcoat, gloves, goggles and
muffler--prepare to face the frigid atmosphere above the clouds. The
whirr of the motor, a short run over the ground, and up they go, one by
one, until they become so many blackbirds, driving and looping and
skimming through the sky. Over in this corner is a large reconnaissance
machine, with pilot and observer, waiting to ascend. It is one of a
squadron that will fly over the German lines to take photographs of the
enemy's positions. With its rapid-firing machine guns it is prepared to
give battle to the swifter enemy craft that will flash out to challenge
its onward flight. Its rôle is a difficult one. It cannot climb to
safety as the fighting machine can do and then swoop down on its enemy
from a favorable height. Its duty is to bring back accurate views of the
territory on the other side of No Man's Land. No matter what the
dangers, it must fly straight on, sticking close enough to earth to
accommodate its camera's range, and deviating as little as possible
from its course, though the enemy's speed scouts blacken the air with
bullets and the anti-aircraft guns spit at it maliciously from below.
All the machines in the squadron may not return, and there will be
vacant chairs at the dinner table to-night when those pilots who have
braved the stern hardships of the day relate their little experiences
with the Hun. But those who do come back will bring information which
will enable the Allied commanders to plan with intelligence the next
move in the battle that is raging.

A tour of inspection would disclose still other machines, large and
small, each designed and equipped for its special duties over the lines.
There are heavy, slower-flying day "bombers," and--silent this morning
but waiting patiently for the curtain of night to descend,--enormous
night bombing machines, the fiercest and hugest of all the great birds
of the flying force. To-night, under cover of darkness these machines
will speed upon their way, far over the enemy's lines. They carry fuel
for a journey of many hours' duration, and heavy bombs which they will
drop upon railway junctions, ammunition factories, staff headquarters
and important positions deep in the territory of the Hun. Before they
turn their noses homeward they will have crossed over the borders of
Germany, and along their silent course fires will shoot up and enemy
supplies and storehouses will be smoldering ruins when day breaks.
Unlike the night bombing machines of the Germans these great Allied
aircraft will not drop their missiles upon open towns along the Rhine,
nor will they leave behind them any toll of little children and
civilians maimed and killed by their brutality. Their instructions are
to bomb military objectives only, and when they have done that they will
fly back silently through the night, passing over quiet villages and
towns, where the sleeping inhabitants never will know that the great
blackbirds have hovered so close to them.

When the War broke out airplanes were not planned so carefully nor
equipped so fully for their special duties as they are to-day. Nobody
foresaw exactly what those duties would be, and nobody once dreamed that
the battalions of the air would play the tremendous rôle they have
played in deciding the great struggle. Even Germany, who had been
secretly planning and working and preparing for so long, had very little
conception of the actual importance of her heavier-than-air machines.
She neglected to use them entirely when she began her swift stride
across Belgium. That piece of neglect lost her the prize, for the plucky
Belgians, seizing the opportunity, marshalled their air forces, a small
handful of airplanes, and used them to good advantage in discovering the
intentions of the enemy. By means of her air force, Belgium was enabled
to hold back for awhile the onrushing tide of the Hun armies, until
France could bring her men into the field and the "contemptible little
army" of Britain could be hurried across the Channel.

As the air forces were the deciding factor in that first great
onslaught, so they have remained during the whole struggle. They began
as mere scouting machines, but they have taken upon themselves more and
more duties, until at the present time they are used for a multitude of
purposes, and are fitted with the most perfect equipment to carry out
their various ends.

Airplanes have often been called the "eyes of the army," but in war it
is not sufficient to be able to _see_ what the enemy is doing or is
about to do. You must also be able to keep him from knowing what your
plans are. So, there are the machines whose duty is to "see" and those
whose duty is to "put out the eyes of the enemy." These latter must keep
an eternal vigilance over the lines, on the lookout for enemy craft.
When one is spotted they dash out after it, pursue it back to its lines
and prevent it from performing its mission of reconnaissance. Nor are
they satisfied merely to drive it off, they follow and give fight. Over
there against the sky you see a little puff of smoke and flame that goes
shooting down to the horizon. It is an enemy plane that will never again
come spying upon Allied troops. Perhaps a group of fast German fighting
machines dart out unexpectedly to avenge it, and then there is a
terrible battle in the clouds, with every machine that is in the air
hurrying to the skirmish. You try to follow their swift movements as
they loop and dart and dive, but all you can see is a rapid confusion of
wings, and now and then a machine that separates itself from the general
mêlée and goes crashing to earth.

Not the least dangerous of the many services the airplane is performing
is that of the artillery "spotter." It belongs to some particular
battery whose guns are thundering away at the enemy. Hovering above No
Man's Land, where its position is a trifle too exposed to be
comfortable, it radiographs back to the gunners the exact locations of
important objectives, then watches the firing and reports the results.
Thanks to it the big guns do not speak in vain, and almost every shot is
a direct "hit."

And then there are the dreadnaughts of the sky who actually take part in
an attack, flying low over the lines and attacking the enemy infantry
with guns and with death-dealing bombs. They must run the gauntlet of
the enemy's fire, but on the other hand they spread terror and confusion
in the ranks of the soldiers massed below, distracting their attention
and leaving them open to the surprise of a sudden onslaught of Allied
troops.

There are other machines which help in an attack by keeping the various
parts of the long line in close communication with each other, so that
all efforts are in unison. Their duties correspond in a way to those of
the swift horseback rider we read of in the stories of old wars, who
sped with news of great import from one commander to another. Only that
the airplanes of to-day are so much more efficient than the gallant
horseback rider of old, that although the line stretches across a
nation, it can act as a man when the moment comes for a big "push."

Long before the war Germany had been busy turning out airplanes in
large numbers in her factories, and in August, 1914, her air force was
far superior in numbers to that of her great opponent France. She fondly
imagined that she would be able with the greatest ease to put out her
enemy's eyes, but in this she failed utterly. In spite of her military
program of construction, according to which airplanes were turned out as
if by clock-work, there was something wrong with her calculations. It is
amusing to look back and see how German "method" had been carried to the
absurd point of defeating itself. In manner truly characteristic, the
Hun had standardized his airplane down to the last bolt. Every machine
turned out was of exactly the same pattern, and built up of exactly the
same parts--parts which could be manufactured in large quantities and
put together with unusual speed. It was certainly _system_ raised to the
_n_th degree. And the machines themselves were good enough--sturdy
biplanes intended to be maids-of-all-work over the front lines. Yet in a
little while after the fighting had begun, Germany withdrew them in more
or less chagrin, and set herself to constructing others of varied
patterns. They were well made and splendidly equipped, but they were not
sufficiently _specialized_ for the many different kinds of work they
were called on to perform.

France had a motley array of airplanes of every size, shape and make
when the war broke out. They had varying systems of control, so that a
pilot who flew one with ease was nothing more than a novice when he
stepped into another. He did not know how its new set of levers
operated, nor how the plane would behave in the air. Moreover, the parts
for these French airplanes and for their engines had been specially
designed by each maker, and were quite unsuitable for any other type of
machine. The result was that when a machine had to be repaired at the
front, it was "laid up" for a long time, while the special part it
required was being ordered and made for it. When finally it arrived,
very often there had been some mistake, and so there was another long
period of uselessness. France had prided herself on her versatility in
airship design. She now had cause to regret it as she viewed the almost
helpless confusion it had caused in her air service. Her machines,
moreover, were much inferior to the German in armament, speed and
climbing gauges, cameras, and all the hundreds of accessories which gave
the German machines their initial advantage. But experience is the best
teacher, and no sooner had she seen wherein she fell short than
dauntless France mustered all her resources to correcting past mistakes.
Order was brought out of confusion, and it was only a very little while
before the German war lords had need to look to their laurels, for the
Frenchmen were far outstripping them in the air.

There was one "accessory" which the airplane of the Hun lacked, and
which all his mechanical skill and ingenuity were not able to provide:
_a pilot with the dash and daring of the French!_ Even in those first
dark days when the French planes were the equals of their adversaries
neither in numbers nor in capabilities,--a continuous stream of gallant
French pilots took to the air and proved that they could surprise and
outmaneuver their slower-thinking opponents. While they held the line in
their inferior craft, French manufacturers were rushing newer and better
equipped machines to reenforce them.

Great Britain was far behindhand in aircraft production when the trumpet
of war sounded,--in fact, her air force was considered a negligible
quantity by friend and foe alike. By dint of persevering search she
managed to scrape up a small group of planes of many makes and for the
most part antiquated. She sent them--along with her "contemptible little
army "--to France, and there they succeeded in holding their own during
the first great German push. When the Stories of heroic fighting against
hopeless odds, of British airmen flinging their lives in challenge
against the foe in the great air struggle, began to reach home, the
British lion repented his tardiness and a program of aircraft
construction on a large scale was instituted without delay.

In carefully standardizing those first airplanes there was one point
which the crafty Germans overlooked: which is, that you can't make a
dray horse run fast, nor a race horse draw heavy burdens. The same thing
holds good with the "steeds" of the air. A plane which is designed for
great speed is never as good a burden bearer as one which is built to
lift heavy weights at the expense of swiftness in flight. As soon as the
duties of the airplane began to be specialized, the airplane itself
began to appear in certain definite types.

Now of course the duties of the airplane in wartime are numberless, but
out of the early confusion _three_ types of machines were finally
evolved, which, with the addition of equipment, such as a camera,
machine guns, etc., are suitable for practically any sort of work over
the land. They are:

1. The high speed fighting machines.

2. The reconnaissance machines.

3. The bombing machines (including the day and the night bombers).

Of all military airplanes there is none so fond of "aliases" as the high
speed fighting machine. Possibly in order to baffle the uninitiated, or
to surround itself with an atmosphere of uncertainty and romance, it
goes by first one title and then another. Most often we hear it called a
_speed scout_, perhaps for the reason that _it does no scouting!_ At
other times it masquerades proudly under the fine French titles of
"Avions de Chasse" or "Avions de Combat." It is referred to as a
"chaser," a "pursuit machine," a "battle plane" and a "combat
machine"--but whatever it is _called_, in type it is the small, fast
airplane, usually a single seater, quick in climbing, agile as an
acrobat, able to "go" high and far,--for its duty is to run every enemy
machine out of the sky and sweep the board clean before the heavier
service machines begin their tasks of the day. It should be able to
reach a height of from 18,000 to 23,000 feet, or in the language of the
air, it must have a high "ceiling." From altitudes so tremendous that
they awe the mere earthly pedestrian it swoops down upon its
unsuspecting victim, opening upon him a stream of machine gun fire. For
its pilot is also a skilled gunner and a crack shot. Upon his ability to
maneuver his machine swiftly and cleverly and hit his target unerringly
depends his own life and the life of a costly military airplane.

The reconnaissance machines and the bombing planes may do valuable
service,--and indeed they invariably do--but it is the "speed scout"
that covers itself with glory. The reason is that its career brings it
nearer to the "personal combat" of the knights of old than anything in
modern warfare. Driving his swift Nieuport scout as a knight would have
ridden his charger, the beloved Guynemer went forth to challenge the
German fighters,--and other Frenchmen and Englishmen and Americans have
followed him. It is a fact beyond all question that this branch of the
service has produced some of the most truly unselfish and heroic figures
of the whole war. The "speed scout" pilot did not need to be a man
deeply versed in military affairs--as for instance the pilot and
observer of the reconnaissance machine must be,--but he did need
dauntless courage, unfailing nerves of steel, dash and daring and
contempt for his own safety. So wherever the "speed scout" has blazed
its trail of fire across the sky, there have sprung up the names of men
whose heroic deeds have made them the idols of the whole world. Usually
they have been very young men--young enough for their ideals to have
kept fresh and untarnished from the sordid things of life, and thus they
have written their names among the immortals.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

  A PHOTOGRAPH OF NORTHERN FRANCE TAKEN AT A HEIGHT OF THREE THOUSAND
  FEET]

Less appealing to the imagination, perhaps, but no less vital to the
progress of modern warfare, is the slower flying reconnaissance craft.
This machine is always a two-seater, and sometimes a three, for at the
very minimum it must carry a pilot and an observer, while a gunner is a
very convenient third party in case of an attack from enemy scouts. This
type of machine is used for photographic work, for artillery "spotting,"
and for many general service duties over the lines. In the early days of
the war it was customary for the photography airplane to be escorted on
its mission by a group of fighting machines, who hovered about it and
engaged in battle any airplanes of the enemy that might seek to
interrupt its important work. But the last year or so have brought many
improvements in airplane construction and it has been found possible to
build a machine which can not only carry the heavy photographic
apparatus and a couple of machine guns, but which can also travel at a
good speed and climb fast enough to escape from the anti-aircraft guns.
Instead of the rather helpless, clumsy, slow-flying reconnaissance
machines of the early part of the war, we now have powerful "aerial
dreadnaughts," which no longer need to run away, but can stay and fight
it out when they are interrupted in the course of their air duties.

Military photography is one of the most fascinating of the side issues
of the war. Before the day of the airplane it was the scout or spy who
worked his way secretly into the enemy's lines and at great personal
risk,--and often after many thrilling adventures, if the story books are
to be believed--brought back to his commanding officer news of the
disposition of troops, etc., in the opposing camp. To-day the spy's job
has been taken away from him. No longer is it necessary for him to creep
under cover of night past the guard posts of the enemy. A big,
comfortable and efficient airplane flies over the ground by broad
daylight and collects the necessary information a great deal better than
the spy ever could have secured it.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

       AN AIRPLANE VIEW OF THE CITY OF RHEIMS, SHOWING THE CATHEDRAL]

A reconnaissance camera has very little in common with a kodak. The
observer does not tilt it over the edge of the machine, focus it on some
interesting object and "snap" his picture. As a matter of fact it works
more after the manner of a gun. It is fixed in the bottom of the
airplane, facing downward. The observer has been instructed before
leaving the ground that a certain area or trench is to be photographed.
Straight to the beginning of that trench line the pilot heads his
machine. The observer compares the country over which he is flying with
the chart or map which he carries. Just as a gunner sights a target, he
locates the beginning of the trench line to be photographed through a
bull's eye, and immediately pushes the button which sets the camera
working. From that point the camera operates automatically, taking a
series of overlapping pictures of the country it looks down upon. With
calm determination the pilot holds his machine to the course laid out,
in spite of any opposition that may arise in his path, for the slightest
deviation from that fixed line of flight will mean a gap in the
reconnaissance report which the pictures represent. But once he has
covered the required area, he turns and flees. In less time than it
takes to tell that magazine of films is being developed in a dark room.
From there the printed pictures are rushed to an expert interpreter who
reads the secret meanings of the things he sees--this or that dark
blotch or peculiar looking speck suggests to his trained mind a machine
gun nest, a railroad center, an observation post, a barbed wire
entanglement, a camouflaged battery, an ammunition dump, or what-not.
Pasted together so that they give a continuous view of the foe's
territory, the printed pictures are hurried to headquarters, where in a
few brief moments their message has been turned into a command to the
troops. By the word that those pictures bring the battle is directed,
and the blow is aimed straight at the enemy's vital spots.

Occasionally instead of a series of photographs of a trench line or
limited area, a continuous set of pictures of a broad space of country
is desired. Then instead of a single machine as described above, a
squadron of reconnaissance machines set forth, flying in V formation,
with the leader of the squadron flying in front at the point of the V.
The moment he reaches the area to be photographed, he notifies the
machines behind him by firing a smoke rocket with a signal pistol. At
that signal the V broadens instantly, so that it becomes almost a
straight line, the commander keeping only slightly ahead so that he may
lead the way. On and on that broad V formation of airplanes sweeps,
every camera registering, and all keeping close enough together to
produce slightly overlapping photographs. Each machine will bring home
a long line of pictures of the country over which it passed, and those
lines, pieced together, will make a large military map of the entire
region. That is if everything goes smoothly, which in war time it seldom
does. More likely that plucky V will be pounced upon by a herd of fast
fighting machines whose duty it is to see that none ever return with
their information to headquarters. There will follow a terrific contest;
the observer in the reconnaissance machine becomes a gunner, and fires
away at his pursuers, while the never-failing camera keeps steadily on
with its job of recording. As nearly as possible the V formation is
held, for much depends upon it, but suddenly a great gap appears in the
line. "Done for" with a direct hit, one brave machine goes crashing
earthward. That will mean a gap in the "map" that is in the making.
Still the V presses on relentlessly. One of the planes begins to lag
behind. There is something wrong with its engine. It does its best to
keep up with its fellows, but soon it is left behind, and the enemy
craft dive after it. Battered and torn, its numbers depleted sadly,
several of its crew wounded, its wings perhaps riddled with bullets, the
photographing squadron turns its face toward home, and, flying now as
high as possible to keep out of sight, puts on all speed for the safe
side of No Man's Land. Military photography _sounds_ easy and
comfortable. It _demands_ the type of courage which can make a man stick
to a given line of flight, even when certain death lies straight ahead.

Sometimes a machine carries both bombs and a camera, and, as it drops
its missiles, keeps a continuous record of its "hits" to carry home. And
that brings us to the bombing machine, last but not least of the trio of
military airplanes.

The bomber that works by day and near to its own lines, is similar to
the reconnaissance machine, except that it does not usually carry a
radio apparatus or a camera. Instead, the greater part of its cargo
consists of bombs, dread instruments of destruction which will fall on
the railroad junctions, troop trains, staff headquarters or ammunition
dumps of the enemy. The day bomber is never used for long distance work,
and so it does not need to be of tremendous size, as the machine which
must carry fuel for an all night run as well as a large quantity of
bombs to drop on a far away important objective.

The night bomber is the giant of the sky. The greatest genius of the
cleverest designers has been expended upon its construction. More and
more its tremendous importance is being recognized. Its activities
precede every great offensive movement, for it flies over the enemy's
country, leaving a trail of terrible destruction in its wake, and
"preparing the soil" for the infantry advance. Deep in the territory of
the foe it searches out the great supply centers and railway terminals
and there it unloads its cargo of bombs.

If the Allies had possessed a sufficient number of these huge bombing
planes they could have carried on an aerial warfare against Germany
which would have defeated her without nearly so great a sacrifice of the
lives of the infantry. The work is dangerous, but a single bombing plane
could have wreaked more vengeance upon the Hun than perhaps a whole
regiment of the bravest fighters. Consequently its use would have meant
economy of human lives.

These fearful shadows that walk by night require pilots of the utmost
skill to navigate the sea of darkness, as well as bomb droppers and
gunners whose training has been perfect. The largest of them are
equipped with either two or three powerful engines, each working a
separate propeller. Such a machine can carry as much as five tons of
explosives, with fuel for a twelve hours' flight.

The night bomber is very often a huge triplane, for the extra wing
surface gives greater lifting power. At the same time the triplane has
greater stability and has a fair chance of reaching home even when one
of its planes has been badly damaged. It is the same with a machine
which has two or more engines: even when one of these has been put out
of order by the shots of the enemy the airplane can still reach home.
The night bombers must travel long distances, carry great cargos, bomb
their objectives and make their escape, and so in the construction of
their machines as much stability, lifting power and speed as possible
has been the aim.

Usually it is some important munition base or factory center that is
supplying the German troops, which the airmen set out to bomb. They
travel in squadrons not only for safety, but because in this way an
almost unlimited number of bombs can be carried and dropped
simultaneously. Often a second squadron follows the first at a short
distance. By the light of the terrible fires that the first set of
explosives dropped are bound to start, this second squadron can drop its
bombs with greater precision directly on important buildings that must
be destroyed.

Moving slowly under their great load of explosives, and flying low,
these two squadrons of destroyers start for some point in the heart of
the German Empire. Like ghosts they "feel their way" mile after mile.
They are not anxious to invite detection, for under the great weight of
their "messages" to Germany, they would not be able to maneuver quickly
or to climb to safety.

Once those tons of explosives have been released and the noise of their
dreadful havoc has aroused the anti-aircraft gunners of the enemy, those
bombing planes will find the earth an uninviting sort of region and they
will be glad to spring into the protecting silence and darkness of the
upper air. And this they can do easily, for, rid of their load, they
possess unusual climbing powers. The second squadron of bombers, flying
over the same territory may expect a warm reception, and they will need
to do their work quickly and beat a hasty retreat.

Such are the mysterious doings of the night. When the early dawn
appears, gray and heavy eyed, it will find the bombing planes tucked
away drowsily in their hangars, scarcely knowing themselves whether the
journey up the Rhine was a reality or merely a terrifying dream.

And with the dawn their daylight sisters will take up the work near
home. Word has just come that enemy reinforcements are moving up to the
front along certain roads. "Fine," sings out a young lieutenant,
appearing unexpectedly on the field from a small, carefully camouflaged
office. "We will make them dance for us this morning!" He talks quickly
and determinedly with a group of pilots, giving instructions, charging
all to keep the formation. Machines are gone over to make sure that
everything is in perfect condition. Then the first bombing plane,
bearing the flight leader, "taxis" across the field, appearing to
stagger under its great burden. Suddenly it takes to the air, and like a
large graceful bird, its clumsiness all gone, it soars up into the blue.
Rapidly the other big birds follow suit, and at a signal they are off,
the flight commander heading the group, and the others following in
close formation, like a huge flock of wild geese.

On and on they fly, until beneath them appears the winding ribbon of
road that is their objective. It is crowded with marching troops, gun
wagons, supplies. As they swoop close to the earth they catch a swift
glimpse of white faces turned up at them with terror. Then panic falls
upon the marching column and, helter-skelter, every man tries to break
away to a point of safety. In another moment guns are turned upon the
bombers, but they dodge the flying shells and let go their heavy
explosives, which crash to earth with dreadful uproar. Where a few
moments before the Huns were following their way undisturbed there is
now a road in which great furrows are plowed; huge holes gape open and a
hopeless mass of débris covers the earth. The columns of the enemy will
be blocked for many hours while the mass is being cleared away.
Satisfied with the results of their exploit the bombing squadron turns
swiftly toward home.

How simple a matter it seems at first glance to release a bomb and hit a
given point below. Actually it requires the very highest skill. To begin
with, the airplane is moving at tremendous speed, and the bombardier (as
the man who drops the bombs is called) has to know exactly how the
forward motion of the airplane will affect the direction that the bomb
takes on its course toward the earth. Moreover the bomb has a speed at
starting equal to the speed of the airplane, and this beginning speed is
increased by the action of gravity drawing it down. It may be aided in
its journey by the wind or retarded, according to the wind's direction,
and this too must be taken into account, if the target is to be hit.
Bomb dropping can only be carried out successfully with the aid of the
most delicate and complicated range-finding mechanism, with which every
bombing plane is equipped. The Germans have led the way in inventions
for this purpose, and their Goertz range finder is perhaps the best in
the world.

The bombs themselves are generally carried in vertical position,
one-above another, in the body of the airplane, and by an automatic
arrangement, as one is released, another slips into place, ready to be
dropped.

Now that we have made the acquaintance of the three types of machines
that are used over the trenches--the "speed scout" or small fighting
machine; the larger armed reconnaissance plane; and largest of all, the
bomber--let us go back and give just a hasty glance at the main points
of their construction.

First we must recall the "A B C facts" we learned about wing
construction. A wing gains lifting power from two sources: the upward
pressure of the air current underneath it, and the force of the vacuum
above it which is created by the arch of the wing. If a wing is only
slightly arched it can move _forward_ through the air more swiftly, but
it will not have the _lifting power_ of the high arched wing. This is
the reason that an airplane which must be a weight carrier cannot be as
fast in flight as the "speed scout," which has only its pilot and a
machine gun to carry.

The "speed scout" is always a small machine, usually a single-seater,
with a gun in front that fires over or through the propeller. In the
early part of the Great War it was most often a monoplane, but the
smaller biplane took its place, because, with practically the same
speed, it combines greater stability.

The planes of the speed scout are very flat as compared with those of
the reconnaissance craft. This airplane must carry machine guns,
photography apparatus, radio, and a pilot, an observer, and often a
gunner. Its wings must therefore be arched to give it lifting power, but
at the same time it becomes a much slower flying machine than its
smaller sister.

Lifting power of a wing can of course be increased _up to a certain
point_ by increasing the wing area, so that a greater air pressure is
created below. Beyond that certain point the machine would become
unwieldy and would lose its balancing properties. Yet this idea has been
put into practise in building the latest types of aerial dreadnaughts
used for reconnaissance. These airplanes have gained their lifting power
partly by increasing the wing spread and partly by arching the wing.
Thus a wing has been secured which offers the minimum resistance to
forward motion through the air, together with the maximum weight
carrying ability. Biplanes of this type are by far the most popular of
those designed for general service, for they combine speed, climbing
ability, and lifting power,--thanks to their strong armament they can
defend themselves or run away quickly as the situation demands.

But there is one other method which has not yet been mentioned of
increasing the lifting power of an airplane. It is simply to add a third
wing. When we have made the wings of the biplane as large as we dare,
and have curved them to make them weight-bearers, if the resulting
machine is still not strong enough to carry as many tons of explosives
as we desire, there is only one thing left to do and that is to add a
third wing. Thus the triplane made its appearance in answer to the call
for planes which could carry vast cargoes of explosives and fuel for
journeys of many hours over the enemy's country. The huge night bombing
machine of the present time is almost always of the triplane type.




                                 CHAPTER V

              SOME OF THE PROBLEMS THE INVENTORS HAD TO SOLVE


Every American must feel a glow of pride when he stops to think that it
was two of his fellow-countrymen, Wilbur and Orville Wright, who
invented the airplane. But it is largely to France, our great ally and
friend, that the credit must go for improving upon the invention of the
Wrights, and making possible the wonderful aerial feats, the marvelous
flights and accomplishments of the airplane of to-day. From the first
day they saw an airplane flown, the French were wildly enthusiastic.
They gave freely of their money and their encouragement to help the good
cause along. French inventors attacked the problems of the
heavier-than-air machine with a will, and their unfailing determination
and refusal to accept defeat or failure made final victory inevitable.

But before we could have the powerful fighting machines, the big cross
country fliers and the seaplanes of to-day, there were many difficulties
of construction which had to be met and solved.

First of all the pioneer designer had to choose between the monoplane,
the biplane and the triplane. The monoplane was light in weight and
could fly faster with the same powered engine than the biplane. But it
was difficult to know just how to brace and strengthen the single pair
of wings. In the biplane the struts between the wings gave strength and
firmness. The wings of the monoplane were braced by wires to the body,
but often they did not prove strong enough and the airplane collapsed in
mid-air. In spite of this danger the monoplane was much in favor because
of its speed.

Slower in speed, but stronger and a better weight lifter was the
biplane. And in addition to strength it possessed more natural
stability, a much sought after quality in the pioneer days.

Even more stable and with greater lifting powers than the biplane was
the triplane, but the difficulty here was the lack of an airplane motor
of sufficient strength to drive it. Until clever engineers came to the
rescue with an improved aircraft motor, the triplane was very much in
disfavor.

The monoplane, indeed, captured most of the early records for speed and
it was this type of machine that was generally built by the sportsman
type of airman, while men like the Wright brothers and others whose aim
was to develop an airplane of unusual reliability and suited to many
purposes, turned to the biplane and gave many hours and months and years
of their time to its improvement.

Once the choice of a _type_ had been made, there were countless other
problems. _Stability_ was of prime importance and the airmen of a few
years ago labored desperately to attain it. They knew all too little
about the airplane from a scientific angle. We have seen in our brief
study that the method of obtaining balance in a glider or an airplane is
to see that its _center of weight_ coincides with the center of the
_upward pressure_ of air. How to bring this happy state of things about
was a source of much debate. Some suggested that instead of a tail at
the stern a tail in front of the main planes of the machine would help
to balance it in flight. Some placed the pilot's seat above both planes
of the biplane, while others thought he should sit below. Many of these
queer ideas were tried out and by dint of hard practise and many
failures certain simple elementary facts were finally weeded out and set
down.

Probably the addition of a "fuselage" or body to the modern airplane has
had something to do with helping in the proper distribution of its
weight and increasing its stability. Larger at the bow and tapering
toward the stern where a fixed tail piece or horizontal stabilizing
plane is attached, it resembled more or less closely the general
outlines of a fish or bird. And this "streamline form" greatly reduces
the _head resistance_, another important subject on which there was very
little known when the first of the airplanes was built. In addition to
having only a very slow and inefficient engine the early machine
suffered from the head resistance it created as it pushed forward
through the air, and this check to its progress ate up the little speed
its motor could develop. For if the airman of 1908 or 1909 was made
miserable by his fear of winds, gusts and aerial whirlpools which might
upset him in mid-air, his fears in this direction were completely
overshadowed by his worries about a suitable motor. If the design of his
craft was faulty and it proved "balky" when he attempted flight, he had
only himself to blame. But for an engine he had to rely entirely upon
some one else. The airplane could be a "home-made" article, but the
engine had to be chosen from such as were on the market.

The Wright brothers in their first flying machine used a made-over
automobile engine of 12 horsepower. It was not long before this was
improved upon, and later Wright machines had a four-cylinder,
water-cooled engine developing 35 horsepower. Its weight had been
reduced as far as possible and its simplicity of design was its greatest
recommendation.

Undoubtedly the engine problem has been the big one in the history of
aviation. The coming of the internal combustion engine might be said to
have placed practical aviation within the range of possibility, but at
that it took a long time to evolve a motor especially suited to the
needs of aircraft. There were three things needed in an airplane motor:
_Light weight_, _high power_, and _absolute reliability_. How important
the third factor is we can imagine if we stop to think that nothing
keeps the heavier-than-air machine afloat but its own speed, creating an
air pressure beneath its wings. Like the boy who runs with his kite in
order to make it go up, the airplane must "go" if it would rise, and the
moment its engine fails there is nothing to prevent it from falling to
the earth. The driver of a motor car, can, if his engine goes wrong, get
out and go over it carefully until he finds what the difficulty is. The
pilot of an airplane, soaring thousands of feet above the earth, is at
the mercy of his motor's reliability or lack of it. Engine failure was,
and still is, one of the greatest dangers the airman has to fear.
Another chief cause of trouble in early airplane motors was overheating.
Before actual airplane engines had been designed there was nothing to do
but to use the type of engine which had been designed for the
automobile, with as much reduction in weight as could be secured. But
the automobile engine was never intended to run at top speed
continuously and for long periods, as the airplane engine necessarily
must do. In a car the motor has little stops and rests, as it is
throttled down for a moment or changes in speed are made, and these
breathing spells help it very much indeed in the "cooling off" process.
The airplane engine does not have these little between-time naps. The
result was that the automobile engine installed in the early airplane
invariably overheated and caused serious trouble. Under these
conditions no flights of any distance could possibly be attempted.

Yet at the Rheims Meeting of 1909 Henry Farman surprised the world by
remaining in the air two hours in a continuous flight. Up to that time
the feat had never been equaled or approached. Aviators were amazed and
sought an explanation. The answer was: the Gnome motor.

Anxious to help the airplane in its forward march, French engineers had
good naturedly set to work and the Gnome motor was their first answer to
the anxious question of "What engine?" It involved a new and ingenious
system of cooling which made it possible for Farman to drive his big
machine round and round the Rheims course until stopped by darkness, but
without ever experiencing the slightest difficulty with his motor.

Before attempting to understand the secret of superiority of this first
real airplane motor over others of its day, we must know a little more
about the elementary principles of any internal combustion engine. The
diagram on page 156 shows _one cylinder_ of such an engine in action.

A mixture of gasoline and air--called "carbureted air"--is introduced
through a valve opening into a chamber or cylinder, as shown in figure A
of the diagram. The valve opening then closes, and the piston moves
forward compressing the gases enclosed in the cylinder, as shown in
figure B. An electric spark suddenly explodes these compressed gases,
causing them to expand with the greatest violence and drive the piston
back. This action, which is shown in figure C, is called the "power
stroke," for, transmitted by the piston rod to the crankshaft it
furnishes the power which turns the propeller and sends the airplane
forward through the air. Just before the piston reaches the end of the
power stroke the exhaust valve opens, and the exploded gases are forced
out of the chamber, partly by the force of their own tension and partly
by the upward stroke of the piston, as shown in figure D.

The carbureted air is supplied to the cylinder from a chamber called the
"carbureter." Here it is produced by the mixture of a gasoline
spray--similar to the fine spray of an atomizer--with the air.

[Illustration: DIAGRAM OF AN INTERNAL COMBUSTION ENGINE CYLINDER, SHOWING
PRINCIPLE ON WHICH IT WORKS]

A spark plug is fitted to the cylinder, and a break current from an
electric magneto causes the spark which at the proper instant explodes
the compressed gases.

Since by means of the explosion of the gases the force is produced which
drives the airplane propeller, the violence and frequency of these
explosions determine the power of the engine. Greater power can be
obtained either by increasing the size of the cylinder so that it can
hold more of the carbureted air, making a greater explosion possible; or
else by causing more frequent explosions. The latter is the better
method in an airplane engine, as larger cylinders mean more weight to be
carried. In the average airplane engine from 1500 to 2000 explosions or
revolutions occur per minute.

The combustion cylinder of an aircraft engine is usually built of steel,
and the piston of cast iron or aluminum, which furnishes a very smooth
gliding surface. The piston rod transmits the power to the crankshaft, a
long rotating piece of steel. Every time the piston rod is thrust down
by the explosion in the cylinder, its motion serves to turn the
crankshaft and thus the vertical motion of the piston is transformed
into the rotary motion which sends the propeller whirling through the
air.

Wherever two surfaces of metal must rub against each other, as in the
case of the piston and the cylinder, there is bound to be a great amount
of friction. This friction causes the parts to heat and in time it wears
away the surfaces and destroys the efficiency of the engine. In order to
avoid this, the surfaces must be kept constantly well oiled or
"lubricated." In some engines all the parts are enclosed in one large
box or "crank case" which is filled with oil. Small holes are bored
through to the surfaces to be lubricated, and the oil is splashed upon
them by the motions of the piston rod, the crankshaft, etc., as they
plunge through the oil bath.

But overheating of the cylinder may cause this oil to decompose and in
order to prevent this a "cooling system" is necessary. For only when the
engine is kept cool and properly oiled can it be expected to run
smoothly or give satisfactory service.

So now we come back to the problem of cooling, which caused so much
anxiety and trouble to the early aviators. With their engines running at
the great speed which was necessary to keep the airplane in the air,
overheating and engine difficulties were sure to arise. Cooling of the
cylinder is accomplished in one of two ways: either by water or by air.
If water is used, a "jacket" in which the water circulates is placed
around the cylinder,--the water as it becomes heated passing out of the
jacket to the radiator, where it is cooled before it returns. The
radiator, at the very front of the airplane body, is exposed to the
swift current of the air as the machine drives forward, and this air
current serves to reduce the temperature of the water.

This method was the one originally employed with the automobile engine,
but in the early models the cooling system, though adequate for the
motor car, was hopelessly insufficient when the same engine was
installed in an airplane.

It was the Gnome manufacturers who first thought of a most ingenious
scheme for cooling the cylinders of the internal combustion engine.
Instead of having the piston and the crankshaft move, it was the
cylinder itself which moved in the Gnome motor, while the crankshaft and
piston were stationary. Thus cooling was very easily accomplished, for
the cylinders, flying through the air, making as many as 1500
revolutions per minute, cooled themselves.

The crankshaft in the Gnome motor had been hollowed out to form a tube
or pipe, through which the fuel or carbureted air passed to the cylinder
by means of a valve in the head of the piston which worked
automatically. The Gnome could be built up of any number of cylinders,
according to the power required. Its cylinders were set in a circle
about the crankshaft, so that the entire engine occupied a minimum of
space in the airplane body. Scouted at first as a freak engine, it soon
proved its superiority over all those in use and was rapidly adopted by
builders of all types of airplanes.

To-day the stationary engine has been greatly improved, its provisions
for cooling have been increased and it is once more looked on with favor
by many manufacturers of aircraft.

The cylinders of an internal combustion engine can be grouped in one of
three ways, and thus there are three main types of airplane engines we
should be able to recognize. They are the _straight-line_ engine, the
_V-type_, and the _radial_. In the straight-line model four, six, or
even a larger number of cylinders are placed in a row in one crank case.
In the V-type of motor they are set instead in two lines, like a letter
V; while in the radial type the cylinders form a circle around the
central crankshaft. The radial motor may be stationary or its cylinders
may revolve, in which case it becomes a rotary engine, as for instance,
the Gnome.

Each of these types of motors has its peculiar advantages. The least
"head resistance" is caused by a straight line engine, and this type
also uses less fuel and oil. But it is usually heavier in weight, owing
to the larger cooling system necessary and the longer crankshaft, and it
takes up more room in the airplane fuselage than a motor of the compact
radial type. The radial engine is very light in weight,--a big item in
the airplane--but it consumes a large quantity of fuel and oil and
besides produces a maximum "head resistance." The V-type motor is a
compromise between the two,--lighter in weight than the straight-line,
less wasteful of fuel and causing less "head resistance" than the
radial.

The rotary engine, because of its appetite for fuel and oil is no longer
used in airplanes which are intended for long distance flights, because
here the weight of the extra fuel carried has to be considered. In short
distance, high-speed machines it works well, but in the larger planes
the vertical or V-type motor has been found to give greater
satisfaction.

When we read of the enormous trouble the pioneers of aviation went to,
in order to find an engine suitable to drive the propeller of the
airplane, we cannot help wondering just how the revolving of the
propeller sends the whole machine flying forward through the air. The
matter is very simply explained. The propeller of a ship is often
referred to as the ship's "screw," and though few people have ever
compared it with the small screws they use about the house, or with the
screw and screw driver in the tool chest, there is in fact very little
difference in principle.

Take a screw and place it against a block of wood, and then commence to
turn it with a screw driver. Straight into the wood its curved edges
will cut their way, dragging the round steel rod of the screw behind
them. With every turn they will cut in deeper and carry the screw
forward through the wood. That is what the propeller of a ship or an
airplane does: it screws its way through the water or the air. But of
course there is this difference, that the wood offers great resistance
to the forward motion of the screw, while the water offers much less
resistance to the ship's propeller, and the air less still to the
propeller of the airplane. If, as in the case of the screw-driver, the
airplane propeller is in front of the airplane and drags its load along
behind it, it is called a "tractor" propeller; but if instead it is
placed at the stern of the airplane, and as it screws through the air it
pushes the airplane along ahead of it, then it is known as a "pusher"
propeller.

The little cutting edge that winds round and round an ordinary screw is
referred to as its _thread_, and the distance between two of these edges
or threads is known as the _pitch_. In some screws the threads are very
close or, to put it another way, the pitch is small, while in others it
is much greater. Each blade of a propeller is really a portion of a
screw. To go back to the example of the screw-driver and the block of
wood, every time the screw is turned once around it will advance into
the wood a distance equal to its pitch. The same thing is theoretically
true of the propeller of an airplane; at each revolution it might be
expected to advance through the air a distance equal to the pitch that
has been given to its blades.

But the air may allow the propeller to slip back and so lose some of its
speed, a thing which was not possible with the screw-driver. This
tendency to slip varies with the pitch of the propeller and the speed of
its revolutions. A propeller which works splendidly when turning at a
given rate, may prove worse than useless when the engine is slowed down
and it is only making half the number of revolutions per minute. And so
we begin to see another of the big problems of the pioneer airmen: to
determine the right pitch for the propeller in relation to the speed
which had been determined upon for the airplane. It is a problem that
has not been wholly solved to-day, because of the fact that an airplane
cannot always be driven at "top speed." If the maximum speed of the
machine is 150 miles per hour, and the propeller has been designed to
deal with the air efficiently at this speed, it is apt to slip and slide
and waste away the power of the engine when for any reason it is
necessary to slow down to 100 miles per hour. The only answer to the
difficulty is a "variable pitch propeller" which may be altered to
conform with alterations in speed, but up to the present time nothing
really satisfactory along this line has been devised.

Another question in connection with the propeller has been of what
material to make it. Wood is most generally used to-day, for although
steel and aluminum have been tried, they have not been found to stand
the strain so well. Imagine for one moment the stress upon an airplane
propeller beating through the air at the rate of 1500 revolutions per
minute. The greatest strength has been secured by building it up of
several pieces of wood which are fastened strongly together and
varnished.

_Materials_ have always presented a source of endless experiment and
differences of opinion in the construction of the airplane. The problem
has come up in connection with the fuselage, the wings and wing
coverings, the landing chassis--in fact, each and every part of the
heavier-than-air machine has raised the old query: "What shall we make
it of?"

In the earlier machines wood was almost entirely used in airplane
construction. For one thing it was cheaper, and for another it was
easier to get wood working machinery, than the complicated and expensive
machinery necessary to construct airplanes out of metal. Metals are
stronger but they cost more and they make the problem of repairs more
difficult.

The wings of the airplane are usually built up on a wooden framework
which gives them their shape and curve. Many have been the disputes over
the matter of wing coverings. In the pioneer machines they were covered
with cotton material which had not been treated to make it water-proof
or air-proof. It gave the poorest kind of service, and an effort was
made to improve it by rubberizing it, but this process did not produce a
wing of lasting durability. Many other treatments were experimented
with, but with little success until the substance known as "dope" made
its appearance.

"Dope" is largely composed of acetyl cellulose. It makes the wing
covering proof against rain, wind, and the oil thrown off from the
airplane engine, and gives it a fine, smooth finish and excellent
durability. Two or three coats of it are usually applied, with a final
coat of varnish on top, to produce a wing that is sure to prove strong
and trustworthy.

The problems of starting and landing the airplane have been many. The
early Wright machine had to run on a little trolley down a track in
order to gain sufficient momentum to take to the air. Later machines
showed an improvement on this. Henry Farman attached wooden skids to the
bottom of his airplane and fastened wheels to them by means of heavy
rubber bands. Thus he could start his motor and run over the ground
until his speed permitted him to rise, while in making a descent the
wheels flew back on their flexible bands and the stout skids absorbed
the shock of the fall. Most of the modern machines have a wheeled
framework below the fuselage, which permits them to run over the ground
in starting and also in making a descent. The danger of engine failure
becomes very important when near to the ground, as the pilot has no time
to get his machine into a gradual glide and avoid a bad accident. This
danger is sometimes averted by installing two engines, so that if one
stops the other will carry the airplane on up into the air and prevent a
smash-up. But the thing which has greatest effect on the ability of the
airplane to land easily is its own design and speed. The wings of the
airplane, its propeller and its whole construction have been planned so
that it can support itself best in the air when flying at a certain
fixed speed. Suppose this speed for a certain type of airplane to be 150
miles per hour. The airplane cannot land while traveling at that rate,
yet its speed while still in the air can only be diminished to a certain
point with safety, and below that point it may not be able to sustain
itself in flight. The pilot must be able to land his machine without
accident and without throttling his engine below this danger line; while
the designer of airplanes must struggle to produce a machine which,
while flying best at its maximum speed, will _fly_ at a much lower rate
of motion, when necessary to effect a landing.

The supporting power of the wings depends partly on their size and
partly on their rate of motion. Small wings moving at high speed produce
the same supporting pressure of air beneath them as large wings flying
at slow speed. The problem of a safe landing could best be solved by
building wings whose area could be altered in mid-air. When traveling
under full power the pilot would reduce the wing spread, as the smaller
wings would then be sufficient to support the weight of the machine and
would create less air resistance. When about to land, he would increase
the spread of the wings, so that at the slower rate of motion through
the air he might take advantage of a larger supporting surface. Nothing
of this sort has yet been worked out on a practical scale, but many have
been the suggestions for "telescoping wings."

The reduction of "head resistance" and the "streamlining" of the
airplane have received their goodly share of attention and experiment.
To-day the airplane fuselage is carefully streamlined, but the landing
chassis beneath it creates a good deal of resistance to motion. Probably
this problem will be solved by devising a landing chassis which, after
the machine has arisen from the ground, can be drawn up inside the body,
and let down again to make a landing, but this is another important
question which is not yet worked out in the airplanes of the present
time.

The coming of the War caused all nations to stop and take strict account
of what had been accomplished in solving the many problems of aviation,
for the war machine had to be as nearly as possible the sum total of all
the best that had been worked out up to that time in the difficult
matter. In aircraft design and in types of engines France undoubtedly
stood foremost, although the knowledge she possessed had not been
sorted, pigeonholed and accurately standardized as was the case in
Germany.

Germany had some excellent aircraft motors of the water-cooled type,
which were light in weight, very reliable and high-powered. The German
government had spent large sums of money for the purpose of encouraging
airplane construction and the improvement of designs and engines.

Yet no country at war found her military airplanes all she had expected
them to be. It was not until actual war service brought definite demands
from the pilots and definite criticisms of the bad features of the
airplanes in use, that the designers were able to turn out machines of
the highest efficiency.

There were many things which the pilots asked for. Speed and climbing
power were among them, greater ease of operation, more protection in the
way of guns and armament, the pilot's seat so located that his vision
was not obstructed above or below, and a uniform system of controls.
Gradually all these requirements have been met by the airplane makers.
By 1917 they had turned out machines which could fly as fast as 150
miles per hour and climb to 22,000 feet, while since then even this
record has been greatly improved upon.

In the field of aviation America can claim one big accomplishment since
her entrance into the World War. That is the Liberty motor, probably the
most successful motor that has ever yet been devised for an airplane.

When it was decided that we should begin work building American
airplanes, there was one important problem: the engine. Foreign types of
engines could not very well be built in this country, as they required
workmen of many years' training in a highly specialized field. It was
agreed that we must have a motor of our own, which could be manufactured
rapidly under the conditions of our present industrial system.

Two of the most capable engineers in the country were summoned to
Washington, and in order to assist them in their work motor
manufacturers from all over the United States sent draftsmen and
consulting engineers. For five days these two men did not leave the
rooms that had been engaged for them at the capital.

Sacrifice was necessary if victory was to be won. Engineering companies
and companies making motors for automobiles, etc., gave up their most
carefully-guarded secrets in order to make the Liberty motor a success.
The result was that an engine was produced so much better than anything
on the market that our allies ordered it in large quantities for their
own airplanes. Twenty-eight days after the drawings were started, the
first motor was set up. It was ready on Independence Day, and was
demonstrated in Washington. The parts had been manufactured in many
factories, yet they were assembled without the slightest difficulty. The
completed engine was sent to Washington by special train from the West.
Thirty days later it had passed all tests and was officially the Liberty
motor.

One of the most remarkable things about the Liberty motor is the way in
which all of its parts have been carefully standardized so that they can
be manufactured according to instructions by factories in all parts of
the United States. The parts can then be rapidly assembled at a central
point. The cylinders are exactly the same in every case, although the
Liberty motor is made in four models, ranging from 4 to 12 cylinders.
They can be interchanged and the parts of a wrecked engine can be used
to repair another engine.

Thus American wit, patriotism and energy were able at a most critical
time to answer the threat of German supremacy in the air. Our aircraft
production has gone forward with speed which almost baffles
understanding, while the airplane motors we shipped abroad in such
overwhelming numbers to be installed in foreign machines gave good
service to the cause for which the Liberty motor was named.




                                CHAPTER VI

                          FAMOUS ALLIED AIRPLANES


Airplanes, like men, are not all alike, even when they are in the same
line of work and performing the self-same duties. In war time, every
gunner has his own little peculiarities, every sharpshooter has his
personal ideas about catching the enemy napping, and every infantryman
who goes over the top, in spite of his rigorous training in the art of
war, meets and downs his opponent in a manner all his own. So it is with
the machines that in the last few years have won fame for their valiant
service over the dread region of battle. Roughly they can be lined up as
fighting machines, reconnaissance airplanes and bombers. Yet if we look
a little closer, individual types of planes will stand out of the
general group, and it becomes fascinating to study them in their design,
their achievements and their particular capabilities.

[Illustration: _Copyright International Film Service, Inc._

    THIS PHOTOGRAPH SHOWS THE RELATIVE SIZE OF THE GIANT CAPRONI BOMBING
         PLANE AND THE FRENCH BABY NIEUPORT, USED AS A SPEED SCOUT]

As it would be impossible to mention in one short chapter all the brave
pilots who distinguished themselves for their heroism in the war in the
air, so it would be a hopeless task to attempt to do justice to all the
airplanes which rendered good service over the front lines. The best we
can hope to do is to make the acquaintance of the most famous of them
all.

[Illustration: _Copyright International Film Service, Inc._

               THE SPAD, THE PRIDE OF THE FRENCH AIR FLEET]

There is one little machine, which, when the final retreat was sounded
and accomplishments were reckoned, had covered itself with glory. Like
the many famous pilots who have driven it, it has learned much by
experience, and it has changed considerably in outward appearance since
the summer of 1914. Wherever the achievements of the "speed scout" are
mentioned the _Nieuport_ is bound to come in for its share of the
praise. This little fighting machine was greatly relied on by the
French, who used it in large numbers over the front lines. Although
lately another swift scout plane has come into the field to eclipse its
reputation, it probably took part in more aerial battles than any other
airplane of the Great War.

It was the _Nieuport_ monoplane whose speed and agility at maneuvers
made it a favorite in the early days of the hostilities. For a while it
was a match for the German scout machines, but the rapid strides which
aviation took under the pressure of war necessity left it behind, and
the more rapid and efficient _Nieuport Biplane Scout_ made its
appearance. In several important features it was entirely different from
any of the biplanes. It could not quite forget its monoplane
construction, and it had made a compromise with the biplane by adding a
very narrow lower wing. It was humorously nicknamed the "one and
one-half plane," but it proved itself just the thing the fighting airmen
were looking for. Its narrow lower plane, while giving more stability
and a "girder formation" to its wing bracing, did not interfere with the
pilot's range of vision, a highly important consideration. In order to
allow as full a view as possible in all directions, it had only two
V-shaped struts between the planes, while the upper wing, just above the
pilot's seat, had been cut away in a semi-circle at the rear so that he
might be able to see above. The lower wing was in two sections, one at
each side of the fuselage.

This little biplane had a top wing span of only 23 feet, 6 inches, while
the distance across the lower plane from tip to tip was a trifle
shorter, measuring just 23 feet. The upper plane measured from the front
to the rear edge a trifle less than 4 feet,--or to use technical
language, it had a "chord" of 3 feet, 11 inches; while the chord of the
lower wing was only a little over 2 feet. The entire length of the
biplane from the tip of its nose to its tail was 18 feet, 6 inches. The
fuselage was built with sides and bottom flat but the top rounded off.
There was plenty of room for the pilot to move freely in his seat. Armed
with a machine gun which fired over the propeller, he was well able to
defend himself when enemy craft appeared.

The _Nieuport_ biplane wrote its achievements in large letters during
the Great War. It was the machine which Guynemer and his famous band of
"Storks" flew in their daring battles against the German fast scout, the
_Fokker_. It carried many an American chap to fame in the Lafayette
Escadrille. England, Italy and America all used it over the lines, and
its high speed and quickness at maneuver made it a general favorite.
To-day it is made in either the single-seater scout type, or in a
larger, two-seated model. The gunner's seat in the latter is in front of
the pilot, and a circular opening has been cut in the upper plane above
him, so that in an aerial battle he may stand up, his head and shoulders
above the top wing, and operate the machine gun, which fires across the
propeller.

In spite of all its excellent qualities and its record of victories won,
the _Nieuport_ has lost its championship among the "Speed scouts."
Another tiny biplane of still greater speed, has wrested the honors from
it. The first place among fighters is now perhaps held by the _Spad_.
Carrying one or two passengers and equipped with an engine of 150 to 250
horsepower, with its Lewis and Vickers machine guns spitting away at the
enemy, it is a formidable object in the arena of war.

Not to be left behind, America has developed a small, fast fighting
machine which bids fair to make the other two look to their laurels. It
is a tiny _Curtiss triplane_, the span of whose wings is only 25 feet.
Its extra lifting surface gives it remarkable climbing powers without
increasing its size as a target. It is always an advantage to a fighting
machine to have as small a wing area as possible, for, besides being
able to maneuver more quickly, it furnishes a smaller target to the
enemy's gunners. The triplane can mount rapidly into the upper air, so
as to command a strategic position above the airplanes of the foe, while
to those attempting to fire upon it from above or below, its three
wings do not present any larger surface than the two of the biplane or
the one of the monoplane.

The Curtiss factory has been at work for several years on the problem of
the small fast fighter. Its first effort was a biplane whose top wing
span was only 20 feet. In a test flight by Victor Carlstrom at
Sheepshead Bay Speedway, New York City, its unusual performances amazed
the spectators. With startling swiftness the pilot mounted into the
blue, maneuvered his little biplane with the agility of an acrobat, gave
excellent tests of speed, and descended. Reducing the speed of his motor
but not cutting it off entirely, he allowed the little airplane to skim
slowly along the ground. Then, alighting, he took hold of the fuselage
close to the tail, and steered the diminutive craft to a suitable spot
from which to make another flight. With the motor still running, and
much to the surprise of the onlookers, he stepped in once more, put on
full power and was off.

This little airplane was nicknamed the _Curtiss Baby Speed Scout_. In
one interesting respect it was different from the _Nieuport_, whose
upper plane had to be cut away to increase the pilot's range of vision.
In the Curtiss machine the pilot sits just behind the planes, so that he
can see above and on all sides with the greatest ease. As a protection
in battle his seat and the front portion of the fuselage are surrounded
with thin steel, and the pilot sits close to the floor, so that he does
not offer a very good target to the enemy's stray bullets. The "baby"
biplane is fitted with a standard V-type motor of about 100 horsepower,
and it carries fuel for a run of two and one-half hours.

The British have done some very fine work in developing airplanes of the
speed scout type. Their fighting machines flew over the lines and downed
the German planes in goodly numbers. Among those which earned fame for
their achievements are the _Bristol Scout_, familiarly known as the
"bullet," one of the fastest of the military airplanes; and the _Vickers
Scout_, another of the swift eagles that helped to maintain Allied
supremacy in the clouds. One of the interesting features of the Vickers
scout is the high "stagger" of its planes. By this we mean that the
upper plane has been set far forward, so that it appears to overhang the
lower. Quite recently another British scout machine, a _Sopwith
triplane_, was flown by the British Royal Flying Corps, and it made a
splendid record of victories over the lines.

In a crack regiment of veteran fighters it is hard to pick out the men
who might be said to be the "best soldiers." Each man excels in some
individual way, and in just the right situation might prove to be the
leader of his fellows. So it is bound to be with the long list of
valiant little fighting planes that took up the cudgels against the Hun.
No short summary can do justice to them all. There are the _Avro_, for
instance, and the _De Havilland Scout Biplane_ of the British, as well
as a biplane of the _Sopwith_ type; while the list is almost endless of
British and French machines bearing such well known names as _Farman_,
_Caudron_, _Dorand_, _Moineau_, _Morane-Saulnier_, etc.

But whatever the particular features of these scout machines, their
armament is generally about the same. It usually consists of a machine
gun operated by the pilot and firing across the propeller. The pilot
directs the nose of his machine straight at the enemy and lets go a rain
of bullets.

Fighting tactics are the subject of the most intense study on the part
of every pilot of a scout machine. Often he has his pet system of
downing the enemy. Immelmann, the famous German aviator, liked to get
high in the upper air and there await the approach of a "victim," when
he could dive straight down upon the unsuspecting airplane and open
fire. Every pilot aims to surprise his enemy. To do so he must often
perform startling aerial tricks, looping the loop to come up under the
tail of the other machine, swooping down from above, or firing from
behind while the tail of the enemy machine shields him as he gets in his
fatal shot. The aviator learns to hide behind a cloud, to take advantage
of blinding sunlight or any other natural condition in order to take the
opposing airplane unawares.

It is for this reason that machines are needed which combine speed,
exceptional climbing powers, and quick maneuvering ability. Not only
must they be able to practise all manner of tricks and stunts in order
to surprise the foe, but it is quite as important that they be able to
move rapidly on their own account, for a slow moving airplane is more
liable to surprise than one which is swift in flight and able to alter
its course repeatedly or else climb out of danger's way.

How important the agility of these little fighting planes is they are
apt themselves to discover when one of their number meets a big
reconnaissance machine of the enemy. The latter, with its big guns, is a
formidable object, and could easily get the better of the lightly built
combat plane, if it were not for the fact that its weight and slow speed
make it unmanageable. The smaller machine drops down upon the big fellow
suddenly, firing a volley at its gunners. If he kills them well and
good, but if not he must perform his cleverest aerial stunts to get out
of their way, or he will soon be a mere ball of fire shooting earthward.
Fortunately, he is quick, and a few acrobatic turns save him from
threatening disaster.

Before the present type of reconnaissance craft, bristling with machine
guns had been developed, it was customary for the airplane doing
photographic work, artillery "spotting" and similar duties to rely for
its protection on a number of speed scouts, who flew above and around it
and escorted it upon its mission. To-day the airplane that is used for
general service duties over the lines is a dreadnaught of the air, and
although it may still take along with it on its errands a few scouts to
give battle to the faster airplanes of the enemy, yet on the whole it is
self-reliant and has little to fear.

To these slower-flying, larger general service machines are entrusted
some of the gravest duties of war. They are the eyes of the army,
whether they act for the heads of staff, flying out over the territory
of the foe with their trained observers and bringing back accurate
information about the movements of troops, whether they help in
"spotting" targets for the gunners, or whether during an actual
engagement they act as aerial spectators and messengers, helping to
coordinate the efforts of the various bodies of troops.

From the beginning of hostilities Germany strove to overwhelm the French
in the air and prevent their airplanes from performing these necessary
duties. France was at first but poorly equipped with machines of the
type so sorely needed to maintain her air supremacy. By the skill and
bravery of her airmen she managed to hold out, however, and the Huns
were disappointed in never accomplishing their purpose of putting out
her eyes. Her engineers were in the long run much more clever than those
of Germany, and by the early part of 1915 they had ready a number of
superior machines for reconnaissance and bombing. For the most part they
were big _Caudrons_ and _Farmans_, well armed and a good match for the
German maid-of-all-work biplanes. And there were large _Voisin_
biplanes, suitable for photographic work or for bombing. They were used
extensively by French, British, Belgians and Italians. The _Voisin_, as
in its very earliest models, is still easily recognizable by its curious
tail resembling a box-kite, placed at the end of a projecting framework
of four long beams or outriggers. It is a pusher type of airplane, with
its propeller at the stern instead of at the bow.

Larger and more formidable grow the "aerial destroyers." To-day among
the super-dreadnaughts of the sky may be numbered the big biplanes
bearing the names of _Moineau_, _Breguet-Michelin_, _Voisin-Peugeot_,
and _Farman_. Heavily armed with machine guns they rendered valuable
service to the Allies in many capacities, and they were the efficient
answer to the struggle of the Hun for aerial supremacy. When in the
Spring of 1918 the Germans launched their tremendous offensive at the
Allies, the latter were well informed in advance of their intentions,
thanks to these powerful reconnaissance planes. Swooping down close to
the German lines in defiance of anti-aircraft guns and fighting machines
alike, they had daily looked on at the massing of troops, the bringing
up of reenforcements for the drive, and the piling up of ammunition
supplies. In spite of every effort of the enemy to make their mission an
intolerable one and to prevent them from spying upon preparations for
the offensive, they had succeeded in bringing back to Allied commanders
accurate and detailed information. By their aid the Allies knew at what
points to expect the heaviest blows, and there they collected their
reenforcements. Thus the nations lined up against the Hun were ready
when the blow came, and they were able to check the tremendous onslaught
by their land and air forces. What they really lacked perhaps, was not
"eyes," to discover what the Germans were plotting, but a large enough
number of small fighting machines to keep the enemy reconnaissance craft
from spying upon their own preparations; and a large enough number of
huge bombing planes to have completely interfered with the German
efforts to mass reenforcements and ammunition for the push.

In the long run it is perhaps the bombing plane that represents the
greatest saving in human life in time of war. An army may be well
equipped with reconnaissance machines and speed scouts, so that it may
keep in closest touch with every move of the enemy. But unless it is
able to interfere with those moves _before_ they reach the proportions
of a direct and staggering blow, then the best it can do is to
concentrate its own troops and supplies in readiness to meet the blow
when it does fall. That means that hundreds of thousands of lives of
infantrymen will be sacrificed in checking the waves of enemy troops.

The Allies discovered a far better and more economical way of winning
the war than this, and in the last year of the War they strained every
nerve to put it into actual operation. It was this: to search out every
military base of the enemy, every munition dump, nest of guns, supply
train or troop train and drop bombs upon it. Two men in a bombing
machine can attack and perhaps destroy a force which, if allowed to
reach the front lines, would have to be met by several thousand
infantrymen. Two men in a bombing machine can destroy at a single blow
the ammunition which, if it had reached the front, might have swept out
a regiment.

That is why so much thought and genius has been expended upon the
bombing plane. The day bomber becomes the right arm of the infantry,
flying low over the lines, attacking troops and striking terror to the
heart of the enemy as the huge Allied tanks did when they first started
on their irresistible slow walk across trenches, troops, buildings and
every manner of obstruction. The big bomber--particularly if the
fighting machines have cleared the way ahead of it--is something like
that: it is an invincible weapon of destruction, wiping out whole bodies
of the foe at every stroke, like a giant sweeping the pigmies of earth
ahead of him with his strong right arm.

The big dreadnaughts of the air like the _Moineau_, the
_Voisin-Peugeot_, the _Breguet_, and the _Farman_, become, when a
bombing apparatus is substituted for their camera and radio, very
efficient day bombers. There is a long list of others: as for instance,
the British _Avro_, _Handley-Page_ and _Sopwith_ machines and the French
_Caudron_, _Dorand_ and _Letord_.

Many of these big bombing planes were designed for long distance work
either by day or by night, and so they have been made enormous
weight-lifters, with large supporting surfaces, two or more engines, and
equipped with a fuel supply sufficient for long runs. In order to carry
their engines conveniently they very often have more than one fuselage.
Sometimes the pilot sits in a large fuselage in the center, while the
motors are carried in two smaller cars or bodies called "nacelles" at
either side. The British _Avro_, for instance, is a huge biplane with
three fuselages and two rotary engines. Its upper and lower wings are
equal in span, and it can readily be distinguished from the British
_Handley-Page_, whose upper wing has a large overhang. The
_Handley-Page_ is one of the largest machines built. It carries its two
12-cylinder Rolls-Royce engines in small nacelles between the main
planes, and it can be recognized by these and its biplane tail.

The _Caudron_ is another big twin-motored machine, used by French,
British and Italians. Its two rotary engines are fixed in small nacelles
between the planes, while the pilot rides in a center fuselage. Somewhat
after the manner of the Voisin, it carries its tail at the end of a
projecting framework of four long beams, the lower two of which act also
as landing skids.

[Illustration: _Copyright International Film Service, Inc._

              A HANDLEY PAGE MACHINE TUNING UP FOR A FLIGHT]

America, like the rest of the nations, has had her secret ambition to
try her hand at building bombing machines. In 1918 the designs for the
_Handley-Page_ bomber were brought to this country, and on July 6th the
first American built _Handley-Page_ bomber was successfully launched
into the air at Elizabeth, New Jersey. The huge machine was christened
the _Langley_ after one of the early experimenters with the
heavier-than-air machine. It had a wing span of 100 feet, and a central
fuselage 63 feet long. Small armored nacelles at either side of the
fuselage carried its two 400 horsepower Liberty motors, each turning a
separate propeller. Laden with its full supply of bombs, its two
Browning machine guns and fuel for a long run, this giant of the skies
weighs about 9,000 pounds. Our country has instituted a program of
construction for these super-dreadnaughts, and before long they will
form an enormous aerial weapon in the hands of our airmen. For America,
still practically a novice at airplane construction on a large scale, to
be able to produce in her factories the largest and most complicated of
the foreign types, speaks well for her determination and
resourcefulness.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

           THE LAUNCHING OF A LANGLEY, A GIANT BOMBING AIRPLANE]

The Allied nations have vied with each other in their efforts to produce
the king among bombing planes. The Italians have undoubtedly carried
away the prize. Their _Caproni_ triplane is among the largest in the
world. The details of its construction were kept secret, as it was one
of the most dreaded weapons of the Allies. Three powerful Fiat motors
drive it at a speed of about 80 miles an hour. With its five tons of
bombs, destined for important objectives in the land of the enemy, it is
an object to inspire awe.

The _Caproni_ makers have long been known for their large bombing
machines. Their three bombers, including a smaller triplane and a
biplane, headed the list of their fellows at the front. In October, 1917
a _Caproni_ biplane was demonstrated in America, covering a distance of
almost 400 miles in about 4-1/2 hours. It started its journey from Norfolk
and landed at the Mineola Aviation field, with seven passengers on
board. _Caproni_ bombing airplanes carried out many historic raids,
among them being that on the famous Austrian Base at Pola. To reach it
the Italian aviators had to travel by night across the Adriatic, and
they carried out their pre-arranged plan of attack with the utmost
punctuality, in spite of the tremendous difficulties that loomed along
their path. Two squadrons of machines left the aerodrome, the first some
time before the second, and each airplane following its fellows at a
considerable distance. At 11 o'clock at night the first of the bombers
flew over Pola and discharged its rain of high explosives. In rapid
succession the others followed, letting go their missiles upon stores of
ammunition, docks, and every object of military importance. In order to
aid them in picking out their targets the raiders made use of an
ingenious contrivance which so amazed and stupefied the Austrians that
for a while they failed to make any attempt to shoot down the Italian
planes with their anti-aircraft guns. It was a huge parachute, to which
had been attached a powerful chemical light. Descending slowly the
terrifying object hung as it seemed suspended in mid-air, lighting the
way for the raiding machines, who took advantage of the terror of the
Austrians to drop 14 tons of high-explosives and make their escape
unharmed.

The tremendous _Caproni_ triplane is almost impregnable. Its enemies
have little chance of downing it, for it can fly even when one of its
planes has been severely damaged, and with its three powerful motors it
is practically immune from any engine trouble, as in case of an
accident or injury to one motor the other two, or for that matter, one
of them, will carry it safely home. With the great stability given it by
its three supporting surfaces it can go through the stormiest weather
without the slightest need for fear. Once its load of bombs has been
discharged, it can rise to 7,000 feet to escape from its pursuers.

The story is told of an Italian aviator, Major Salomone, who escaped in
a _Caproni_ when attacked after a bombing expedition by a squadron of
Austrian speed scouts. His enemies succeeded in wrecking one of the big
engines by their gun fire, and in killing two of his gunners and a
pilot. He himself was severely wounded, but keeping control of his
machine he managed to reach home safely by the power of the remaining
two engines.

The triplane is by far the best type for these giant raiders that fly by
night. Their requirements are great lifting power and great stability,
and these, the triplane with its extra lifting surface, best fulfills.
Equipped with two or three engines so that its power-plant can be
absolutely relied upon in every emergency, with accurate bomb-sighting
instruments and with a compass, searchlight and other apparatus
necessary for traveling by night, the triplane can be depended upon to
inflict gigantic blows upon enemy bases.

The British have a big bombing triplane that was heard from in Germany:
the _Sopwith_. Its three planes are equal in span, and have only one
strut at each side of the fuselage, with the wiring also greatly
simplified, in order to reduce the head-resistance to a minimum.

[Illustration: _SIDE VIEW OF A SOPWITH TRIPLANE_]

[Illustration: _TOP VIEW OF THE "TAIL" OF THE SOPWITH_]

The _Sopwith_ was one of the first triplanes to be used for bombing and
general service over the lines. Those at the front early in 1918 were
equipped with a 110 horsepower Clerget rotary engine. A round metal hood
or "cowl" surrounding the motor formed the front of the fuselage,
overhanging the body slightly at the bottom in order to form an air
outlet for the engine.

America has not actually developed any big bombing planes of the type of
the _Sopwith_, although we have one enormous triplane,--the _Curtiss_
triplane air-cruiser, built for service over the sea.

And although Russia abandoned the good cause for which she was fighting,
we cannot pass over the subject of big bombing triplanes without
mentioning the giant _Sikorsky_, one of the largest and most remarkable
weapons of destruction that were employed in the war against the Hun.

The future will no doubt write a new and fascinating chapter in the
story of the triplane. The big night bombers are being built on a large
scale by all the Allied nations. Their exploits opened every great
military operation, they constituted a reign of terror over the lines of
the enemy, and their death-dealing blows saved countless thousands of
allied troops from the need of sacrificing their lives. They could make
the journey straight to the heart of the enemy's country and return,
with plenty of surplus fuel. Their missiles did enormous damage to
railway centers, docks, bridges, aerodromes and arsenals. Carrying
bombs that weigh anywhere from 16 to 500 pounds, they spread havoc in
their wake, while the silencers on their engines made them veritable
specters of the night. An illustration of their possible accomplishments
was the flight of Italian machines across the Alps and to Vienna, when
they dropped manifestos upon the frightened populace. Those manifestos
reminded the Austrian people that only the humanity and self-respect of
the allied airmen made them drop "paper bombs" on Vienna while the
Germans were unloading high explosives in the midst of the civilian
populations of London and Paris. It must have shown the people of Vienna
what the machines of their enemies were capable of doing.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

                    AN AMERICAN BUILT CAPRONI AIRPLANE]

But the airplanes of war whose acquaintance we have made so hastily in
this chapter were not used by the Allies for raiding or terrifying
civilians. From the tiny fighting machines that carried so many of our
bravest pilots to personal combat over the lines, to the enormous
bombing planes used to scatter destruction and ruin among the military
strongholds of the enemy, our machines were trustworthy and brave, but
they were also machines of honor.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

  THIS CURTISS TRIPLANE HAS A SPEED OF ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY MILES AN HOUR]




                                CHAPTER VII

                     GERMAN AIRPLANES IN THE WORLD WAR


When we read the story of the wonderful contributions made by France,
England, Italy, and America to the progress of aviation and to the
romantic history of the heavier-than-air machine, we must remember that
it is the story of nations which, a few short years ago, had no thought
of turning the airplane into a mere weapon of destruction and
desolation. It was the conquest of the air, for its own sake, that
appealed to the fiery imaginations of the French, and that made them,
from the day when the first Montgolfier balloon went soaring into the
clouds, down to the early triumphs of the airplane in France and the
great contests and meetings that followed them, ardent enthusiasts over
each and every form of aerial sport. England, in spite of the fact that
her sportsmen fliers were winning new triumphs daily, and in spite of
the public interest that was taken from the very beginning in the
advance of aviation, had, at the beginning of 1911, just _one_ military
airplane. America, ardent devotee of Peace, even while the World War was
raging in Europe, failed to take steps to provide herself with an aerial
fleet.

But when we come to Germany, the story of aviation takes an entirely
different turn. The Germans as a people were never wildly enthusiastic
over airplanes, for they lacked the fine sportsmanship and love of
daring adventure which produced so many clever aviators in other lands.
In fact, until they saw its utter inability to compete with the
heavier-than-air machine as a military weapon, they confined themselves
almost entirely to the construction of the safe and comfortable
dirigible. With the possible exception of such a man as Lilienthal, the
Germans took slight personal interest in the subject of human flight. It
was the German government that, by lavish expenditure, and by every
means known to it, encouraged experiment and progress.

The whole thought in Germany, both in the days of the dirigible and
later, when the airplane had proved its superiority, was solely to
develop the flying machine as an instrument of war. It was for this that
she began her costly and gigantic program of Zeppelin construction, it
was for this that the best engineers in the Empire were set to work
designing aeronautic engines. It was not without some chagrin that the
German military authorities gave up their dream of world conquest by
means of the Zeppelin, and set themselves to building airplanes instead.
Yet when they did, they applied to the new problem the same
thoroughness, the same military precision and uniformity that had marked
their earlier program. Reading of the French machines we are fascinated
by the many types and patterns that the ingenious Frenchmen were able
to devise. In Germany everything was carefully systematized by the
government, individual designs were discouraged unless they fitted into
the military scheme of things, and the airplane was produced in large
numbers, like so many blackjacks, all exactly alike, to be used in
striking the peaceful nations of the world.

German thoroughness went a long way in perfecting the airplane as a war
instrument. When, in August 1914, her sword finally descended, she had
close on to 800 machines and a thousand trained pilots, together with a
small force of seaplanes and pilots. To-day, according to an English
authority, she has at least 20,000 aircraft of all sorts, manned by a
force of 300,000 pilots, observers, and bombardiers.

The first German machines to fly over French territory might well have
struck terror to the hearts of the plucky French, for they were equipped
with the cleverest instruments of destruction that Germany could devise.
The swept-back, curved wings of these standard biplanes won them the
name of _Taube_ or "dove." Certainly they were not "doves of peace."
They were equipped with wireless, carried cameras for reconnaissance
work, had the most accurate recorders of height and speed, dependable
compasses, instruments for bomb-dropping, dual control systems, so that
they could be operated by either pilot or observer, and dozens of other
small improvements and accessories that made them more than a match for
the French machines sent up to dispute their supremacy in the air. The
challenge these machines presented to the genius of the French was taken
up with vigor. It was not long before they found themselves an obsolete
form of aircraft in the great war in the air, and for all their
inventions and improvements, they were forced back into their hangars.

By the Spring of 1915, the French were soaring through the sky in fast
fighting machines that made the air a very unsafe place for the plodding
German "maid-of-all-work." The Germans bestirred themselves to think of
some method of getting even with these unreasonable French pilots, who
somehow refused to admit defeat. The machine which they sent out in
answer to the _Nieuport_ monoplane and others of its type was the
invention of a Dutchman; it succeeded in creating quite a sensation for
a while in Allied circles, until like others of its company it was
superseded by French inventive genius and rendered a more or less
harmless craft.

This supposedly invincible fighter was the _Fokker_. In general
construction it was largely an imitation of the French Morane monoplane,
but it had one entirely new feature that rendered it at the time a
formidable adversary. That was what was known as a synchronized gun,
firing through the propeller.

The problem had been to design a machine which could be operated by one
man, who became both the pilot and the gunner. In order to do this he
must necessarily be able to control the direction of his machine in
flight and aim his gun at the enemy at the same time. The best way to
accomplish this was to point the nose of his machine at his victim and
fire straight ahead of him. But here the propeller was the great
obstacle. How could he fire a gun from the bow of his machine without
striking the propeller blades as they whirled swiftly about in front of
him? The German _Fokker_ answered that question. The machine gun with
which it was equipped had its shots so synchronized, or "timed," that,
impossible as it seems, they passed between the rapidly revolving
propeller blades without striking them. The _Fokker_ was a remarkable
climber in its day, and in addition it had a simple device by which the
pilot could lock the control of the elevating planes, steering only to
right or to left, by means of pedals worked with his feet.

Early in 1916 this deadly weapon of aerial warfare made its appearance,
and for a while the civilian population of England and France read with
dismay of its conquests. Mounting high into the clouds, it would await
its victim. The moment a machine of the Allies appeared beneath it, the
_Fokker_ turned its nose straight down and went speeding in the
direction of its prey, opening fire as soon as it got within range.
There was no use of the unfortunate airplane trying to escape. The
_Fokker_ could, by wobbling its nose slightly in spiral fashion as it
descended, produce, not a straight stream of bullets ahead of it but a
cone of fire from its machine gun, with the victim in the center of the
circle. Whichever way the latter turned to escape it met a curtain of
bullets which could destroy it. The Allied machines could only combat
it in groups of three and for a time at least it held supremacy in the
skies. When itself pursued by a superior number of planes, it was quick
as an acrobat, and speedy at climbing, so that it very seldom could be
caught.

This was the machine in which the two famous German airmen, Immelmann
and Boelke performed some of their most daring exploits. It traveled at
a speed of more than 100 miles per hour and could perform surprising
feats with the most alarming ease.

But while the _Fokker's_ début over the trenches caused the British
House of Commons to debate the new peril gravely, French and British
airmen sprang quickly and gaily to the challenge. Heedless of the
danger, they braved the bullets of the _Fokker_ in order to get a better
view of its mechanism, and they soon answered it with swift and powerful
machines like the British _De Havilland_. It was only a short while
before the Fokker monoplane was "behind the times." Faster machines with
greater climbing powers overtook it in the skies and swooped down upon
it from superior altitudes, as it had swooped down upon so many of its
victims. Its day of triumph at an end, it withdrew to the seclusion of
its hangar, and the _Fokker biplane_ replaced it in the air. This in its
turn became the steed of many of Germany's star aerial performers.

Now came the days when Captain Baron von Richthofen held forth in the
heavens with his squadrons of variegated planes which the British airmen
nicknamed "Richthofen's circus." These queerly "camouflaged" planes
were German Albatroses. The _Albatros_ was one of the best designed of
the German airplanes, and although the first models produced were not
remarkable for their speed, they were good climbers and weight-carriers
and thoroughly reliable. They were later developed in two distinct
types: a fast "speed scout" biplane single-seater, equipped with two
machine guns both firing across the propeller; and a slower
reconnaissance airplane, for general service over the lines. The latter
carried both a pilot and an observer, and had two machine guns, one to
be fired by each of them.

It was not long before the Allies had several captured machines of this
type in their possession. An Austrian _Albatros_ reconnaissance biplane,
taken in 1916, afforded an interesting opportunity to examine what was
at that time one of the very best of the enemy's planes. Its general
construction did not entirely meet with the approval of expert airmen
who looked it over. Its upper wing was much longer from tip to tip than
the lower, producing a very great overhang. From the point of view of
the pilot this had its advantage, for the shorter plane below him
allowed a much better range of vision, but it undoubtedly weakened the
whole structure. The biplane was exceedingly slow in flight, a great
drawback even in a machine not built for fighting purposes. One curious
feature was its very large fixed tail plane, to which the elevating
plane was attached; while a decided defect from a military standpoint
was the entirely unprotected position of the pilot and the observer.

Obviously the Germans had not yet solved the problem of air supremacy to
their complete satisfaction. But their engineers and designers were busy
thinking it over, and soon they had ready a number of swifter airplanes,
foremost among which were probably the _Aviatik_ and the _Halberstadt_.
The _Aviatik_ made great claims of superior accomplishments over the
front lines. German pilots boasted that it had a "ceiling" (a climbing
capacity) of almost 16,000 feet with pilot, observer and a fuel supply.
This was over 4,000 feet greater altitude than that which any other
Allied or enemy machine could reach under similar conditions. The
machine had an upper wing span of 40 feet, 8 inches, while its lower
wing measured 35 feet, 5 inches from tip to tip. It had a strong armor
of steel tubing surrounding the compartment or "cockpit" which held the
seats of the pilot and observer.

The _Aviatik_ was an efficient bombing biplane of its day, although
larger and more powerful machines have since come into the field to
supersede it. It was fitted with metal bomb-launching tubes at either
side of the bow, and the bombs were released by pulling a cable
connected with the releasing trigger. The _Aviatik_ was armed in
addition with rotating machine guns, able to fire in any direction in an
aerial battle.

The _Halberstadt_ was a swift fighting machine or speed scout, which
made its appearance in the third year of the war and proved efficient
and reliable. This and the combat planes that followed it showed greater
and greater speed until by 1917 the scout machines were flying at 150
miles per hour and climbing to altitudes as high as 22,000 feet.

It was the bombing plane, however, that appealed most strongly to the
German mind as an instrument of destruction. Tired, perhaps, of their
efforts to produce a fighting machine which should be without its match
in aerial warfare, they focussed their attention about this time upon
the bomber, which in 1917 was playing an ever more important role in the
struggle for air supremacy. Early in 1917, the flower of their creative
genius took to the air. It was the _Gotha_ biplane, and at the time of
its début it proved one of the most difficult machines to attack and
down of any of those flying for the Hun. The _Gun-tunnel Gotha_ it was
familiarly called, owing to the unusual means of defense against
pursuers that had been devised for it.

Up to this time one of the best methods of attacking an enemy plane had
been to come up suddenly and fire on it "under its tail." The gunner in
the machine thus attacked could not get in a single shot at his pursuer
without striking the tail planes of his own machine. The portion of an
airplane which can be fired on in this way without danger of return fire
is said to be its "blind spot," and it was this blind spot that sent
many a well-armed and powerful airplane crashing to earth when its
pursuers had succeeded in outmaneuvering it.

The _Gun-tunnel Gotha_ had practically no blind spot. Its designers had
constructed it with a tunnel that ran the length of the fuselage, from
the cockpit, or compartment where the pilot and gunners sat, through to
an opening just under the tail planes. A machine gun in the cockpit
could be pointed through this tunnel and fired at the unsuspecting
victim who came up back of it according to the most approved tactics.
The opening of the gun tunnel was carefully "camouflaged," so that at a
short distance it could not be seen by an attacking airplane, especially
one which was unprepared for it.

The _Gotha_ practically bristled with machine guns. One in its bow which
commanded a fairly large range was operated by the forward observer, who
sat in front of the pilot. A passage-way beside the pilot's seat allowed
him to reach "gun-tunnel," where, stretched flat on the floor of the
fuselage he operated the gun which fired out under the tail. Above him
in the fuselage sat the rear gunner, and by their combined aid the
_Gotha_ could keep all enemy planes at a safe distance.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

          A GIANT GOTHA BOMBING PLANE BROUGHT DOWN BY THE FRENCH]

These, however, were merely protective measures. The Gotha's real
mission was bombing, and for this it carried a bomb-releasing mechanism
just in front of the pilot's seat, on the floor of the fuselage, while
behind the pilot an additional supply of the death-dealing missiles were
carried in racks in vertical position.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

                GERMAN FOKKER PLANE CAPTURED BY THE FRENCH]

These were the machines which flew over England and France in 1917
scattering death and destruction. Against them the machines of the
Allies were for a time almost powerless, for the best of their airplanes
were completely outgunned by this new terror of the skies. The new
German machine was given one of its first tryouts in the Balkans, where
a squadron of twin-engined _Gothas_ accomplished the bombing of
Bucharest. Its efficiency proved, it appeared over the lines and was
also used extensively by the Germans for long distance bombing
operations.

The fact that the _Gothas_ flew in large squadrons made them still more
difficult to attack. Yet Allied airplanes went out to give them fight,
and in spite of what seemed the almost complete hopelessness of the
situation, they did succeed in breaking up _Gotha_ formations and in
downing a few of the dread machines.

Yet another German twin-winged bombing plane was ready about this time.
The _Friedrichshafen_ bomber was not so large as the _Gotha_, but in
many points of construction it resembled it. A biplane, it had wings
that tapered somewhat from the center to the tips. The wings were
strengthened by center spars of steel tubing, which was also used in the
construction of the rudder and elevators at the tail. The pilot occupied
the rear seat in the cockpit and the gunner the forward seat, while a
short passage-way ran between the two. Every effort had been made at
camouflage. On their upper surfaces the wings were painted as nearly as
possible earth color, so that they might be indistinguishable to a
machine looking down upon them from a superior altitude. On their lower
surfaces they were painted pale blue, to blend with the sky and make
them invisible to an enemy plane below.

The armament of this _Friedrichshafen_ bomber consisted of three machine
guns, one of them firing downward through a trap door in the fuselage.
It was fitted with an automatic bomb-releasing apparatus, by means of
which, as one bomb was released, another slipped into place.

Other bombing machines appeared in 1917, as the _A.E.G._ twin-motored
tractor biplane, and the _A.G.O._ twin-bodied biplane. The Germans also
began construction of huge bombing triplanes, heavily armed with machine
guns. With squadrons of these, the _Gothas_, and the _Friedrichshafens_,
they carried out in 1917 and 1918 an established program of bombardment.
The night no longer held terrors for their airmen, who had learned to
fly in the darkness. They made their raiding expeditions, not only
against Allied troops and military bases, but also on English and French
towns, killing civilians and children and destroying property of no
importance from a military point of view.

By these methods the Hun had hoped to acquire the supremacy of the air
which his smaller fighting machines had not yet won for him. Fortunately
the French and British had been hard at work, and in answer to the
forays of the German bombing planes, squadrons of Allied planes dropped
their missiles in the heart of Germany. The Allied planes, however,
chose military objectives, and did not aim their blows at defenseless
civilians.

Stroke for stroke, and with a little extra for good measure the Allies
beat back their opponents in the air. To-day some of the most remarkable
raiding machines in existence, whether for night or for day work belong
to France and England, while America is leaving no stone unturned to
build up an air navy the equal of those by whose side she fought.

Yet the war in the air, on the Allied side, was always marked by honor,
decency and humanity. The enemy repeatedly showed that not mere military
gains, but the savage pleasure of bombing civilians, was a part of his
air program. In March, 1918, nine squadrons of his airplanes flew over
Paris and attacked the city. The raid resulted in 100 deaths, besides 79
people injured, a shocking story to go down in the record of the Hun's
attempt at mastery of the air.

Mr. Baker, our American Secretary of War, was in Paris at the time when
this historic raid occurred. He was holding a conference at his hotel
with General Tasker H. Bliss, at the time American Chief of Staff, when
the French warning siren was sounded throughout the city. The city was
covered with a deep fog, that completely shielded from the view of the
German machines any possible objective. But they had no intention of
choosing targets for their bombs,--they let them fall at random upon
Paris. For almost three hours terror reigned among the helpless
civilians; then the raiders, having lost four of their number to the
anti-aircraft gunners, turned and sped swiftly toward their own lines.
"It was a revelation," said Mr. Baker, "of the methods inaugurated by an
enemy who wages the same war against women and children as against
soldiers.... We are sending our soldiers to Europe to fight until the
world is delivered from these horrors."

London as well as Paris suffered from enemy bombing planes. Raid
followed raid in the Spring of 1918, but the British had so improved
their aerial defenses that they were able to meet the attempted ravages
of the enemy with the most powerful anti-aircraft guns, which, like a
wall of fire, forbade the dread monsters to come within the limits of
the metropolis. Many machines in the German squadrons never got close
enough to London to bomb it, but those which did let fall their terrible
explosives without aim or object, killing and maiming a large number of
civilians. The British were finally forced to take the only course which
could have effect with the Hun. They flew into the heart of the enemy's
country and gave him a taste of his own medicine. True, they chose their
objectives carefully, and the targets which they bombed were munition
works, railways, factories, and camps, but for all their tempered
revenge they made the foe smart beneath the stinging lash that
descended, again and again, upon his back.

In answer to the aircraft program of the United States, Germany renewed
her energies, and her construction of airplanes during the last year of
the War was on a larger scale than ever before. Her small fighting
machines, or speed scouts, include the _Fokker_, the _Halberstadt_, the
_Roland_, the _Albatros_, the _Aviatik_, the _Pfalz_ monoplane, the
_Rumpler_, the _L.V.W._ and a number of others.

Some of these we have already seen at work. The _Roland_ is one of the
latest types of German two-seater scouts. Every effort has been made in
it to decrease the "head resistance" by careful streamlining, reduction
of the number of interplane struts, etc. Swift flying and a rapid
climber, it has won for itself the title of _The German Spad_. The
_Pfalz_ is built either as a monoplane or as a biplane. It is a machine
somewhat similar to the _Fokker_. The monoplane, however, has two
machine guns, one on each side of the pilot, and firing through the
propeller.

Among airplanes used by the enemy for general service duties over the
lines, the _A.G.O._, the _A.E.G._ and the _Gotha_ undoubtedly take the
lead. All are heavily armed with machine guns and bombs and are driven
by powerful motors.

Yet for all the desperate German struggle for supremacy, her machines
and her pilots did not prove the equals of the Allies in the air. The
airplanes of France, England, Italy and America maintained a ceaseless
vigilance over the lines, giving chase to every enemy plane or squadron
of planes that made its appearance on the horizon. Our airmen showed the
most dauntless courage, and they continually outwitted and outmaneuvered
the slower thinking Hun. Our speed scouts challenged his reconnaissance
and bombing planes, and prevented them from performing their missions
effectively; our own reconnaissance airplanes gave him a hard time of
it; and our bombing machines proved themselves the strong right arm of
the service--taking the place of the big guns in raining heavy
explosives upon enemy troops, bombing his military bases, and making
life in general most uncomfortable for the foe.

It is a far cry from those first standardized _Taubes_ to the many makes
and patterns of German airplanes of the present day. As the Allies met
those first maids-of-all-work with a mixed company of airplanes of many
and untried talents, so to-day they are meeting her efforts to imitate
their own versatility in aircraft with machines which are carefully
standardized in every detail. It should be an object lesson to Germany
that the Allies have triumphed in each case.




                               CHAPTER VIII

                             HEROES OF THE AIR


Heroes of the air in peace times have been numerous. We already know the
stories of many of the pioneers of aircraft, who risked their lives in
situations involving the utmost peril. The men who, in the first frail
monoplanes and biplanes attempted to fly the British Channel, or to make
dangerous cross-country flights under adverse weather conditions were
heroes indeed.

Yet undoubtedly the greatest exploits will be told of those heroes who,
in the Great War, flew daily over the lines, meeting the aviators of the
enemy in mortal combat.

Every allied nation engaged in the great conflict has her sacred roll of
honor of those who fought for her in the air. Americans will never grow
weary of tales of the great Lufbery; Englishmen will boast of the
prowess of Bishop, McCudden and the rest of them; while Frenchmen will
tell, with mingling of joy and sadness, of the immortal Guynemer, Prince
of Aces.

Georges Guynemer's name will always stand first on the record of the
war's great flying men. His short career was a blaze of triumph against
the Hun, but with many a hairbreadth escape from death and many a feat
of reckless daring. Young, handsome and dashing, anxious to give his
life for his beloved France, he became the adored idol of the French
nation. On one occasion when he marched in a parade in Paris, the people
strewed his path with flowers, and it was necessary for the police to
intervene and protect him from the enraptured multitudes who pressed
forward to embrace him.

Yet Guynemer came near missing the fighting altogether.

Guynemer was born on Christmas day, 1893, in the town of Compiègne. He
grew up a tall, delicate boy, who, his friends predicted, would never
live to reach maturity. Perhaps the fact that he was almost an invalid
turned his attention away from the athletic sports of the other boys and
gave him his intense interest in mechanics. He had one consuming
ambition: to become a student in the École Polytechnique in Paris; but
when by hard study he had finally prepared himself and came up for his
entrance examination, the professors of the school rejected him on the
ground that he might not live to finish the course. To help the lad
forget his overwhelming disappointment, his parents hurried him away to
a health resort at Biarritz. He had been there a year when in August,
1914, came the news that his country had been attacked. Burning with
zeal to help defend his beloved France, Guynemer offered himself again
and again for enlistment in the French army. Hard pressed as that army
was, its officers did not feel that they needed the sacrifice of a
frail youth with one foot in the grave. Gently but firmly, the young
candidate was rejected. Bitterly humiliated he went back to his life of
enforced inaction; and while he saw his comrades marching forth to war,
he eagerly pondered in his mind what service he could perform in the war
against the invader.

At length he hit upon an idea. Since he could not become a soldier, why
should he not turn his mechanical skill to some account in one of the
great airplane factories where France was turning out her swift
squadrons of the air. He volunteered and was accepted. In a short time
he had made his presence felt, for he had received a thorough
preparatory education in mechanics and was far the superior of the
majority of his fellow workmen. Little by little he won the friendship
and admiration of his superiors, who promoted him to the position of
mechanician at one of the big military aviation fields. Now for the
first time he was living among war scenes. While he performed his humble
duties in the hangar he burned with ambition to pilot over the lines one
of the swift French battle planes. But he hardly dared make the request
that he be taught to fly, fearing the rebuff which he had received on
every other occasion when he had sought to enlist.

But the officers at the aviation camp had been watching young Guynemer,
and their respect for his nobility of character and high intelligence
finally outweighed their fears that he might prove too delicate for the
service in the air. So the happy day finally arrived when he was
permitted to enlist as a student airman. In January, 1916, having
completed his course of training, he flew for the first time in a swift
scout plane.

From the day that he first flew out over the lines, his higher officers
realized that here indeed was a master airman. In three short weeks he
had won the distinction of "ace," having downed his fifth enemy machine.
The secret of his success lay partly in the frail constitution which had
come so near condemning him to inactivity. For the youth was fully
convinced that he had not long to live, and his one idea was to die in
such a way as to render the greatest possible service to his native
land. Perfectly prepared to meet death when the moment came, he was
scrupulously careful never to court it unnecessarily, for he realized
that the longer he lived the more damage he would be able to inflict
upon the enemy. The early morning invariably found him in his hangar,
going over with loving care every detail of the mechanism of his swift
scout plane. Not until every portion of engine, wings, struts and stays
had been tried and proved in A-1 condition, and every cartridge removed
from his machine gun and carefully tested, did he climb into his pilot's
seat and wing his way across the sky in search of enemy planes.

And when Guynemer encountered an enemy plane he maneuvered to overcome
it with the same care for exactness of movement. His cool-headed
precision made it almost impossible to take him by surprise, while there
was many a hapless machine of the enemy that he pounced upon unawares.
He was an accomplished aerial acrobat, and one of his favorite tactics
was to climb to a great altitude and then, pointing the nose of his
plane at his prey, to suddenly swoop down at enormous speed, firing as
he came.

Expert as he was, the great French aviator had a number of narrow
escapes from death. In September, 1916, seeing one of his fellow
aviators engaged in an unequal combat with five German _Fokkers_, he
sped to the scene of the affray. Maneuvering into a favorable position
above his opponents he shot down two of them within the space of a few
seconds. The remaining three _Fokkers_ took to flight, but Guynemer was
hot on their trail. Another of them went crashing earthward. Suddenly,
as the plucky Frenchman sped on, hot on the trail of the two that were
still unpunished, he was startled by the bursting of a shell just under
his machine. One of the wings of his plane had been torn completely
away, and from a height of ten thousand feet in the atmosphere, he began
falling rapidly. He struggled bravely with the controls but nothing
could check the ever increasing speed of his plunge earthward. At an
altitude of five thousand feet the airplane commenced to somersault, but
the pilot was strapped in his seat. Then, as if some unseen force had
intervened, the swiftness of the descent was unexpectedly checked. With
speed greatly lessened the airplane came crashing to the earth, and the
plucky aviator was rescued from the débris, unconscious but not
seriously hurt by his dreadful fall. It was for this exploit that he
received the rank of Lieutenant, while he was decorated with the
much-coveted French War Cross.

On another occasion Guynemer's machine was shot down by German shells,
and came crashing to earth in No Man's Land, between the French and the
German trenches. The Prussians turned their machine guns on the spot and
plowed the area with scorching fire. But the French had seen their
beloved hero fall, and without a thought for the consequences the poilus
in the trenches went "over the top" after him. Quickly they bore him
back to safety, and if they left some of their comrades fallen out in
that dread region, they did not count it too great a sacrifice to have
redeemed their idol with their blood.

Practically every fighting nation has had not only its favorite airman
but also its favorite aerial escadrille. Guynemer was the leader of the
famous band of "Cignognes" or "Storks," into which had been gathered the
pick of all the flying men of France. His historic opponent in the war
in the air was the German Baron von Richthofen, whose squadrons were
humorously nicknamed "Richthofen's circus" by the Allies, because of
their curiously camouflaged wings. The Germans were very jealous of
Guynemer's successes, and as the record of the number of machines he had
downed grew, they eagerly credited Richthofen with more victories.
Guynemer's final score was 54 and his enemy's much higher. Yet as a
matter of fact the Frenchman had destroyed many more machines than Baron
von Richthofen, for whereas the French gave no credit for planes sent to
earth where no other witnesses than the pilot could testify to their
destruction, the Germans were very glad to pile up a huge score for
their hero, and were not by any means critical in seeking proof of a
victory.

Guynemer's remarkable aerial victories made him a hero throughout the
world. It was reported that in one day he had been officially credited
with the destruction of four airplanes of the enemy. One of his chief
ambitions was to bring down an enemy machine within the allied lines, as
little damaged as possible. Such a plane gave him an opportunity to
indulge his interest in the purely mechanical side of aviation. With the
utmost patience he would examine it in every detail, making note of any
features which he regarded as improvements on the _Nieuport_ he himself
flew. Such improvements would very shortly appear on his own machine. So
while Guynemer flew a _Nieuport_, it was in reality a different
_Nieuport_ from any doing service over the lines. In its many little
individual features and appliances it reflected the active, eager,
painstaking mind of its famous pilot, whose mind was ever on the alert
to discover the tiniest detail of mechanism which might gain for him an
advantage over his adversaries.

It was on September 11, 1917, that the beloved aviator fought his last
battle in the air. While in flight over Ypres he caught sight of five
German _Albatros_ planes, and instantly turned the nose of his machine
in their direction. As he bore swiftly down upon them, a flock of enemy
machines, over forty in number, suddenly made their appearance and
swooped down from an enormous height above the clouds. Baron von
Richthofen with his flying "circus" was among them. None of Guynemer's
comrades was near enough to aid him. In the distance a group of Belgian
machines came in view, rushing to his assistance, but before they had
arrived at the spot the plucky French airplane was observed sinking
gently to the earth, where it disappeared behind the German lines.
Guynemer's comrades cherished the hope that he had been forced to
descend and had been taken prisoner by the Germans. Such an ending to a
glorious career of service would perhaps not have been desired by the
aviator himself. He who had used his life to such good advantage for his
country had crowned his victories with death. The Germans themselves,
out of respect for his memory, undertook to inform his fellow-men of his
fate, and a few days later they dropped a note into the French aerodrome
stating that he had been shot through the head. The German pilot who had
killed him was named Wissemann, and he was an unknown aviator. When he
learned that he had actually killed the great Guynemer, he wrote home to
say that he need now fear no one, since he had conquered the king of
them all. It was scarcely a fortnight before he was sent to his death by
a devoted friend of his renowned victim.

The man who avenged the death of Guynemer was René Fonck, likewise a
member of the French "Cignognes." Fonck took up the championship of the
air where his comrade had laid it down. He stands to-day as the most
remarkable of all the French aviators. He has been called "the most
polished aerial duellist the world has ever seen." With an official
record of almost half a hundred enemy machines destroyed, he has
astounded his spectators by his aerial "stunts" and the absolute
accuracy of his aim. Many of Fonck's successful battles have been fought
against heavy odds, quite frequently with as many as five of the enemy's
airplanes opposing him. Yet with apparent ease he invariably succeeded
in warding off his would-be destroyers, whilst one by one he sent them
flaming to the earth.

It has been said of Fonck that in all his battles in the clouds he never
received so much as a bullet hole in his machine, thanks to his
unparalleled skill at maneuvering. He made a world's record at Soissons
in May, 1918, when he downed five enemy airplanes in one day. He was
flying on patrol duty when he came upon three German two-seater
machines, and in less than 10 seconds sent two of them flaming to earth.
Later in the same day he actually succeeded in breaking up a large
formation of German fighting machines, and after destroying three, sent
the rest fleeing in confusion.

On another occasion Fonck made a world's record when he brought down
three German planes in the brief space of 20 seconds. While in flight
above the lines he came upon four big biplanes of the enemy, flying in
single file, one behind the other. He quickly pounced upon the leader,
and in less time than it takes to tell, had sent him crashing to the
earth. The second had no chance to alter its course. Training his
machine gun on it Fonck soon sent it, a mass of flames, after its
fellow. The third big biplane dodged out of the line and sped out of
harm's way, but the fourth was caught by the plucky Frenchman, who
wheeled his machine round with startling rapidity and fired upon it
before it could make good its escape.

This remarkable feat, performed in August, 1918, brought Lieutenant René
Fonck's official total of victories up to sixty, and made him the
premier French ace, at the age of twenty-four. In all his aerial battles
he had never been wounded, passing unscathed through the most formidable
encounters by reason of his unparalleled skill at maneuvering.

Guynemer and Fonck are perhaps the two greatest names on the French roll
of heroes of the air. But there were many other Frenchmen who did
valiant service. Lieutenant René Dorine had an official record of 23
victories when he disappeared in May, 1917. He was nicknamed the
"Unpuncturable" by his comrades, since in all his exploits above the
lines his machine had only twice received a bullet hole. Lieutenant Jean
Chaput had a record of 16 enemy planes destroyed, when in May, 1918, he
made the great sacrifice; and there are many others, some living and
some fallen in battle, who, flying for France, day after day and month
after month, helped to make her cause at length a victorious one.

The "ace of aces" among British flying men of the war is Major William
A. Bishop, who holds the record of 72 enemy airplanes downed. Second to
him on the British list stands the name of Captain James McCudden, who
had disposed of 56 of his enemies when he himself was accidentally
killed. McCudden had had a most picturesque career. He joined the
British army as a bugler at the age of fifteen. As a private he fought
with the first Englishmen in France in 1914. His first flying experience
came at Mons, when owing to the scarcity of observers he was permitted
to serve in that capacity. He rapidly made good, and was soon promoted
to the rank of officer. He proved himself a clever aerial gunner, and so
won the opportunity to qualify as a pilot. With a fast fighting machine
of his own he became a menace to the Hun, with whom he engaged in over
100 combats during his flying career, yet never himself received a
wound.

Other English fliers made special records in the Great War, as Captain
Philip F. Fullard, who downed 48 enemy machines; Captain Henry W.
Wollett, who accounted for 28; and Lieutenants John J. Malone, Allan
Wilkinson, Stanley Rosevear and Robert A. Little, all with scores of
from 17 to 20. Captain Albert Ball, who was shot down by Baron von
Richthofen in 1917, had an official score of 43 victories over the Hun,
with the additional honor of having conquered the great German aviator
Immelmann.

And now we come to the story of America's great fliers. Long before
America herself had entered the World War there had arisen a valiant
little company of her sons, who, remembering our ancient debt to
France, had gone to fight beside her men in the war against the invader.
Many of these Americans became skilful aviators and members of the
squadron which the French had appropriately named the "Lafayette
Escadrille." In 1916, three of its most distinguished fliers--Norman
Price, Victor Chapman and Kiffen Rockwell--gave their lives to France.
Probably the name which all Americans know best is that of Major Raoul
Lufbery, till his death American "ace of aces," who flew with the
Escadrille under the flags of both countries.

Major Lufbery's personal story is romantic as any fiction. He was a born
soldier of fortune. When a very young chap he ran away from home and for
several years rode and tramped over Europe and part of Africa, working
at anything that came to hand. After his early wanderings there followed
two years of strenuous service with the U. S. regulars in the
Philippines; and after that another long, aimless jaunt over Japan and
China. It was in the Far East that he came by chance upon Marc Pourpe,
the French aviator who was giving exhibition flights and coining money
out of the enthusiasm of the Orientals. The two men became fast friends
and Pourpe took Lufbery along with him on his travels. As an airplane
mechanic under Pourpe's direction Lufbery found his first serious
employment and also his first serious interest. He conceived a deep
interest in aviation and became an apt pupil.

Then came the war, and Pourpe offered his services to France. Lufbery
went along as his mechanic. It was only a few months before his friend
had fallen, and Lufbery, anxious to avenge his death, sought admission
to the ranks of French fliers. In 1916, after much excellent service
over the lines, he became a member of the Lafayette Escadrille. The
spectacular period of his career had now begun. He had soon claimed the
five official victories necessary to make him an "ace," and in addition
was presented with the Croix de Guerre for distinguished bravery in
action. With his swift _Nieuport_ he engaged in combat after combat,
coming through by sheer cool-headedness and skill born of long
experience. He was officially described by the French Government as
"able, intrepid, and a veritable model for his comrades."

In November, 1917, America had the honor of claiming back her son, when
he became a major in the U. S. service and commanding officer of the
Lafayette Escadrille. And it was with the utmost sorrow that the
American public, a little over six months later, read that our great
aviator had met his death. He fell on May 19, 1918, in an attack on a
German "armored tank," which already had sent five American airplanes
plunging to earth. Lufbery's official total was 17 German planes
destroyed, but actually he had accounted for many more. He had been made
a Chevalier of the Legion of Honor by France, and like others of his
American comrades had done much to cement the friendship between the two
countries.

Another American ace who deserves the gratitude of the American people,
not only because he brought down twenty-six German aircraft but because
of the extraordinary inspiration of his example as a leader at the front
to other American air fighters, is the present premier American ace,
Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, idol of the automobile racing world before
the war.

America's entrance into the war fired Rickenbacker with an ambition to
get into the fighting at all costs and after an attempt to organize a
squadron composed of expert auto racing men, unsuccessful because of
lack of funds, he enlisted in the infantry. He became General Pershing's
driver at the front and while serving in this capacity watched his
chance to get into the flying end of the air service. An opportunity
soon presented itself and Rickenbacker advanced rapidly. In eighteen
months he had, as commanding officer, perfected the finest and most
efficient flying squadron in the Allied armies, and had become America's
ace of aces. His service was distinguished by untiring energy, devotion
to his men and sacrifice of personal ambition in the demands of his duty
as a leader, for it is a self-evident fact that had Rickenbacker been a
free lance, he might easily have doubled his score of victories. He is a
chevalier of the Legion of Honor, has received the Croix de Guerre with
three palms, and also the Distinguished Service Cross with nine palms.

[Illustration: CAPTAIN EDDIE RICKENBACKER]

A particularly lovable figure in American aviation during the war was
Edmond Genet, who fell in the Spring of 1917 while serving under the
Stars and Stripes. Born in America, young Genet was descended from the
first French minister to the United States. The two countries were
equally dear to him. When he died, at his own request the Tri-color and
the Stars and Stripes were placed side by side over his grave, as a
mark, so he said "that I died for both countries."

[Illustration: _Copyright International Film Service, Inc._

       THE FIRST BAG OF MAIL CARRIED BY THE U. S. AERO MAIL SERVICE]

It would be impossible to enumerate in one short chapter all the
brilliant records that were made during the war by the aviators of the
allied nations. The best we can hope to do is to remember those names
which stood out most prominently in the long story of victories won and
sacrifices made to the cause of the world's liberty. Opposing our brave
men there was, from time to time, a German flier who attained
considerable renown, and who, for a time at least, baffled his
opponents. Thus in the early days Immelmann and Boelke were much heard
of. Each had his peculiar method of maneuvering and fighting. Immelmann's
favorite trick was to "loop the loop" in order to get out of the way of
an enemy's gunfire, suddenly righting himself before the loop was
finished, in order to fly back and catch the opposing airman unawares.
By this "stunt" he succeeded in sending 37 Allied aviators to their
deaths, before he himself was shot down by Captain Albert Ball of the
British Royal Flying Corps.

Captain Boelke had a totally different method of attack from that of
Immelmann. His favorite pastime was to lurk behind a cloud at a great
altitude, until he spied an airplane of the Allies below him, when he
would point the nose of his machine straight at his victim and dive for
it, opening fire. In case he missed his target he never waited to give
battle, but continued his descent until he had made a landing behind the
German lines. According to the lenient German count, he had scored 43
victories up to the time of his death. It was an American, Captain
Bonnel, in the British air service, who finally defeated and killed him
in October, 1916.

Early in the war the Germans discovered that, however perfect their
airplanes might become, their airmen were not the equals of those who
were flying for the French and British. The German works much better
under orders than where, as in aerial combat, he is required to rely
entirely upon his personal initiative. The Allied airmen therefore soon
claimed supremacy over the lines, and it was in order to wrest it from
them that the Germans began turning over various schemes in their mind.
The one which proved acceptable in the end has been credited to Captain
Boelke. It was that of sending German aviators out in groups to meet the
Allied fliers, each group headed by a commander. This plan at least
proved much more successful than the old one of single encounter. Thus
Boelke became the commander of a German squadron, which after his death
passed to the leadership of Baron Max von Richthofen.

Richthofen was one of the cleverest of the enemy aviators and in time he
made his squadron a formidable aerial weapon. He conceived the idea of
camouflaging his planes in order to render them invisible at high
altitudes. Accordingly he had all the machines under his command gaudily
colored. He presented a curious spectacle when he took to flight with
his gaudily painted flock of birds and the British promptly nicknamed
his squadron "Richthofen's circus." The "circus" usually consisted of
about 30 fast scout machines, with every pilot a picked man. Freed from
all routine duties over the lines its one object was to destroy, and so
it roved up and down, appearing now here, now there, in an effort to
strike terror to the hearts of British and French airmen. It took a
large toll of our best fighters, although Richthofen's personal record
of 78 victories was undoubtedly exaggerated.

The most effective fighters against this powerful organization were the
members of the world-famous Hat-in-the-Ring Squadron commanded by
Captain Eddie Rickenbacker, America's ace of aces. Day after day they
went out against the boasted champions of the German Air Service and day
after day they came in with German planes to their credit. At the close
of the war they had won a greater number of victories than any other
American squadron. The Hat-in-the-Ring was the first American squadron
to go over the enemies' lines, the first to destroy an enemy plane and
it brought down the last Hun aeroplane to fall in the war. After the
signing of the armistice it was distinguished by being selected as the
only fighting squadron in the forces to move into Germany with the Army
of Occupation. It will doubtless go down in history as the greatest
flying squadron America sent to the war.

On April 21, 1918, the "circus" was in operation over the Somme Valley,
over the British lines. Several of its fighters attacked a couple of
British planes unexpectedly, and quite as suddenly the whole squadron
swooped down out of the blue. Other British airplanes rushed to the spot
from all directions and there followed a confused battle which spread
over a wide area.

One of the German planes which had been flying low came crashing to
earth. When the wreckage was removed and the body of the pilot recovered
he was found to be no other than the great Richthofen himself.

Thus the greatest of the German champions was downed. He was buried with
military honors by the British, but the menace which he stood for had
happily been destroyed.




                                CHAPTER IX

                         THE BIRTH OF AN AIRPLANE


Out in the forests of the great Northwest there stands a giant spruce
tree, tall and straight and strong, whose top looks out across the
gentle slopes of the Rocky Mountain foothills to the Pacific. For eight
hundred years, perhaps, it has stood guard there. Great of girth, its
straight trunk rising like a stately column in the forest, it is easily
king of all it surveys.

Someday the woodsmen of Uncle Sam come and fell that mighty spruce. And
then begins the story of its evolution, from a proud, immovable
personage whose upper foliage seemed to touch the clouds, to a strong
and lithesome bird who goes soaring fearlessly across the sky.

Uncle Sam has had an army of over ten thousand men in the woods of
Oregon and Washington during the past year, selecting and felling
spruces for airplane manufacture. Only the finest of the trees are
chosen, and lumber which shows the slightest defect is instantly
discarded. The great logs are sawed into long, flat beams, and are
carefully examined for knots or pitch pockets or other blemishes which
might impair their strength when finally they have been fashioned into
airplane parts. These beams then start on their journey to the aircraft
plants, where skilled laborers get to work on them. For the days of the
homemade airplane have passed. It is only about fifteen years since the
Wright brothers built their first crude flying machine, and, not without
some misgivings, made the first trial of their handiwork. Since then
airplane manufacture has made many a stride. The flying machine of those
days was largely a matter of guesswork. Nobody knew exactly what it
might do when it took to the air. Nobody knew whether it would prove
strong enough to bear the pilot's weight, or whether it might suddenly
capsize in the air and come crashing with its burden to the earth. For
the parts had been crudely fashioned by the inventor's own hands.
Naturally he was very seldom a skilled cabinet maker, painter and
mechanician. He knew very little about the laws of aerodynamics, about
stress and strain and factors of safety. He just went ahead and did the
best he could and took his chance about losing his life when his great
bird took to the air.

No wonder the early fliers dreaded to set forth in even a gentle breeze!
No wonder there used to be so much talk about "holes in the air" and all
the other atmospheric difficulties that beset the pioneers. The wonder
is that any of the early fliers ever came off alive with the fickle
mounts to whom they trusted their lives.

To-day the manufacture of an airplane has been reduced to the most exact
of sciences. Every part is produced in large quantities by skilled
workmen, and its strength is scientifically determined before it is
passed on to become a member of the finished airplane. Sometimes whole
factories specialize on a particular detail of the airplane. Here they
make only airplane propellers; there only engines; while in this factory
the wings and fuselage are produced.

Let us imagine ourselves on a visit to one of the great aircraft
factories which have suddenly sprung up in the United States and become
so busy with the work of turning out a huge aerial fleet. The great
trees which were felled in the Northwestern woods have changed greatly
in appearance since we saw them last. As a matter of fact for certain
parts of the airplane they should have been allowed to lie out in the
sun and rain for several years to "season," but the rush to put planes
in the air has made this impossible. Instead they have been treated with
a special process in order to rid the wood of its impurities. Now the
big beams go to the carpenters to be fashioned into the airplane
fuselage. The separate boards are carefully cut and fitted and trimmed
down to perfect smoothness and symmetry. Painted and varnished the
fuselage resembles a fine automobile body. In the top or roof of the
fuselage one or more circular openings have been cut. Below, almost on
the floor are the seats for pilot and observer, in what are known as the
cockpits. While the carpenters and cabinet makers have been busy on the
fuselage, more skilled workmen still have been fashioning the airplane
wings. This is one of the most difficult and delicate tasks of all.
Remember that the curve of the wing determines to a large extent the
speed and climbing powers of the completed airplane. The wing is built
up of a number of ribs which give it the proper curve and shape. Each of
these ribs must be accurately manufactured from a prescribed formula.
First a piece of board is turned out which looks exactly like a cross
section of a wing. But there is no need for solid wood to add to the
weight of the wing, and so all over its surface the workman goes, boring
out circular pieces, until only a framework remains. On its upper and
lower edges a flexible strip of wood is bent down to its shape and
strongly attached. The rib is now complete. A number of ribs placed in a
row begin to suggest the outlines of a wing. They are connected by long
beams which run from tip to tip of the wing. When these have been
fastened in place the skeleton is completed and the work of the
carpenters is over for a little while.

The next step is to place upon this wing skeleton its linen covering.
The linen is usually cut in gores or strips which are sewed together,
and then the whole piece is stretched as taut as possible upon its
framework, above and below the ribs. Sometimes the seams run parallel to
the ribs and are tacked down to them, but seams which run diagonally
across the wing have been found more satisfactory. Of course it is
practically impossible to stretch the fabric absolutely tight over the
frame so that it will not sag when subjected to the heavy pressure of
the air. Various methods were tried in the early days to tauten and
strengthen the fabric. To-day the covered wing is treated with a
substance known as "dope," which shrinks it till it is "tight as a
drum."

Dope renders the wing both air-proof and rainproof. It strengthens the
fabric and makes it able to bear the terrible stresses to which it will
be subjected when the airplane is racing through the sky. But it cannot
be applied carelessly, and right here the skill of the very best
painters is brought into play. These painters spread first two very thin
coats of it over the fabric, filling up the pores so that later coats
will not run through into the interior of the wing. Next two or three
thicker coats are applied. After this the wing may receive several coats
of varnish, while if it is a U. S. service plane it gets a final
covering of white enamel, which protects the fabric from the injurious
action of the sun's rays.

Now the wings and fuselage of our airplane are ready, and the rudder,
the elevating surfaces and the ailerons are in course of production.
They are made in the same manner as the wings, with a wooden framework
over which fabric is stretched and "doped." We begin to think our big
bird is almost ready to be put together, but we have forgotten two
important items: the engine and the propeller.

The airplane manufacturer usually does not attempt to build his own
engines or propellers. He buys his engine all ready to be installed and
procures his propeller from a factory which makes this its specialty.

For the propeller is one of the most difficult parts of the airplane to
produce. Above all things it must be strong, and for this reason steel
has been tried in its manufacture. Curiously enough it was found that
the metal propeller could not stand up under high speeds and stresses as
well as one built of wood.

Many kinds of wood are used in propeller construction, and the choice
depends very largely on the speed and stress--in other words on the
horsepower of the engine. Sometimes a propeller is built of alternating
layers of two different kinds of wood. But with high-powered engines oak
is very generally employed on account of its strength.

An airplane propeller is not carved out of a single block of wood, for
in this case it would not be strong enough for the difficult task it has
to perform of cutting its way through the atmosphere and drawing the
airplane after it. Instead it is built up of a number of thicknesses of
specially seasoned wood, so arranged that the surface is formed by the
cross grains of the various layers. This result is produced by first
piling up a number of boards to form a block out of which the propeller
can be carved. The boards are glued firmly together and then they are
subjected to tremendous pressure. Now expert wood carvers begin their
delicate task of turning out a propeller of a given pitch. Their work
requires the utmost skill, but they succeed, until gradually the
finished article begins to take form out of the crude block. A coat of
varnish, a fine metal hub--and our propeller is ready to be shipped to
join the wings and the fuselage and complete the manufacture of a modern
airplane.

There are several other items--such as the steel landing chassis, the
steering instruments and the upholstery--which we must have on hand
before we are ready to commence the work of assembling. When all have
been procured the happy task begins. The wings are put in place, and
carefully secured by wires and supporting struts. The steering apparatus
is installed, the cushioned seats are placed in the cockpits, the
fuselage is mounted on the wheeled chassis, and finally when all is
complete the big bird is sent out for its first test flight.

If there is any one way in which the airplane of to-day differs
radically in its process of manufacture from the airplane of a few years
ago it is in this: that it is a _tested_ machine. The greatest enemy of
the aviator was and always will be, not so much the bullets of an enemy
as the hidden flaw in his machine's construction, which makes it "go
back on him" when he least expects. The pioneer aviator built himself
what he considered a "strong airplane," but when he attempted flight
under weather conditions not so favorable as those on which he had
counted, some untested part gave way. So in the early days there were
many tragedies. To-day, the airplane has become a safe mount indeed, for
not only is the finished machine tried out before it is put into use,
but each separate part is subjected to the most exacting series of
tests. If it does not bear up under at least six times the strain it
will ever be called on to endure in flight, it is rejected as unfit.

That is the reason the aviator of to-day dares to perform all the
marvelous tricks in the air of which we read. Back of the stories of
heroism and daring that have come from the battle line during the Great
War, and back of the great commercial feats and enterprises that are
being planned for the near future, we must not lose sight of the
remarkable progress in airplane manufacture and the careful painstaking
research and experiment that have resulted in greater safety in the air.

Of course it was the war that spurred every one on to do his best in the
design and construction of airplanes. Before that time England and
America had made very poor showings, and France, although deeply
interested in aviation, had nothing in the way of a flying machine that
would not seem ancient compared with the airplanes of the present time.

America came into the field of action late, and up to the time she
entered the war she had practically no airplane industry whatever. Yet
when she did get in she set to work with a will, and as every one knows
she succeeded in making a real contribution to aviation in the war.
Every brain that could be of service in our great country was mobilized.
The automobile manufacturers did much for the cause, some surrendering
their trade secrets for the good of the cause, and others turning over
their large organizations to airplane construction. As a result, a
recent report stated that there were 248 factories in the United States
making planes, with over 150,000 men working on aircraft. In a single
year this giant industry has sprung up, and the mechanical genius of
America has been focussed upon this latest problem: the heavier-than-air
machine.

It is inconceivable that our country, which can boast the invention of
the airplane, should in peace times allow this great industry to wane.
For a long time we slept while France was forging ahead in the design
and construction of machines. The commercial uses of the airplane will
be numberless, and it is bound to assume an ever more important and
practical role in everyday life. America has the natural resources, and
now that she has developed the tools with which to work and has trained
a large body of young men to be capable pilots, she should look forward
in the future to maintaining her proper place among the nations in
airplane manufacture. The big bird of the sky who had his birth in
America and who grew to such enormous proportions during the strenuous
days of war, must not be allowed to lose his American manners when he
turns to peace pursuits.




                                 CHAPTER X

                        THE TRAINING OF AN AVIATOR


It is a rocky road that leads from the obscurity of civilian life to the
glory and achievement of a successful "bird-man." The man--or the
boy--who elects to follow it must be possessed of brains, physical
perfection, and iron grit, for he will need them all if he is to become
one of the "heroes of the air." With one's feet on solid earth it is
easy enough to make mistakes and profit by them, doing better the next
time. The airman seldom profits by his serious blunders, for he is no
longer on the scene when the experts are pointing out what error he was
guilty of. The moment his machine, after a run across the ground,
suddenly lifts and goes skimming off into the blue, he must depend upon
himself. No friend upon the earth can shout to him any advice; his own
unfailing knowledge and quick judgment must dictate in every emergency
and see him through until once more he alights upon this old world.

Fortunately the War has proved that there were many young men able to do
just that--depend upon themselves in situations so critical that the
slightest deviation from the right course, the slightest hesitation
about what to do next, would have cost them their lives, and their
government a costly airplane. Such men have covered themselves with
glory, and have won the love and admiration of their people. But they
did not achieve their daring exploits nor make their marvelous records
in the air until they had passed through a series of tests and a system
of training so rigid that it might well have discouraged the most
stout-hearted.

Why must the aviator be physically perfect? Just imagine for one moment
some of the hardships and perils he will have to face. The higher the
altitude at which he flies, the more intense becomes the cold. In some
regions of the upper air temperatures as low as 80° and 90° below zero
have been recorded by fliers. And rushing through the air at such speeds
as 150 miles an hour produces a strain upon the lungs which only the
strongest and sturdiest can endure. Nor is this all. The tiniest defect
in the mechanism of the inner ear may cost the airman his life, if he
undertakes night flying. If only he were required to fly in broad
daylight when there were neither clouds nor darkness to obstruct his
view of Old Mother Earth, he might manage to get along with a
less-than-perfect ear. But at night,--on a cloudy night at that, when
there are no lights on earth to guide him and no stars visible in the
sky--the aviator faces some of his gravest perils. Strange as it may
seem it is often very difficult for him to tell whether his machine is
in a horizontal position, whether he is flying right-side-up or is
toppling over at a perilous angle. The only thing which helps him in
this extremity is a slight reflex action in the inner ear which warns
him of any loss of "balance." In the same way perfect vision is
absolutely essential to the man who must be prepared for any sort of
aerial emergency. This does not mean merely "seeing well." It means the
absolute working right of the lens and muscles of the eye, their quick
readjustment to normal after any series of loop-the-loops, after a nose
dive or any sort of acrobatic stunt an airplane may be called on to
perform.

So it goes with every one of the physical requirements laid down by the
military authorities for men who would become fliers--they are not just
arbitrary requirements, but are based on long experience of the demands
which flying makes upon the system. In peace times the aviator may be
able to get along with somewhat less than the physical perfection
required of the military aviator, particularly if he takes up flying
merely as a sport, for he will be able to spare himself the night flying
and all the other difficult feats which have been required of the
aviators in the war. But the next few years are going to see many new
commercial duties opening to the airplane, and the pilots who guide
these great ships of peace and industry will no doubt be chosen by just
as high standards as our military aviators.

The room in which the would-be military aviator receives his physical
examination has been jokingly referred to as "the Chamber of Horrors,"
and he reaches it after a short preliminary test of heart, lungs, and
ear. As he sits side by side with his fellow applicants in the outer
waiting room, he cannot help a feeling of "creepiness." At intervals a
doctor appears at the door of that secret chamber and beckons another
unfortunate in. He remembers all the grewsome stories he had heard of
happenings in that room behind the closed door and his knees commence to
shake. Gradually the minutes pass and by a supreme effort he begins to
recover his nerve. Suddenly the door opens and a white faced applicant
rushes out. The poor would-be aviator regrets his rashness in deciding
to learn to pilot one of the big birds of the air. But it is his turn
next, so, appearing as unconcerned as possible, he follows the doctor
in.

He is ordered to sit down in a small chair to the back of which is
attached a bracket for his head. The clamps are adjusted to hold his
head firm, he is told to fix his gaze on a point ahead, and then
suddenly, he commences to whirl around. Round and round he goes, ten
times in 20 seconds. The chair comes abruptly to a halt. He must find
that point he fixed his eyes on before starting. He struggles vainly to
do so, imagining that failure means immediate rejection, but his
eyeballs are turning rapidly back and forth. At last they stop, the
physician calls out the number of seconds to his assistant. The same
experiment is tried in an opposite direction, similar ones follow, and
then the unhappy applicant braces himself for one of the most severe of
all the physical tests.

His head is released from the clamp in which it has been held, and he is
instructed to clench his hands upon his knees and rest his head on them.
This done, the chair begins whirling once more. As it comes to a sudden
halt, he is sharply ordered to raise his head. He has the impression
that he is falling rapidly through space, and a dizzy "seasickness"
almost overcomes him. Finally his eyeballs cease their swift gyrations.
The instructor has timed them with a stop-watch. He is excused from the
room, and, feeling like a man who had been through a siege of illness,
he makes a dash for the open air.

If the applicant for service in the air has passed his preliminary tests
successfully, he may shortly find himself at one of the government's
"ground schools," where his education in airplane science begins. Actual
flight is still a long way off: he must first receive some rudimentary
drill in ordinary "soldiering," and next be put through an intensive
course of training in a positively alarming number of studies, before he
even approaches the joyful moment when he may begin to think of himself
as even a fledgling aviator.

In the next few weeks he must become something of a gunner, a telegraph
operator, a map-reader, a photographer and a bomber; he must make the
acquaintance of the airplane engine in the most minute detail; go
through a course in astronomy and one in meteorology; and learn the use
of the compass and all other instruments necessary in steering an
airplane along a definite course. Aerial observation forms no small part
of his course of studies. Sitting in a gallery and looking down upon a
large relief map whose raised hills, buildings, streams, and trenches
give a very fair reproduction of the earth as it will look to him when
he flies over it in a machine, he learns to pick out the objects of
strategic importance, and to prepare military reports which will help
the staff officers in their work of directing hostilities. Or he may
have to report the results of a mock bombardment, and thus prepare
himself for the duties of the artillery "spotter." In order to be able
to interpret with a fair degree of intelligence the things he will see
as an aerial observer, he must know a good deal about military science
and strategy himself, and this forms one of the subjects in his
curriculum at the ground school. His life here is a strenuous one. He
rises soon after five in the morning, and from then until lights go out
for the night at 9:30 he has all too little time to call his own.

Before he is finally passed out of the ground school the cadet must
prove that he understands thoroughly the principle of flight, the
operation of an internal combustion engine, and the care and repair of a
machine. He will be able to recognize the various types of airplanes, he
will have some skill at aerial observation, and he will be able to
operate an airplane camera, a bomb-dropping instrument and a
range-finder, a wireless or a radio instrument. He will have been
instructed in signaling with wigwag and semaphore, in the operation of a
magneto, in the theory of aerial combat, and in a number of minor
subjects such as sail-making, rope-splicing, etc.

Thus prepared in his "ABC's," the would-be aviator finally makes his
departure for the actual flying school. Here he does not shake off dull
class-room routine and launch forth upon a career of aerial adventure.
Quite to the contrary his intensive training in the technical side of
aviation becomes even more exacting. He takes apart and puts together
again with his own hands various types of airplane engines, he practises
gunnery at a moving target, he assembles an airplane out of the
dismantled parts.

He does, however, have that wonderful experience, his first flight. Some
fine morning he is told that the instructor will take him up, and,
thoroughly bundled up for warmth in a leather jacket, woolen muffler,
heavy cap, etc., with goggles and other little essentials of an
aviator's dress, he climbs into the machine. He expects to acquire
considerable knowledge of the science of aviation on that first flight.
As a matter of fact his mind is so completely overwhelmed by the many
new sensations that come to it, that it is only a long time after that
he is able to sort them out and form an accurate conception of the
adventure. The roar of the motor is deafening as the big bird of the air
goes taxiing across the earth. He does not realize that he has left the
ground, until suddenly, looking down, he sees the solid earth receding
rapidly from beneath him. Then, unexpectedly the machine gets into the
"bumps" and he has a few nervous moments until finally it rights itself
and goes skimming off into the blue. The sun is shining and below the
earth looks peaceful and friendly. He settles himself more comfortably
in his seat and begins to enjoy his little aerial journey. Suddenly,
without a second's warning, the airplane dives downward. The sickening
drop leaves him a trifle paler, perhaps, and he no longer has the
pleasant sensation of relaxed enjoyment. He hardly knows what to expect
next, and the instructor, bent on testing his nerve takes him through
stunt after stunt, climbing, turning, diving. At length the airplane
glides gently to earth. A short run over the ground once more, followed
by a full stop; and the young gentleman who went up a few minutes ago
with a good deal of vim and self-assurance climbs out with a feeling of
relief and satisfaction that his feet are once more on terra firma.

But do not imagine that he has lost his enthusiasm for the air. If that
were the case then he would not be of the stuff of which aviators are
made. At the worst reckoning he has acquired an intense ambition to some
day "try it on the other fellow," and this in all probability he will
do, when, in the course of time he has become an experienced and
seasoned airman.

In the meantime, however, he must first accustom himself to the "feel"
of the air, and next he must learn the operation and control of the
airplane in flight. After a few first trips as a "passenger," he will be
allowed to try his hand at steering the machine. This is done by what is
called a dual control system. Instead of the single control-stick and
steering-bar of the ordinary airplane, the training machine has these
parts duplicated, so that any false move on the part of the student
flyer may be immediately corrected by the instructor. As long as his
movements are the right ones, the instructor does not interfere, but the
moment he makes a mistake the control of the airplane passes out of his
hands. Gradually he becomes more and more adept at guiding the big bird
through the air, and can get along nicely without any interference or
correction. At each lesson he has mastered some new problem. He knows
how to leave the earth at the proper angle after the first short run
over the ground, and how to come down again, how to turn in the air,
when to cut off the power in alighting and when to apply the brakes. He
learns to listen for the rhythmic sound of the engine and to know when
anything has gone wrong with it.

By far the most difficult of his problems is the art of landing. As we
have already seen the speed of an airplane cannot be reduced below a
certain danger line if its wings are to continue to support it in the
air. This danger line varies with different types of airplanes, but in
all of them the engine must be kept running at a fairly high speed or
the whole structure will come crashing to the earth. To bring an
airplane to earth while it is traveling at a speed of 75 miles an hour
is no mean accomplishment. It must not bump down heavily upon the
ground, or its landing chassis will be broken, even if no more serious
accident occurs. It must settle slowly until its wheels just touch,
while all the time it is moving forward at the rate of a fast express
train. This is an art that requires infinite practise to acquire, but
it is one of the most important feats the student airman has to learn.

However, the long wished-for day finally arrives when he can be trusted
to go aloft by himself. Carefully he goes over every inch of his
machine, to be sure it is in A-1 condition. He inspects the engine and
tests every strut and wire, then, satisfied that it is in prime working
order, he climbs into his seat. That is one of the most thrilling
moments connected with his aviation training. In all other flights he
has known that the errors he might make could be corrected by the trusty
instructor. Now he must rely solely upon himself. With a feeling of
mastery and conquest, he goes skimming into the air. He longs to prove
himself. Probably he does, and not long after he receives permission to
try for an aviator's certificate. This is the certificate issued by the
Aero Club of America; it does not make him a full-fledged military
aviator, but it marks the completion of the first stage of his progress
toward the coveted goal.

In order to acquire the aviator's certificate, the candidate must
accomplish two long distance flights and one altitude flight; he must be
able to cut figures of eight and to land without the slightest injury to
his machine. In other words he must prove to the satisfaction of his
examiners that he is able to handle an airplane skilfully, barring of
course any fancy exploits in the air.

He now launches on his advanced course of training. This will require
at least three months of hard work, and during that time he must learn
to fly a number of different types of machines which are used in
military aviation. In the meantime he may perhaps go up for examination
to acquire the much-coveted "wings." But do not imagine that _they_ mark
the end of his education. With the aviator it is very much as with the
schoolboy: when he finishes one grade or stage of his progress he passes
on to a still more difficult. The man who has acquired "wings" is not
immune from the most trying daily routine of studies, which include the
ever important map-reading, photography, aerial gunnery and what-not.

Finally, however, there does come a day when the army aviator may be
said to pass out of the elementary school of classes and instructors
into the broader school of experience. Many young American aviators who
served during the War can look back upon such a day with a thrill. They
had then their hardest lessons to learn. The map-reading, the gunnery,
the trying and tedious curriculum of the aviation school become suddenly
vital issues, and the facts which were learned in the classroom have to
be mastered anew by _living them_ in the air. The experience of one
young airman on his first real assignment goes to show how the problems
which seemed so easy of solution on the ground become unexpectedly
difficult when the flyer is face to face with them for the first time up
there above the clouds. Fresh from his course of training, he had been
ordered to take an airplane from one government hangar to another which
was close up behind the front lines. He knew his "map-reading" pretty
well, but he had never made a long cross-country flight before and the
ground was unfamiliar. Somewhere near his destination he made a false
turn, and the first intimation that reached him of the fact that he was
off his course was the appearance below him of white puffs of
smoke--"cream puffs" as the airmen have jokingly nicknamed them. He
realized with a start that he was over the enemy's lines and was being
fired at. Without losing any time he turned his face toward home, and
this time he succeeded in spotting the lost hangar and making a safe
landing. But he had learned a little lesson in following his map which
no instructor could have taught him half so well.

[Illustration: _Copyright Underwood and Underwood_

  A PHOTOGRAPH MADE TEN THOUSAND FEET IN THE AIR, SHOWING MACHINES IN "V"
                      FORMATION AT BOMBING PRACTICE]

There are many lessons like that which the airman who is new at the game
must master. Gradually he becomes more and more expert and more and more
self-reliant. Then, if he is of the stuff that heroes are made of,
perhaps he may distinguish himself by his daring accomplishments in the
air. The more daring and successful he appears to be, the more certain
it is that he has covered that long road of careful preparation with
exacting thoroughness.

[Illustration: _Copyright International Film Service, Inc._

     A GROUP OF DE HAVILLAND PLANES AT BOLLING FIELD NEAR WASHINGTON]




                                CHAPTER XI

                        THE FUTURE STORY OF THE AIR


Since the days when the first man ascended into the clouds in a
Montgolfier fire balloon, and since the days when the Wright brothers
tried their first gliding experiments and proved that men might hope to
soar with wings into the sky, many glorious chapters have been written
in the story of the air.

Surely the most inspiring and significant achievement in aerial progress
is the great trans-Atlantic flight made in the latter part of May, 1919,
by a flying boat of the U.S. Navy. A force of fliers in three airships
under Commander Towers attempted the flight from New York to Lisbon by
way of Halifax and the Azores, in three "legs" or continuous flights,
but on account of disastrous weather conditions, only one of these
planes, the NC-4, under Lieutenant-Commander A. C. Read completed the
trip successfully. The enthusiasm of the entire world was fired by this
feat and it is difficult to estimate fully its epochal significance.

Simultaneous with this flight and even more daring in plan, was the
attempt by an Englishman, Harry Hawker, to fly direct from St. Johns,
Newfoundland, to England in a Sopwith biplane. Through an imperfect
action of the water pump of his machine Hawker was forced to descend and
was rescued twelve hundred miles at sea by a Danish vessel. However,
the highest honor is due to this man of the air who embarked on so brave
an adventure.

The next trans-Atlantic flight was made about a month after the NC-4 had
blazed the air route across the ocean. This was a non-stop,
record-breaking trip of Capt. John Alcock and Lieut. Arthur W. Brown--an
American--in the British Vickers-Vimy land plane from St John's,
Newfoundland, to Clifden on the Irish coast. These daring pilots made
the distance of 1900 miles in sixteen hours--an average speed of 119
miles an hour.

Although these achievements in heavier-than-air machines were of
far-reaching importance, they did not fully solve the problem of
trans-Atlantic air passage. It remained for the great dirigible
experiment in July to demonstrate that in all probability the
lighter-than-air craft will prove more effective for this hazardous game
with the elements.

On July 2 the British naval dirigible, R-34, left East Fortune,
Scotland, with thirty-one men on board under command of Major G. H.
Scott, and made the journey of 3200 sea miles, by way of Newfoundland
and Nova Scotia, to Mineola, Long Island, in 108 hours. The fact that
weather conditions during this trip were very unfavorable adds to the
value of the accomplishment. The return trip was made a few days later
in 75 hours.

The R-34 is indeed a mammoth of the air. At the time of its flight it
was the largest aircraft in the world, having a length of 650 feet and a
diameter of 78 feet. It has five cars connected by a deck below the
rigid bag and is propelled by five engines of 250 H.P. each. Its maximum
speed is about sixty miles an hour.

The year following the Great War will go down in history as a marvelous
period in aeronautic achievement. The Atlantic was for the first time
crossed by aircraft and within ten weeks of its first accomplishment two
trans-Atlantic flights were made, three widely differing types of
aircraft being represented.

As a matter of fact we have but begun to explore the possibilities of
aerial flight. During the last few years we have been thinking of the
airplane solely as an instrument of war, and for that purpose we have
bent our entire energies to developing it. When all the wealth of skill
we have acquired during strenuous war times is turned to solving the
problem of making the airplane useful in times of peace, there will be
new and fascinating chapters to relate.

The war has done a lot for the airplane. It has raised up a host of
aircraft factories in all the large countries, with thousands of skilled
workers. It has given us a splendid force of trained pilots and
mechanics. It has resulted in standardized airplane parts, instead of
the endless confusion of designs and makes that existed a few years ago.
And instead of the old haphazard methods of production it has made the
building of an airplane an exact science.

People used to be afraid of the airplane and it seemed a long road to
travel to the time when it would play any important rôle in everyday
commerce or travel. The war has resulted in making the airplane
_safe_,--so safe that it is apt to win the confidence of the most timid.

Yet the airplanes that we saw and read of so frequently in war time are
not likely to be those which will prove the most popular and useful in
the days to come. In war one of the great aims was for _speed_. Now we
can afford to sacrifice some speed to greater carrying capacity. The
swift tractor biplane may possibly give way to the slower biplane of the
pusher type, which has greater stability. The big triplanes, such as the
Russian Sikorsky and the Italian Caproni will come into their own, and
yet bigger triplanes will be built, able to carry passengers and freight
on long journeys over land and sea. The three surfaces of the triplane
give it great lifting powers, and on this account it will be a favorite
where long trips and heavy cargoes are to be reckoned with. We may
expect in the near future to see huge air-going liners of this type,
fitted out with promenade decks and staterooms, and with all the
conveniences of modern travel.

There is a strong probability that the airship, rather than the
airplane, may prove to be the great aerial liner of to-morrow. The large
airship of the Zeppelin type, traveling at greater speed than the
fastest express train, and carrying a large number of passengers and a
heavy cargo, is apt before long to become the deadly rival of the
steamship. A voyage across the Atlantic in such an airship would be far
shorter, safer and pleasanter than in the finest of the ocean vessels.
Gliding along smoothly far above the water, the passengers would suffer
no uncomfortable seasickness, nor would they be rocked and tumbled about
when a storm arose and the waves piled up and up into mountains of water
on the surface of the deep. Their craft would move forward undisturbed
by the turbulent seas beneath. We can imagine these fortunate
individuals of a few years hence, leaning over the railing of their
promenade deck as we ourselves might on a calm day at sea, and recalling
the great discomforts that used to attend a trans-Atlantic voyage. It is
amusing to think that our steamships of to-day will perhaps be recalled
by these people of the future about as we ourselves recall the old
sailing vessels that used to ply the deep a generation or so ago.

The airplane, if it is to hold its own beside the airship as a large
passenger vessel, will first have to overcome a number of natural
handicaps. In the first place, it is not possible to go on increasing
the size of the airplane indefinitely, as is practically the case with
the airship. For remember that the lighter-than-air machine _floats_ in
the air, and only requires its engine to drive it forward: whereas the
heavier-than-air machine depends upon the speed imparted to it by its
engine and propeller to keep it up in the air at all. Beyond a certain
size the airplane would require engines of such enormous size and power
to support it that it would be practically impossible to build and
operate them. Modern invention has taught us that nothing is beyond the
range of fancy, and we have seen many of the wildest dreams of
yesterday fulfiled, yet it is safe to say that the airplane which would
in any way approximate an ocean liner will not be built for many a year
to come. In the meantime, however, we will have huge machines like the
Caproni and the Sikorsky triplanes, driven by two or more motors and
able to make the trans-Atlantic voyage with a number of passengers,
freight and fuel for the journey.

Indeed, though for purposes of long distance travel and commerce the
airplane stands a chance of being superseded by the lighter-than-air
machine, there are many other important missions that it can perform in
the modern world. One for which it is particularly suited is that of
carrying the mail. In 1911 a Curtiss airplane flew from Nassau
Boulevard, Long Island to Mineola, bearing the Hon. Frank H. Hitchcock,
Postmaster General of the United States, "with a mail bag on his knees."
As the machine swooped gently down over the big white circle that had
been painted on the Mineola field, the Postmaster-General let fall his
bag. That machine was the pioneer of a system of aerial mail which will
soon reach every corner of the country. During the war a mail route was
inaugurated between New York and Washington. Now, with many fast
machines and trained pilots freed from war duties, a system of routes
which will traverse our vast territory has been laid out.

It is for work such as this that the small, fast airplanes developed
during the war may prove most successful. Traveling over 100 miles an
hour, in a straight line from their starting point to their
destination, they will be able to deliver the mail with a speed almost
equal to that of the telegraph, and far in excess of anything that can
be accomplished by the express train. For not only has the express train
much less actual speed, but it must thread its way through winding
valleys, go far out of its course in order to avoid some impassable
mountain district, climb steep slopes or follow river beds in order to
reach its destination. The airplane has no obstacles to overcome.
Mountains, rivers, impenetrable jungles present no difficulty to it. It
simply chooses its objective and flies to it, practically in a straight
line. It can jump the Rocky Mountains and deliver mail to the western
coast with the greatest ease. Regions like Alaska, where letters from
the States took weeks or even months to be delivered, and to which the
steamship routes were closed for a portion of the year, will be brought
closer home when mails are arriving and leaving every few days.

What use can be made of the large photographing planes that have been
developed during the war to such a degree of perfection? In peace times
they will have many interesting duties awaiting them. The motion picture
producers will no doubt employ them very widely. Flying over our country
from end to end they will bring back wonderful panoramic views. They
will explore the beauties of the Yukon and show us the peaks of the
Rockies in all their majestic grandeur. They will be taken to other
continents and sent on photographing flights into regions that have
scarcely been trod by human feet, and they will bring home to us
remarkable views of jungles where wild animals roam. Pictures which the
motion picture man of to-day with his camera has often risked his life
to secure, the nimble photographing plane will secure with the utmost
ease.

And that suggests another possible rôle of the airplane in times of
peace: that of exploration. As we think of Peary, pushing with his
valiant party across the ice fields of the far North, struggling month
after month to attain his goal, and returning to the same hard effort
each time his expedition failed, we cannot help wishing for his sake
that the airplane had reached its present state of development when his
difficult undertaking of finding the North Pole began. Who knows but
that Peary the pilot might have attained his objective many years before
he did, providing of course he had had a machine of the modern type to
fly in. Certainly one of the coming uses of the airplane will be that of
penetrating into unknown quarters of the earth. Acting on the
information which we can thus obtain we may be able to open up new
stores of wealth and new territories to man.

The enormous boom that has been given to aircraft production by the war
ought to have at least one happy result in peace times: it should reduce
the cost of the airplane. When that is brought within the means of the
average prosperous citizen, we may expect to see flying become a popular
sport. The man who now sets forth on a cross country pleasure trip in
his automobile, will find still greater enjoyment in a cross country
flight. High above the dusty country roads, he will be able to skim
happily through the blue, enjoying his isolation and able to gaze out
for many miles in all directions over the beautiful panorama of the
earth. The plane which he pilots will no doubt be so designed as to
possess unusual stability. It will to a large extent be "fool proof."
Its owner will enjoy the comfortable feeling which comes from a sense of
security, and at the same time will have all the delightful sensations
of an adventurer in the clouds. He will find the air at high altitudes
invigorating, and so he will gain in health as he never could have done
by motoring over the solid earth.

When men take to flying in large numbers no doubt we will have to have
some sort of traffic regulations of the sky, but these will never need
to be so strict as upon the ground, for the air is not a single track
but a wide, limitless expanse, in which airplanes can fly in many
directions and at many altitudes. There will never be any need of
passing to the left of the machine ahead of you or signaling behind that
you are slowing down; for ten chances to one you will never encounter
another plane directly in your line of flight, and if you do it will be
a simple matter to dive below or climb over him, continuing your journey
in a higher stratum of air. There will probably be laws controlling
flights over cities and communities, where an accident to the flier
might endanger the lives below. What is likely to happen is that certain
"highways" of the air will be established legally, extending in many
directions over the country. In these directions the private airman will
be permitted to fly for pleasure, while at certain intervals along the
routes public landing grounds will be maintained.

Landing is still one of the most serious problems the air pilot has to
face, and it is to be hoped that the aircraft builders of the near
future will help him to solve this difficulty. The reason for it, as we
have already seen, is that the airplane secures its buoyancy largely as
a result of its speed. Wings which are large enough to support it when
flying at 150 miles an hour are too small to hold it in the air when its
speed is slowed down. The machine has to be landed while still moving
forward at comparatively the rate of an express train, and this forward
motion can only be checked after the wheels are safely on the ground. If
the engine should be stopped while the airplane is still forty or fifty
feet above the ground, the wings would be unable to support it and it
would come crashing to the earth. But this situation of course makes
matters very difficult for the airman who has not had long experience in
landing his machine. He must come down on a small landing field and
bring his plane to a full stop before he has crashed into the other
machines which perhaps are standing about. His difficulty is added to by
the fact that his propeller only works efficiently at the full speed for
which it was designed. When he slows down in the air preparatory to
landing, it may "slip" backward through the air, instead of driving his
airplane forward at the rate necessary to support its weight. In that
case he is in danger of going into a spin, from which he may not have
time to recover.

For these reasons it is to be hoped that the airplane of the future will
have some form of telescoping wings and of variable pitch propeller.
While these improvements in construction have not been worked out
practically at the present moment, there is every reason to believe that
they may be before long.

But whatever structural difficulties have yet to be overcome in
connection with the airplane, certain it is that the big birds which we
saw so often in the sky during the war, are going to be yet numerous in
peace times. As for the purely military machines, let us hope that their
work is over, and that they may never be called on to fight another
battle in the air. Yet if other wars should come, it is certain that
they would play a still more tremendous rôle than they have in the
present struggle. We can imagine the war of the future being fought
almost entirely above the clouds. The one great contest would be for
victory in the air, since the nation which succeeded in driving its
enemy from the sky would have complete control of the situation on the
ground. All nations will continue to increase their aerial battalions
until they possess formidable fleets, and it will be these, rather than
armies or navies that will go forth to settle future disputes. It is
largely to the aerial supremacy of the Allies that we have to give the
credit for the winning of the present war against the Hun, and it will
be by maintaining their aerial supremacy that the great nations which
have taken their stand for justice and humanity will succeed in
enforcing the reign of Right in the world.

Thus we see man's dream of the conquest of the air become a noble thing,
while the frail-winged birds his imagination pictured to him throughout
so many centuries stand ready to bear him onward and upward to still
greater achievements in his struggle to make the world a better and
cleaner place in which to live.




                               READING LIST


For those who desire a wider knowledge of the history, theory,
construction and operation of aircraft than this book is intended to
supply, the following reading list may prove suggestive and helpful. The
older publications on this list have been found valuable from an
historical viewpoint; while the more recent ones treat from many angles
the rapidly advancing science of aviation.

  ABBOT, W. J., Aircraft and Submarines (1918)
  ALEXANDER, J. H., Model Balloons and Flying Machines (1910)
  "AVION," Aeroplanes and Aero Engines (1918)
  BARBER, HORATIO, The Aeroplane Speaks (1917)
  BARNWELL, F. S., Aeroplane Design (1917)
  BERGET, A., The Conquest of the Air (1911)
  BERRY, W. H., Aircraft in War and Commerce (1918)
  BRUCE, E. H. S., Aircraft in War (1914)
  CAVANAGH, GEORGE A., Model Aeroplanes and Their Motors (1916)
  CHATLEY, HERBERT, Principles and Design of Aeroplanes (1912)
  CURTISS, G. H., and POST, A., Curtiss Aviation Book (1912)
  CORBIN, T. W., Aircraft, Aeroplanes and Airships (1914)
  COLLINS, A. FREDERICK, The Boy's Airplane Book (1919)
  COLLINS, A. FREDERICK, How to Fly (1917)
  COLVIN, F. H., Aircraft Mechanic's Handbook (1918)
  DOMMETT, W. E., Aeroplanes and Airships (1916)
  FALES, E. N., Learning to Fly in the U. S. Army (1917)
  FERRIS, R., How it Flies (1910)
  GRAHAME-WHITE, C., and HARPER, H., Heroes of the Air (1912)
  GRAHAME-WHITE, C., and HARPER, H., Learning to Fly (1916)
  GRAHAME-WHITE, C., The Story of the Aeroplane (1911)
  GRAMONT, A. A. DE, Aviator's Elementary Handbook (1918)
  HAYWARD, CHAS. B., Building and Flying an Aeroplane (1918)
  HEARNE, R. P., Zeppelins and Super-Zeppelins (1916)
  HEARNE, R. P., Airships in Peace and War (1910)
  HILDEBRAND, A. L. H., Airships Past and Present (1908)
  JANE'S FIGHTING SHIPS, (An Annual)
  JUDGE, A. W., Design of Aeroplanes (1916)
  LANCHESTER, F. W., Aircraft in Warfare (1916)
  LILIENTHAL, O., Bird Flights as the Basis of Aviation (1917)
  LOENING, G. C., Military Aeroplanes (1916)
  MCCONNELL, JAMES R., Flying for France (1917)
  MCMINNIES, W. G., Practical Flying (1918)
  MAXIM, H. S., Artificial and Natural Flight (1908)
  MIDDLETON, E. C., The Way of the Air (1917)
  MIDDLETON, E. C., Glorious Exploits of the Air (1918)
  MIDDLETON, E. C., Airfare of Today and the Future (1918)
  MUNDAY, ALBERT H., The Eyes of the Army and Navy (1917)
  ORCY, L. D', Editor and Comp., Airship Manual (1917)
  PAGE, CAPT. VICTOR WILFRED, The A-B-C of Aviation (1918)
  PEARY, R. E., Command of the Air (Speech delivered before the
     American Academy of Political and Social Science) (1917)
  RATHBUN, JOHN B., Aeroplane Construction and Operation (1918)
  ROBSON, W. A., Aircraft in War and Peace (1916)
  ROTH, C. W., Short Course in the Theory and Operation of the Free
     Balloon (1918)
  ROUSTAM-BEK, B., Aerial Russia (1916)
  SIMMONDS, R., All About Aircraft (1915)
  STOUT, WM. B., Acquiring Wings (1917)
  TALBOT, F. A., Aeroplanes and Dirigibles of War (1915)
  THURSTON, A. B., Elementary Aeronautics (1911)
  TURNER, C. C., Aircraft of Today (1917)
  TURNER, C. C., Marvels of Aviation (1916)
  VERRILL, A. W., Harper's Aircraft Book (1913)
  WALKER, S. F., Aviation, Its Principles, Its Present and Future (1912)
  WALKER, F., All About Zeppelins and Other Enemy Aircraft (1915)
  WIDMER, EMIL J., Military Observation Balloons (1917)
  WOOD, WALTER, Thrilling Deeds of British Airmen (1918)
  WINCHESTER, C., Flying Men and Their Machines (1916)
  WOODHOUSE, HENRY, A Textbook of Military Aeronautics (1918)




                                   INDEX


  Accidents:
    airplane, 115
    balloon, 13, 32, 54
    gliding, 84, 85
  Aerial Experiment Association, 107
  Aero Club of America, 241
  A. E. G. airplane, 200, 203
  A. G. O. airplane, 200, 203
  Ailerons, 13, 94, 98, 111, 113
  Airplane:
    A. E. G., 200, 203
    A. G. O., 200, 203
    Albatros, 195, 203
    Antoinette, 104, 105, 109, 110, 113, 119
    Aviatik, 196, 203
    Avro, 181, 182
    battle planes, 128-140, 177, 178, 192-196
    Blériot, 104, 105, 110, 113
    bombing planes, 128-149, 180-188, 197-204
    Breguet, 114, 181
    Breguet-Michelin, 179
    Bristol Scout, 175
    Caproni, 183-185
    Caudron, 178, 182
    chassis, 111, 165-167
    Curtiss, 108, 173, 174, 187, 249
    De Havilland, 175, 194
    _Demoiselle_, 114
    Dorand, 181
    drift, 97
    early experiments, 77-90
    engines (see _engine_)
    Farman, 108, 110, 112, 116, 178, 181
    first principles of, 91-98
    first real, 89
    flight records (see _records_)
    Fokker, 172, 192-194, 203
    Friedrichshafen, 199
    Gotha, 197-199, 203
    Halberstadt, 196, 203
    Handley-Page, 181, 182
    head resistance, 96, 151, 160
    _June Bug_, 107
    _Langley_, 182
    Letord, 181
    L. V. W., 203
    making of, 223-231 (also see _fabrics_)
    Moineau, 179, 181
    Morane, 119, 192
    _NC-4_, 244
    Nieuport, 121, 171, 211
    nomenclature, 94
    Pfalz, 203
    reconnaissance planes, 128-149, 177-180
    _Red Wing_, 107
    Roland, 203
    Rumpler, 203
    Santos-Dumont's, 100, 114
    Sikorsky, 125-127, 187
    Sopwith, 175, 181, 185, 186, 244
    Spad, 173
    starting and landing problems, 165-167, 240
    Taube, 191
    Vickers, Scout, 175
    Vickers-Vimy, 245
    Voisin, 102, 103, 110, 112, 178, 182
    Voisin-Peugeot, 179, 181
    _White Wing_, 107
    wings (see _wings_)
    Wright (see _Wright_)
  Albatros airplane, 195, 203
  Alcock, Capt. John, 245
  Annonay, 3, 4
  Antoinette airplane, 104, 105, 109, 110, 113, 119
  Archimedes' law of gravity, 14
  Argus engine, 126
  Arlandes, Marquis d', 7, 8
  Ascents, early balloon, 3, 7-12, 20-23, 26, 27, 49
  Astra dirigible, 73-74
  Astra-Torres dirigible, 73-74
  Aviatik airplane, 196, 203
  Aviator, training of an, 232-243
  Avro airplane, 181, 182

  Baker, Secretary of War, 201
  Baldwin, Capt. Thomas S., 65, 106
  Ball, Capt. Albert, 215, 219, 220
  Balloon, dirigible:
    Astra, 73, 74
    Astra-Torres, 73, 74
    Blimps, 70
    car suspension, 72, 73
    demi-semi-rigid, 67
    development of, 47-74
    first, 51
    first military, 52
    first U. S. Army, 65
    _La France_, 53
    _Nulli Secundus_, 64, 65, 68
    _Patrie_, 63
    _Pax_, 58
    _R-34_, 245
    rigid and non-rigid, 66, 67
    semi-rigid, 67
    _S. M. S. Zeppelin I_, 66
    Speiss, 74
    trans-Atlantic flight, 245
    use in World War, 68-74
    _Ville de Paris_, 63
    Zeppelins, 55, 56, 62, 65-68, 123
    Zodiacs, 72

  Balloon, passive:
    basket of, 19
    captive, 36-44
    car of, 19, 50
    car lines of, 18
    Channel flights, 12, 22-24
    _Conqueror_, 27
    drachen, 36-44
    early ascents of, 3-27, 49
    fabrics of (see _fabrics_)
    first, 3
    first use of, in war, 25, 26
    gases used for (see _gases_)
    grapnel of, 19
    hoop of, 18
    kite, 19, 36-44
    neck of, 18
    net of, 18
    observation, 36-44
    principles of, 14-19
    ripping panel of, 18
    races, 26
    sausage, 19, 36-44
    trail rope of, 18
    use of, in Great War, 36-44

  Ballonet, steering, 38
  Ballooning:
    early, 3-27
    in Boer War, 26
    in Civil War, 25
    in Great War, 36-44
  Basket, balloon, 19
  Battle planes, 128-149, 177-178, 192-196
  Baumgarten, 54
  Bell, Alexander Graham, 106
  Bennett, Gordon, 26, 108
  Bishop, Major William A., 205, 214
  Blanchard, 12, 13, 29
  Blériot, 104, 105, 108, 115
  Blimps, 70-72
  Bliss, General Tasker H., 201
  Boelke, Captain, 194, 219
  Boer War, balloons in, 26
  Bombing planes, 128-149, 180-188, 197-204
  Bonnel, Captain, 220
  Breguet airplane, 114, 121, 122, 123, 181
  Breguet-Michelin airplane, 179
  Bristol Scout airplane, 175
  Brown, Lieut. Arthur W., 245

  Cacquot, Captain, 43
  Caproni airplane, 183, 184, 185
  Car, balloon, 19, 50, 72
  Car lines, balloon, 18
  Carlstrom, Victor, 174
  Caudron airplane, 178, 182
  Cavallo, 9
  Cayley, Sir George, 80
  Certificate, aviator's, 241
  "Chamber of Horrors," 234
  Channel flights:
    first airplane, 104
    first balloon, 12, 22-24
  Chanute, 86
  Chapman, Victor, 216
  Chaput, Lieut. Jean, 214
  Charles, 9
  Chartres, Duke de, 49
  Chassis:
    first, 111
    problem of, 165-167
  Circuit of Britain prize, 120
  Civil War, balloons in, 25
  Clement-Bayard, 74
  Clerget engine, 187
  Cocking, 31
  Conneau, Lieutenant, 120
  _Conqueror_, 27
  Curtiss airplane, 108, 173, 174, 187, 249
  Curtiss Baby Speed Scout, 174
  Curtiss, Glenn H., 65, 106-108, 119
  Curtiss triplane, 173

  _Daily Mail_, London, prizes, 104, 115, 120
  De Havilland airplane, 175, 194
  _Demoiselle_, 114
  Deutsch, 57, 63
  "Dope," 164, 227
  Dorand airplane, 181
  Douglas, Archibald, 37
  Drachen balloon, 36-44
  Drift, airplane, 97
  Dubonnet, Emile, 41
  Eiffel Tower, flight around, 57, 115
  Engine:
    Argus, 126
    Clerget, 187
    Curtiss, 71
    development and principles of airplane, 153-169
    Fiat, 183
    first balloon, 51
    Gnome, 111, 121, 154, 159
    Liberty, 168, 182
    Rolls-Royce, 182
    Wright's, 89, 153
  Esnault-Pelterie, 114

  Fabrics:
    calico, 60, 61
    cotton, 18, 164
    linen, 9
    oil silk, 11
    rubber, 61, 63
  Farman airplane, 108, 110, 112, 116, 178, 181
  Farman, Henry, 102, 103, 110-112, 115, 123, 154
  Fiat motor, 183
  Field of Mars, 10
  Fokker airplane, 172, 192-194, 203
  Fonck, René, 212-214
  Franklin, Benjamin, 11
  Friedrichshafen airplane, 199
  Fullard, Capt. Philip F., 215
  Fuselage, development of, 122, 165-166

  Garnerin, André, 30
  Gases:
    coal, 16
    hydrogen, 9, 21
  Genet, Edmond, 218
  Giffard, 50
  Gliders, 81-88, 100
  Gnome engine, 111, 121, 154, 159
  Goertz range finder, 147
  Goodyear Tire and Rubber Co., 43
  Gotha airplane, 197-199, 203
  Grahame-White, Claude, 116
  Grapnel, balloon, 19
  _Great Nassau_, 22
  Green, Charles, 22, 31
  Gross, Major von, 66
  Guffroy, 114
  Gun-tunnel Gotha, 197-199
  Guynemer, Georges, 137, 172, 205-214

  Haenlein, Paul, 52
  Halberstadt airplane, 196, 203
  Handley-Page airplane, 181, 182
  Hargrave, 85
  Hat-in-the-Ring Squadron, 221
  Hawker, Harry, 244
  Head resistance, airplane, 96, 151, 160
  Hitchcock, Hon. Frank H., 249
  Hoop, balloon, 18
  _Hopper_, 125

  Immelmann, 176, 194, 215, 219

  Jeffries, Dr., 12
  Jouillot, 60
  _June Bug_, 107
  Juvisy meeting, 115

  Kite balloon, 19, 36-44
  Kites:
    principles of, 79, 91
    Lilienthal's, 81, 86
  Krebs, 53
  Kuparanto, R. Jordarki, 30

  Lafayette Escadrille, 172, 216, 217
  Lahm, Lieut. Frank P., 26
  Lambert, Comte de, 108, 115
  Landing problems, 165-167, 240
  _Langley_, 182
  Latham, Hubert, 104, 108, 109
  Lebaudy Brothers, 60-67
  Lefevre, 108
  Letord airplane, 181
  Liberty motor, 168, 182
  Lilienthal, Otto, 81-85, 92
  Little, Robert A., 215
  Lôme, Dupuy de, 52
  Loubet, President, 58
  Lufbery, Major, 205, 216, 217
  Lunardi, Vincent, 12, 20-22
  L. V. W. airplane, 203

  Malone, Lieut. John J., 215
  Materials, airplane, problem of, 163, 164
  McCudden, Capt. James, 205, 215
  McCurdy, J. A. D., 106
  Meusnier, General, 49
  Michelin cup, 115
  Moineau airplane, 179, 181
  Monoplane, principles of, 150-151
  Montgolfier Brothers, 3-11
  Morane airplane, 119, 192
  Moret, 21
  Motor (see _engine_)

  _NC-4_, 244
  Neck, balloon, 18
  Net balloon, 18
  Nieuport airplane, 121, 171, 211
  Nomenclature of airplane, 94
  Normand, Le, 29
  _Nulli Secundus_, 64, 65, 68

  Parachute flares, 34
  Parachutes, 28-35, 42
  Paulhan, 108, 116
  Paris, bombing raid on (1918), 201
  Parseval, Major von, 37, 66
  _Patrie_, 63
  _Pax_, 58
  Pelcher, Percy S., 85
  Pershing, General John, 218
  Pfalz airplane, 203
  Pola, bombing raid on, 184
  Pollock, C. F., 23
  Pourpe, Marc, 216
  Price, Norman, 216
  Propeller, principle of, 161-163

  Raids, famous bombing:
    Paris, 201
    Pola, 184
  Read, Lieut.-Com. A. C., 244
  Reconnaissance planes, 128-149, 177-180
  Record airplane flights:
    altitude, 116, 168
    channel, 104
    distance, 101, 115, 116, 119, 154
    speed, 108, 119, 121
    trans-Atlantic, 244
  _Red Wing_, 107
  Renard, 53
  Rheims meetings, 107, 109, 119, 121, 154
  Richthofen, Baron von, 194, 210, 212, 215, 220-222
  Rickenbacker, Capt. Eddie, 218-220
  Ripping panel, balloon, 18
  Roberts Brothers, 9, 49
  Rockwell, Kiffen, 216
  Roland airplane, 203
  Rolls-Royce engine, 182
  Rosevear, Stanley, 215
  Rozier, Pilat de, 6, 13
  Rumpler airplane, 203

  Salomone, Major, 185
  Santos-Dumont, 55-59, 99-102, 114
  Sausage balloon, 19, 36-44
  Schaeck, Colonel, 27
  Schwartz, David, 54
  _Scientific American_ trophy, 107
  Scott, Major G. H., 245
  Selfridge, Lieut. Thomas, 106
  Severo, 58
  Sigsfeld, Captain von, 37
  Sikorsky, I. I., 125, 126, 127, 187
  Sopwith airplane, 175, 181, 185, 186, 244
  Spad airplane, 173
  Speiss dirigible, 74
  Steering ballonet, 38
  _Storks_, the, 172, 210

  Taube airplane, 191
  Templer, Colonel, 64, 65
  Tissandier, Gaston and Albert, 53, 108
  Towers, Commander, 244
  Trail rope, balloon, 18
  Training of an aviator, 232-243
  Trans-Atlantic flights, 244
  Triplane, development of, 148-151

  Vickers Scout airplane, 175
  Vickers-Vimy airplane, 245
  _Ville de Paris_, 63
  Vinci, Leonardi da, 79
  Voisin airplane, 102, 103, 110, 112, 178, 182
  Voisin Brothers, 102, 110
  Voisin-Peugeot airplane, 179, 181

  Wenham, 80
  _White Wing_, 107
  Wilcox, James, 11
  Wilkinson, Allan, 215
  Wings:
    Lilienthal's, 81-84
    principles of, 81, 95, 147, 148, 149, 166, 167
  Wing-warping, 88, 97
  Wissemann, 212
  Wölfert, 54
  Wollett, Capt. Henry W., 215
  _World_, New York, prize, 118
  Wright, Wilbur and Orville, 86-90, 99, 101, 103, 114, 150, 151, 153

  Zambeccari, Count, 11
  Zeppelin, Count von, 55, 62, 65
  Zeppelins, 55-56, 62, 65, 66, 68, 123
  Zodiacs, 72

                     *       *       *       *       *




Transcriber's Notes:

The original spelling and minor inconsistencies in the spelling and
formatting have been maintained.

The table below lists all corrections applied to the original text.

  p vii: Santos Dumont -> Santos-Dumont
  p viii: A group of De Haviland -> Havilland
  p 6: Frenchman, Pilatre de Rozier -> Pilâtre de Rozier
  p 6: Pilatre de Rozier -> Pilâtre de Rozier
  p 13: Pilatre de Rozier -> Pilâtre de Rozier
  p 19: more buoyant -> buoyant.
  p 28: the parachute -> Is small caps: THE PARACHUTE
  p 31: aeronuat -> aeronaut
  p 33: he may find himsell -> himself
  p 54: took place in midair -> mid-air
  p 55: SANTOS DUMONT -> SANTOS-DUMONT
  p 64: air-bag of onefifth -> one-fifth
  p 65: N. Y., who far -> for
  p 66: with a large interval -> internal
  p 74: The _Lebandy_ -> _Lebaudy_
  p 98: the airplane body or "fusilage." -> "fuselage."
  p 100: resembling a boxkite -> box-kite
  p 111: The over-heating -> overheating
  p 122: by means of it -> its
  p 126: In the foreward -> forward
  p 141: produce slightly over-lapping -> overlapping
  p 145: that enemy reenforcements -> reinforcements
  p 153: needs of air-craft -> aircraft
  p 175: and the _De Haviland -> Havilland
  p 176: downing the enemy. Immelman -> Immelmann
  p 179: _Bréguet-Michelin_ -> _Breguet-Michelin_
  p 181: the _Bréguet_ -> _Breguet_
  p 194: British _DeHaviland_ -> _De Havilland_
  p 206: in the town of Compiegne -> Compiègne
  p 206: student in the École Polytechnic -> Polytechnique
  p 206: 1914, came the the news -> the news
  p 219: the early days Immelman -> Immelmann
  p 219: and fighting. Immelman's -> Immelmann's
  p 219: from that of Immelman -> Immelmann
  p 236: and a dizzy "sea-sickness" -> "seasickness"
  p 238: goes taxi-ing -> taxiing
  p 244: A GROUP OF DE HAVILAND -> HAVILLAND
  p 251: picture man of today -> to-day
  p 257: Airships in Peace and War -> War (1910)
  P 259: balloon, 13, 32, 54, 54 -> balloon, 13, 32, 54
  p 259: A. G. O. -> A. G. O.,
  p 259: De Haviland -> Havilland
  p 259: engines (see _engines_) -> _engine_
  p 261: De Haviland -> Havilland
  p 261: Esnault-Pelteric -> Pelterie
  p 261: Fullard, Capt. Phillip F. ->   Fullard, Capt. Philip F.
  p 262: Immelman -> Immelmann
  p 263: Rozier, Pilat de -> Rozier, Pilâtre de
  p 264: Wollet -> Wollett





End of Project Gutenberg's The Romance of Aircraft, by Lawrence Yard Smith