These are but a few of the records which serve to illustrate the progress in cross-country flying during that year of strenuous and world-wide popular demonstrations. But the bare numerical statement of facts can give no conception of the delight and exultation aroused in millions of souls who witnessed or learned of these marvelous human achievements. They were the advancing triumph of a proud and fortunate generation, happy in realizing one of the fondest dreams of the ages. Often during one of these cross-country flights the aëroplane was accompanied by a swift railway train whose passengers were delirious with enthusiasm. The entire route was thronged with people assembled from afar. It was a general holiday for all the fortunate cities and villages along the way. Mills and factories blew their whistles and forgot the serious business of life, homes were deserted, schools were dismissed; the whole population for the time congregated in the open; bearded mechanics in their aprons, bare-armed housewives holding their children aloft, girls and boys with wondering eyes, all shouting, waving banners, throwing up hats, and hailing with tumultuous demonstration that strange and huge-winged creature gliding from horizon to horizon with the steadiness, precision and directness of a mighty projectile. But beyond stating the records of this season of aërial wonders, only a passing notice can be given to some of the more conspicuous events.
The most famous overland voyages of the season 1910 began with the race for the London Daily Mail prize of $50,000, offered by Lord Northcliffe for the first person who should fly from London to Manchester, 183 miles within twenty-four hours, with not more than two stops. An Englishman, Claude Grahame-White, comparatively new in the pilot’s art, was first to undertake that difficult and perilous adventure. Starting from London, without competitor, on April 24th, he flew in his Farman biplane, from London to Rugby, thence to Hademore, about halfway to Manchester, landing at a quarter past nine o’clock at night, after a four-hour trip, and hoping to reach Manchester next day. But during the night his aëroplane, which was left in the open, was damaged by the wind, thus necessitating repairs and a new start. On April 27th, while he was strenuously mending and adjusting his biplane for a new start, Louis Paulhan, who the day previously had arrived from France with a Farman biplane to enter the contest, was also vigorously setting up and adjusting his machine.
At half past five in the afternoon, Paulhan suddenly set out for Manchester. Mr. White, who was much fatigued and expecting to start on the morrow at dawn, after much-needed rest, learned toward six o’clock that his rival was on the wing, and hurriedly sailed from London, hoping by skill and good chance to overtake the flying Frenchman. The race was now the most exciting event in the world. The first flyers of France and England were competing for the greatest prize yet offered in the history of aviation, competing in a most modern and extraordinary race, attended with abundant danger and hardship. The contestants were evenly matched in mechanism and capability, but the Frenchman had gotten the march on the unwary Englishman. Paulhan followed the Northwestern Railway, at times outracing the special pilot train carrying his mechanics and supplies. At ten minutes after eight o’clock, he landed at Lichfield, having covered 115 miles. Mr. White had landed five minutes before eight near Roade, after flying fifty-nine miles.
Next morning, Paulhan sailed away at a quarter past four. Mr. White, hoping to overtake him, had started at dead of night and covered twenty miles before Paulhan had started. It was a heroic effort, but unavailing. At twelve minutes after five, Mr. White landed at Hademore, having completed two thirds of the entire journey. Twenty-five minutes later Paulhan landed on the outskirts of Manchester, greeted by a thousand persons. He had covered the whole distance in 4.2 hours, and had fulfilled all the essential conditions for winning the great prize.
The next world-famous aëroplane voyage was that of Glenn H. Curtiss for the New York World’s prize of $10,000 for the first aërial journey from Albany to New York, allowing two stops. Aviators had been yearning for this prize since the previous year, but had been too timidly shying at the dangers of the route. After most careful preparations for this voyage, Curtiss, bearing a letter from the Mayor of Albany to the Mayor of New York, sailed away at seven o’clock on Sunday morning, May 29th, accompanied by a New York Central special train, bearing his wife and a few friends and newspaper men. He landed an hour for supplies and adjustment at Camelot, 41 miles down the river, and thence flew to Spuyten Duyvil, at the northern extremity of New York, having completed the required distance, 128 miles, in 2 hours and 32 minutes, or at the rate of 50.52 miles per hour along the course. An hour later, he flew down the river to New York Harbor and landed on Governor’s Island, where he received a becoming ovation.
Perhaps the most exciting incident of the voyage to Mr. Curtiss was his transit of the Storm King Mountain. As he was flying through the narrow gap at this place he caught the down-rolling air on one side more than on the other, and dropped very suddenly sidewise 30 or 40 feet. By shifting his front control, he quickly gained headway and promptly righted his machine.
Commenting on Mr. Curtiss’s average speed of 50 miles an hour and his rugged course, Aëronautics makes comparison between his voyage and Paulhan’s great prize flight as follows:
“Paulhan took 4 hours 12 minutes elapsed time to cover 183 miles when he won the London Mail’s $50,000 and made it in two stages of 117 and 66 miles each. The 117 miles were covered in 2.39, a rate of nearly 44 miles per hour. A night’s sleep intervened and the remaining 66 miles were covered in 1.23, a rate of nearly 48 miles per hour. The average for the above was 44.37 miles per hour. Paulhan could have landed at almost any time and started again, whereas Curtiss could not have started if he had had to land in the water, and for the whole distance there was scarcely a suitable space for landing on the ground, as for nearly the entire way rocky, wooded hills with precipitous sides line the river.”
The most audacious and marvelous aëronautic exploit of the year was the flight of George Chavez across the Alps from Brig to Domodossola, in his attempt to win the prize of 70,000 francs offered by the Italian Aviation Society for the first aëroplane flight from Brig to Milan, a distance of 75 miles. From the nine volunteers for this contest who presented themselves to the committee in charge, five competitors were selected, and these for several days made tentative efforts to scale the lofty pass, but were baffled by the wind or fog. Finally at one-thirty, on September 23d, the conditions being favorable, Chavez rose, from Briegen-Berg, in his white-winged Blériot, spiraled upward 1,000 meters, circling around the vast amphitheater of the mountains, and in nineteen minutes appeared in magnificent career well above the Simplon Pass, probably 7,000 feet above the sea, whence he glided grandly down the Italian slope, parrying the rude cross winds and finally reaching Domodossola, where the enthusiasm was at its climax. Here he expected to land on a level spot to replenish his supplies, thence proceed over the easy remaining two thirds of his journey. But though the perilous pass had been crossed so successfully, disaster appeared in the valley when least expected. As the aëroplane was gliding thirty feet high over the level tract chosen for landing, it met a sudden gust, its wings collapsed, and it fell crashing to earth, pinioning its brave pilot under the débris.
Poor Chavez suffered severe wounds about the face and head, had both legs broken, and for some moments lay unconscious. But he was soon revived by his friends and taken to a hospital, where he died four days later. Thus ended the career of a brave and most promising youth of twenty-three. He had taken his pilot’s license only in February, 1910, yet had established a new world’s record on September 8th, by driving his Blériot to an elevation of 8,406 feet. He was of Peruvian parentage and born in Paris.