CHAPTER IX
The dawn of the twentieth century found several votaries contriving aëroplanes for one or more passengers. The epoch of models had virtually closed, bequeathing a rich heritage. The essential elements of aviation, barring the motor, had been clearly worked out. The age of practical flight was at hand. No further need to prove feasible the heavier than air; for that had been done repeatedly. Scientific design and patient trial, not invention and physical research, were now the chief demand. Further research would improve the aëroplane, but not bring it into practical operation. Capital, constructive skill, judgment in adapting principles and devices already known, energy, persistence, caution, imperturbability in danger and derision; these were requisites. Science had led the way, with uplifted torch; let the craftsmen follow her with kit and apron. The aëroplane was sufficiently invented; it now wanted, not fastidious novelty, but concrete and skillful design, careful construction, exercise in the open field.
Of the group of aëroplanists in the beginning of the nineteenth century Mr. Hugo Mattullath, of New York, was one of the most original, daring and resourceful. He had been a successful inventor, manufacturer and business man, accustomed to large enterprises. In the latter nineties, deeming the time opportune for practical aviation, he determined to build a commercial flying machine. He would begin where Maxim had stopped. A larger and swifter craft appeared to him most desirable. In his judgment any clever mechanic could make a one-man flyer. “Take that for granted and waste no time on toys!” Professor Langley’s “aërodrome,” with every spare ounce filed away, should lift itself, of course. It might navigate a calm; possibly even a zephyr, if no one sneezed; but never could it carry passengers on schedule time. He therefore would jump the little flyers, and build at once a commercial aëroplane strong enough to defy the storm, powerful enough for regular traffic on a business scale. That meant a ship for numerous passengers, equipped to fly fifty miles an hour against the prevailing wind. A glorious project indeed; an enterprise suited to a gentleman of first rate ability.
Mattullath’s aim was aërial transportation, not exhibition at county fairs and crowded carnivals. Regular interurban routes were projected, terminating in ample landing floors. Broad-winged aëroplanes, huge catamarans with shining hulls, sumptuously furnished in gold and crimson, should convey happy crews, in all seasons, from metropolis to metropolis. Six great engines and propellers to drive the ship, with abundant reserve power. Melodious strains of music rising incessantly, to soften the thunder of motors and the demoniacal howl of the wind. Then transcontinental voyages, outsailing the nimbus, how lovely to the anointed of fortune! Jocund savannas nestling by the sea, or in the bosom of orchid-crested hills, should welcome to earth the silken sojourners of the north migrating, gay-plumed and potent, to their winter homes in tropic paradise. All the isles of ocean, all the merry mountains, earth, sea and air, one shining empire, blissful and secure as Olympus. Chimborazo, girt with every clime, from torrid base to snowy peak should glow
With alabaster domes and silver spires,
And blazing terrace upon terrace high
Uplifted; here serene pavilions bright,
In avenues disposed; their towers begirt
With battlements that on their restless fronts
Bore stars—illumination of all gems!
Such were his holiday fancies, seldom revealed, even to his associates. The public had no intimate part in his project. A few trusted engineers, eminent in their profession, and a few financiers, formed his advisory board. For two years he worked on the structural elements of the great sails, propellers, and framing of his ship. But unhappily when he was preparing to present his final plans to his council of engineers, before building the large vessel, he was brought suddenly to the close of his career.[39]
Mattullath’s proposed air ship consisted of two parallel torpedo-shaped hulls sustained by superposed plane or slightly arched surfaces, and propelled by feathering-paddle disk wheels embedded in the planes; the engines, cargo and passengers to be placed within the hulls.[40] This arrangement would enhance the comfort of the passengers at high speeds, eliminate resistance, distribute the load on the framing, and increase the moment of inertia of the vessel, thereby rendering it less sensitive to side gusts. To improve the projectile stability and steadiness, the centroid was placed as high as practicable. Large steering planes were used fore and aft on both sides of the vessel, whose inclination could be changed independently, to turn the ship about its longitudinal or transverse axis. A vertical rear rudder steered to right or left, in conjunction with the side planes. All the posts were of double wedge shape; all the planes were canvassed above and below to shield the framing, after the style of Maxim. The hulls, the posts, the planes, all parts, were keenly sharpened to economize power. The ship was to run over its smooth launching field till it acquired a rising speed of forty to fifty miles an hour, then continue accelerating up to velocities sufficient for competition with passenger trains in all weather.
While one may easily point out certain questionable features in Mattullath’s project, as for example, its odd propellers, one can not so easily estimate its true merits. The torsion wing device for lateral control and steering, which he claimed in his patent application, abandoned after his death, now constitutes a very important feature of every flying machine. His planes for fore and aft control, introduced by Maxim, are also in general use to-day. The principle of load distribution, which he greatly prized for diminishing stress and adding stability, has still to be evaluated by practical test in larger craft than any now in operation. The closed hull, for comfort and economy at high speed, is at present popular with many designers.
One tentative assumption of Mattullath’s, made on the authority of Maxim and Langley, was that the friction of the air is a negligible part of the entire resistance encountered by the hull, framing and sail surfaces. Accepting their experimental conclusion, he designed a flyer so sharp and smooth in all its parts as practically to eliminate the pressural, or head resistance. With no skin friction, with scant hull and frame resistance, he could afford[41] to fly at a very slight angle, thus minimizing the drift, or wing resistance, while at the same time securing abundant lift by rapidity of flight. He thus arrived, by cold deduction from the data of those prominent experimentalists, at an aëroplane swift as the albatross, and wondrously economical of power. But his financiers were loath to gamble on that assumption. He therefore, at their suggestion, instigated systematic measurements of air friction on smooth surfaces, which demonstrated that in a sharp aëroplane flying at a very slight angle, the skin friction is nearly equal to all the other resistances combined. These results were obtained and published[42] some months after his death. They were unfavorable to his project, and to all projects for attaining high speed through the air by excessive sharpening of the vehicle.
The first dynamic aëroplane of adequate stability and power to carry a man in prolonged flight, was that of Professor Langley. This machine was nearly a duplicate, on a four-fold scale, of the gasoline model previously described, which had flown many times with good inherent equilibrium. There was accordingly every reason to expect that, weighted and launched like the model, it would fly with the same poise and swiftness, even if left to govern itself. Having in addition a living pilot, provided with rudders for steering and balancing, together with adequate fuel for a long journey, it seemed to promise still better results than the model. But an unfortunate accident in the launching so crippled this carefully designed craft that it fell down helpless, without a chance to exhibit its powers of sustentation and balance, even for a moment, in normal flight.
The first trial occurred on September 7, 1903, in the middle of the Potomac River at Widewater, Va. The aëroplane was placed on the same catapult, above the boat, that had previously started the models on their smooth and rapid maneuvers. The pilot took his seat, and started the 50-horse-power engine which ran the propellers without appreciable vibration. Tugs and launches were placed along the course where they might be of service. Photographers, on the water and along shore, were ready to furnish important pictorial records of the experiment. The aëroplane was released and sped along the track attaining sufficient headway for normal flight; but at the end of the rails it was jerked violently down at the front, and plunged headlong into the river, sinking beneath the waves. Buoyed up by its floats, it quickly rose to the surface, with its intrepid pilot uninjured, and with little damage to the structure.
As revealed by an examination of the catapult and photographs, the guy post that strengthened the front pair of wings had caught in the launching ways, and bent so much that those wings lost all support. The aëroplane, therefore, had not been set free in the air, but had been wrenched and jerked downward. Thus the launching proved nothing of the propulsive or sailing powers of the machine.
Those who understand the principles of aviation can judge the merit of Langley’s “aërodrome”[43] from its mechanical description. As shown in [Plate XVIII], it was a tandem monoplane driven by twin screws amidships. The pilot seated in the little boat could control the poise and course by several devices; he could shift his weight longitudinally 4.5 feet, laterally 2.5 feet; he could elevate and depress the rear double rudder, which when untouched ensured steady longitudinal poise, on the principle introduced by Penaud; he could steer to right and left by turning about its vertical axis, the wind-vane rudder shown below and rearward of the boat. The lines of lift, propeller thrust and forward resistance passed through the centroid, or near it, thus providing for projectile and gravitational stability. In this feature Langley’s “aërodrome” far surpassed those of his immediate predecessors, whose machines, by reason of their low centroid, possessed the stability of a pendulum, rather than that of a dart, or swallow. These various devices combined should give the craft better control in free flight than that possessed by any of the models, which had flown successfully many times in moderate weather.
If the projectile and steering qualities of Langley’s machine surpassed those of its predecessors, the propelling mechanism was a still greater advance in the art of aviation. The gasoline engine was a marvel of lightness, power, endurance and smoothness of running. It weighed, without accessories, 125 pounds, and developed 52.4 horse power in actual test at a speed of 930 revolutions a minute. With all accessories, including radiator, cooling water, pump, tanks, carburetor, spark coil and batteries, it weighed 200 pounds, or scarcely five pounds per horse power—a great achievement for that time. It could run many hours continuously under full load, consuming about one pound of gasoline per horse power per hour. Its five cylinders, arranged radially round a single crank shaft, were made of steel lined with cast iron, and measured 5 inches in diameter by 5.5 inches in stroke. Its running balance was excellent. By means of bevel gears it drove the twin screws at 700 revolutions per minute, giving a thrust of 480 pounds, the screws being very nearly true helices of unit pitch ratio and 30° width of blade, carefully formed of three radial arms covered with canvas.
The whole machine weighed 830 pounds, including the pilot; spread 1,040 square feet of wing surface; measured 48 feet from tip to tip, and 52 feet from the point of its bowsprit to the end of its tail; soared at a speed of about 33 feet a second and a ten-degree angle of flight, the wings arching one in eighteen at one fourth the distance from their front edge. The double rudder, at the extreme rear, measured 95 square feet in each of its component surfaces.
It is evident from these figures, very kindly furnished by Mr. Manly, the mechanical engineer in charge of the experiments, that such an aëroplane had every equipment needed for a steady flight of many hours in fair weather. A thrust of 490 pounds on well-designed surfaces should easily carry 500 pounds of gasoline in addition to the 830 pounds regular weight of ship and pilot. This would enable the machine to fly practically all day without renewal of supplies. It appears, therefore, that Professor Langley had, in 1903, a dynamic aëroplane quite the peer, in many respects, of the best that were developed during the first decade of aviation, and that a mere accident, which should be expected in such complex experimentation, deprived him of the credit of the first man-flight on an adequately controlled and powered machine. Quite true, he lacked launching wheels; but how easy to add these, since they were proposed many times. He omitted the front steering plane, but had a rear one serving the same purpose. The worst that can be said is that he needed the equivalent of torsion wings for lateral control; but in moderate weather he could have flown successfully without them, as Farman, Delagrange, Paulhan[44] have so fully demonstrated. Besides, Langley had already tested the torsion wing device, and contemplated using it on his large machine.
A second launching was attempted on the Potomac River near Washington, on December 8, 1903. This time the rear guy post was injured, crippling the rear wings, so that the aëroplane pitched up in front and plunged over backward into the water. After some repairs it was stowed away in the Smithsonian Institution, where its frame and engine are still intact, its wings having been injured in the wreck and discarded. The experiments were now abandoned for want of funds to continue them.
Notwithstanding that Professor Langley had contributed much to the science of aërodynamics, by his elaborate researches, and had really developed a machine capable of sustained flight, if properly launched, he was subjected to unmitigated censure and ridicule; for he had incurred the enmity of various journalists and wiseacres, partly by his official secrecy, and partly by that natural reticence which avoids premature publicity in important scientific enterprises. This irresponsible criticism, combined with the cessation of work which should have brought success, profoundly grieved him, and doubtless hastened his death. He had, however, the satisfaction of knowing that a few competent specialists appreciated his labors, and would continue them to abundant fruition. A few days before his death he had the gratification of receiving, from the newly formed Aëro Club of America, the following communication acknowledging the value of his efforts to promote aërial travel.
Resolutions of the Aëro Club of America
Adopted January 20, 1906.
“Whereas, our esteemed colleague, Dr. S. P. Langley, Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution, met with an accident in launching his aërodrome, thereby missing a decisive test of the capabilities of this man-carrying machine, built after his models which flew successfully many times; and whereas, in that difficult experiment, he was entitled to fair judgment and distinguished consideration because of his important achievements in investigating the laws of dynamic flight, and in the construction of successful flying models; therefore be it
“Resolved, That the Aëro Club of America, holding in high estimation the contributions of Dr. Langley to the science of aërial locomotion, hereby expresses to him its sincerest appreciation of his labors as a pioneer in this important and complex science; and
“Be it further resolved, That a copy of these resolutions be sent to the Board of Regents of the Smithsonian Institution and to Dr. Langley.”
This kindly message from America’s foremost aëronautic society brought a moment’s pleasure to the last hours of the illustrious scientist. “Professor Langley was on his deathbed when these resolutions were brought to his attention, and when asked what should be done with the communication, his pathetic answer was: ‘Publish it.’ To all who know his extreme aversion to publicity in any form, this reply indicates how keenly he felt the misrepresentation of the press.”[45]
Professor Langley’s progress with the “aërodrome” was due largely to the skill, energy and devotion of his designer and superintendent of construction, Mr. Charles M. Manly. This talented young graduate in mechanical engineering, of Cornell University, in 1898, went directly from the class room to assume the chief burden of Langley’s researches in aërodynamics, and his practical experiments in mechanical flight, remaining till their termination in 1904. He was the confidential secretary and adviser to his chief in that whole enterprise. When in 1900 Dr. Langley stood baffled before the greatest obstacle in aviation, unable to find any manufacturer, in America or Europe, who could furnish a practical engine of the desired power, lightness and durability, Manly came to his rescue with a design which guaranteed success and which resulted in the wonderful gasoline motor built in the Smithsonian shops. Finally when the aëroplane was ready to be launched, it was Manly who bore the long weeks of trial in the malarial region of Widewater, harassed by accidents and foul weather, not to mention the merry agents of the press; and it was he who twice rode the ponderous aërodrome, shot forth in mid air at the imminent risk of his life.
While Langley was building his great tandem monoplane, Wilbur and Orville Wright of Dayton, Ohio, were developing a biplane which was an improvement on the aërial glider of Chanute and Herring. This was to be their preliminary effort toward achieving continuous flight. Their first product, tried at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, in the summer of 1900, is shown in [Plate XIX]. The chief points of departure from Chanute and Herring’s glider were (1) to place the rider prone on the lower surface, as first proposed and tried by Wenham, forty years’ previously; (2) to discard the vertical rudder; (3) to place the horizontal rudder forward, as done by Mattullath and Maxim; (4) to control the lateral balance by changing the impact angles of the wings, as recommended by the present writer in 1893. Of these four modifications the first was impractical for general use, though good for soaring and possibly racing; the second was unsatisfactory and later abandoned; the third was effective, and has been accepted by some aviators as an improvement, but rejected by others who prefer the rear[46] horizontal rudder; the fourth proved acceptable to them, as to various other inventors before and after them.
With this glider they made a number of satisfactory flights. The front rudder and the torsional wings proved adequate to control the craft in sailing straight ahead down the Kill Devil sand hills, near Kitty Hawk, N. C. In this, as in all their machines to the present date, sled runners, fixed under the machine, as proposed by Ader and others, were used for launching and landing. With a surface of 165 square feet, they could glide down a slope of 9.5° at a speed of 25 to 30 miles an hour. This showed only a moderate efficiency, but it was a beginning.
The glider used in the summer of 1901 was modeled after that of the previous year, but larger. It was 22 feet wide, 14 feet long, 6 feet high, spread 308 square feet, and weighed 108 pounds. With this a number of glides were made, of various lengths up to 400 feet. At a speed of 24 miles an hour gravity exerted on the aërial coaster 2½ tow line horse power, showing an efficiency nearly equal to that of Pilcher’s glider of 1897.
In camp with the Wright brothers in 1901 was Mr. Chanute, the leading aëronautic expert in America. They thus had the advantage of his long experience, both as a student of aviation and a practical experimenter. With them were also two other specialists, Mr. E. C. Huffaker, an experienced aëronautical investigator, who had worked successively with Langley and Chanute; and Dr. G. A. Spratt, who had made some important investigations on the value of curved surfaces and the travel of the center of pressure with the varying angles of flight. The numerous animated conferences with these gentlemen were instructive and profitable. When the season closed the brothers returned home and experimented on curved surfaces to improve the efficiency of their glider.
PLATE XIX.
FIRST WRIGHT GLIDER.
SECOND WRIGHT GLIDER.
The 1902 machine, shown in Plate XIX, had two main surfaces, measuring each 32 by 15 feet, and a front rudder measuring 15 square feet. The whole weight was 116 pounds. It will be noted that a vertical rudder was now employed. This was a reversion to the design of Chanute and Herring, but after some experience, the rudder was made adjustable, as in Henson’s aëroplane of 1842. Its surface was 12 square feet, but later reduced to six. With this machine they obtained between 700 and 1,000 glides during the season. It showed greater efficiency than its predecessors, its normal angle of descent being estimated at seven degrees or less. This was some improvement over the efficiency of the Chanute-Herring glider, partly due, of course, to placing the rider flat, instead of allowing him the more comfortable erect posture adopted later.
Whatever improvements of efficiency and strength had been made, these were of secondary importance compared with the provisions for projectile stability and manual control. Here at last, after ten years’ groping, was an actual glider with sufficiently high centroid to minimize the pendulum effect, and with three rudders to give impactual torque about the three axes. These simple provisions had been previously pointed out in aëronautic writing, and, in the latter nineties, had been embodied in Mattullath’s aëroplane, but not tested in the large machine, owing to his death. The wonder is that, of all the practical inventors of aëroplanes, Mr. Mattullath was the only one of that period fully to grasp and adopt these main ideas before starting to build a man-carrying machine. However, it must be added that he had previously made small flying models, which may have suggested the advantage of kinetic stability and the three-torque system of control. If Lilienthal and his disciples, who laid so much stress on gliding experience, had started like Mattullath with three torque-surfaces, they would have missed indeed those acrobatic and picturesque kickings at the sky, but they would have reached the desired goal with less danger, time and expense. They displayed more skill in riding a fractious glider than in designing a tractable one, by providing for impactual torque about each of three axes. Had they started with a good theory of dynamic control, they could have dispensed with coasting entirely, and commenced aviating with short runs over a smooth course followed by cautious leaps in the air, after the style of certain ingenious French aviators. However, the knack of balancing was finally acquired, and thus the glider was ready to receive the propelling mechanism.
In 1903 a 16-horse-power engine and twin-screw propellers were applied to the navigable glider at Kitty Hawk, as shown in [Plate XX]. The power machine weighed 750 pounds, and was usually started by aid of a tow line and falling weight which helped the craft to acquire headway. After many trials and modifications, the first successful launchings, four in number, were made on December 17th. The first flight lasted 12 seconds, the next two a little more, the fourth lasted 59 seconds, covering a distance of 852 feet over the ground in the face of a twenty-mile wind. To the superficial observer these performances did not seem a very remarkable advance on the flights of Ader, but they had in them greater promise and potency of practical flight. They were the first flutterings of a fledgling endowed with the chief essential organs of aërial locomotion—an awkward but healthy creature that had been evolving steadily for several generations. It would grow rapidly, and ere another half decade, increase the 59 seconds to so many minutes.
PLATE XX.
FIRST WRIGHT AËROPLANE (REAR).
FIRST WRIGHT AËROPLANE (SIDE).
The experiments were continued during the next two years with increasing success. During the season of 1904, on a field near Dayton, one hundred and five flights were made, some short, others covering the entire circuit of the field no fewer than four times, the two largest measuring each nearly three miles, each accomplished in about five minutes. Various improvements were made in the propelling and steering mechanism, and increased skill in maneuvering was gradually acquired.
In 1905 the flights were resumed with a new machine embodying some changes dictated by experience, particularly in the method of control. Forty-nine landings were made involving seven breakages, but no personal injury. On September 26th a flight of eleven miles was achieved. This was followed, within the next nine days, by flights of twelve, fifteen, twenty-one and twenty-four miles, at a usual speed of 38 miles an hour. After this the field practice ceased for more than two years, and the machine was dismantled to preserve secret its mode of construction till the patents could be disposed of. As these performances and those preceding are of unusual interest, a fuller account is given in [Appendix IV].
The Wright brothers now had to assume in aviation the rôle of cautious business men. The gliding experiments had been a scientific recreation, and had been fairly well reported to engineers, except in those details to be covered by patent claims; but the details of the power machine were withheld, or sparingly disclosed. The brothers had sacrificed time and money. They were making aviation a profession. They must, therefore, be repaid. But if they exhibited too promptly their machine and aërodynamic data, they might jeopardize their financial interests by assisting or stimulating rival aviators. On the other hand, by procrastination and concealment they might, in various ways, forfeit priority and scientific credit. Chanute’s glider was already familiar in Europe, and it was estimated to have ample efficiency for successful flight with existent motors. Their own published experiments were being studied and repeated. They might, therefore, expect that, at any time, some rash or cunning fellow would bolt into the air and proclaim to all the world that their unpublished devices, if they possessed any novelty, were by no means necessary, as they fancied, to usher in actual dynamic flight. The aëroplane would thus appear to be the sudden outgrowth of fertile and mature conditions, rather than the product of uncommon originality. Scores of aviators would immediately spring into being—chauffeurs, mechanics, sporting gentlemen of every dye. Light motors being now available, any intelligent artisan could power a Hargrave kite, or Chanute glider, and soar aloft. Every odd craft, not too absurdly designed, would navigate, with some showing. Publicity and prize money would develop and perfect the various types with feverish haste. But in 1905 the Wright brothers apprehended no portentous or imminent invasion of the sky. The foreign bogie was five years behind, being unfamiliar with sand hill practice and the torsion wing. They would, therefore, chance the result of withholding their data and concealing their machine. It was a curious situation; Langley and Manly, who produced the first aëroplane endowed with all the essential powers of prolonged flight, were bound to official secrecy; the Wrights, who had a finished machine, tried and fairly ready for public exhibition, were hampered by trade secrecy. These silent leaders in aviation presented a gratifying contrast to the shouting fraternity who, in the daily press, announced impending marvels which never materialized.
The same year, 1905, which crowned with most success the private flights of the Wright brothers, brought into unusual prominence the quarter century long experiments of Prof. J. J. Montgomery of Santa Clara College, Santa Clara, Cal. He had given much attention to the science of aviation, particularly to passive flight, and had constructed several successful gliders operated by himself or his friends. The most remarkable of these machines was a glider resembling in general appearance Langley’s tandem monoplane, but having means for changing the wing curvature during flight, thus varying the lift on such wing, and thereby enabling the operator to control the equilibrium and direction during his glides in the air.
On April 29, 1905, a forty-five pound glider of this pattern bearing an intrepid parachute jumper, Daniel Maloney, was lifted from the college grounds by a hot-air balloon to an elevation of 4,000 feet, then cut loose. “In the course of the descent,” writes one of his pupils, “the most extraordinary and complex maneuvers were accomplished—spiral and circling turns being executed with an ease and grace almost beyond description, level travel accomplished with the wind and against it, figure-eight evolutions performed without difficulty, and hair-raising dives were terminated by abrupt checking of the movement by changing the angles of the wing surfaces. At times the speed, as estimated by eye-witnesses, was over sixty-eight miles an hour, and yet after a flight of approximately eight miles in twenty minutes the machine was brought to rest upon a previously designated spot, three-quarters of a mile from where the balloon had been released, so lightly that the aviator was not even jarred, despite the fact that he was compelled to land on his feet, not on a special alighting gear.” This daring performance amazed the world, and most of all, the specialists who all along knew such a feat to be practicable. As a further description of Professor Montgomery’s wonderful experiments may interest the reader, the following account, written by himself, is inserted from Aëronautics for January, 1909:
“When I commenced practical demonstration in my work with aëroplanes I had before me three points. First, equilibrium; second, complete control; and third, long continued or soaring flight. In starting I constructed and tested three sets of models, each in advance of the other in regard to the continuance of their soaring powers, but all equally perfect as to equilibrium and control. These models were tested by dropping them from a cable stretched between two mountain tops, with various loads, adjustments and positions. And it made no difference whether the models were dropped upside down or in any other conceivable position, they always found their equilibrium immediately and glided safely to earth.
“Then I constructed a large machine patterned after the first model, and with the assistance of three cowboy friends personally made a number of flights in the steep mountains near San Juan (a hundred miles distant). In making these flights I simply took the aëroplane and made a running jump. These tests were discontinued after I put my foot in a squirrel hole, in landing, and hurt my leg.
PLATE XXI.
MONTGOMERY’S AËROPLANE.
“The following year I commenced the work on a larger scale, by engaging aëronauts to ride my aëroplane dropped from balloons. During this work I used five hot-air balloons and one gas balloon, five or six aëroplanes, three riders—Maloney, Wilkie and Defolco—and had sixteen applicants on my list and had a training station to prepare any when I needed them.
“Exhibitions were given in Santa Cruz, San José, Santa Clara, Oakland and Sacramento. The flights that were made, instead of being haphazard affairs, were in the order of safety and development. In the first flight of an aëronaut the aëroplane was so arranged that the rider had little liberty of action, consequently he could make only a limited flight. In some of the first flights, the aëroplane did little more than settle in the air. But as the rider gained experience in each successive flight I changed the adjustments, giving him more liberty of action, so he could obtain longer flights and more varied movements in the flights. But in none of the flights did I have the adjustments so that the riders had full liberty, as I did not consider that they had the requisite knowledge and experience necessary for their safety; and hence, none of my aëroplanes were launched so arranged that the rider could make adjustments necessary for a full flight.
“This line of action caused a good deal of trouble with aëronauts or riders who had unbounded confidence and wanted to make long flights after the first few trials, but I found it necessary as they seemed slow in comprehending the important elements and were too willing to take risks. To give them the full knowledge in these matters I was formulating plans for a large starting station on the Mount Hamilton Range from which I could launch an aëroplane capable of carrying two, one of my aëronauts and myself, so I could teach him by demonstration. But the disasters consequent on the great earthquake, completely stopped all my work on these lines. The flights that were given were only the first of the series with aëroplanes patterned after the first model. There were no aëroplanes constructed according to the two other models, as I had not given the full demonstration of the workings of the first, though some remarkable and startling work was done. On one occasion, Maloney in trying to make a very short turn during rapid flight pressed very hard on the stirrup which gives a screw shape to the wings and made a side somersault. The course of the machine was very much like one turn of a corkscrew. After this movement, the machine continued on its regular course. And afterwards Wilkie, not to be outdone by Maloney, told his friends he would do the same, and in a subsequent flight, made two side somersaults, one in one direction and the other in an opposite, then made a deep dive and a long glide, and when about three hundred feet in the air, brought the aëroplane to a sudden stop and settled to the earth. After these antics, I decreased the extent of the possible change in the form of wing surface so as to allow only straight sailing or only long curves in turning.
“During my work I had a few carping critics that I silenced by this standing offer: If they would deposit a thousand dollars I would cover it on this proposition. I would fasten a 150-pound sack of sand in the rider’s seat, make the necessary adjustments, and send up an aëroplane upside down with a balloon, the aëroplane to be liberated by a time fuse. If the aëroplane did not immediately right itself, make a flight, and come safely to the ground, the money was theirs.
“Now a word in regard to the fatal accident.[47] The circumstances are these: The ascension was given to entertain a military company in which were many of Maloney’s friends, and he had told them he would give the most sensational flight they ever heard of. As the balloon was rising with the aëroplane, a guy rope dropping switched around the right wing and broke the tower that braced the two rear wings and which also gave control over the tail. We shouted Maloney that the machine was broken but he probably did not hear us, as he was at the same time saying ‘Hurrah for Montgomery’s air ship,’ and as the break was behind him, he may not have detected it. Now did he know of the breakage or not, and if he knew of it did he take a risk so as not to disappoint his friends? At all events, when the machine started on its flight the rear wings commenced to flap (thus indicating they were loose), the machine turned on its back and settled a little faster than a parachute. When we reached Maloney he was unconscious and lived only thirty minutes. The only mark of any kind on him was a scratch from a wire on the side of his neck. The six attending physicians were puzzled at the cause of his death. This is remarkable for a vertical descent of over 2,000 feet.”