An interesting novelty of the aviation week, at least to Americans, were the erratic Demoiselle monoplanes, invented by Santos-Dumont and piloted by Garros and Audemars. These aëroplanes were notable as having the pilot under the sustaining plane, and the engine above with its direct mounted propeller. The lateral stability was enhanced by a low placement of the center of mass, and by a slight dihedral inclination of the wings. Furthermore, as there was not much leverage or surface in the rear double rudder, the flight was more stable than steady, like that of a propelled parachute. In fact, the little monoplanes pitched, rocked, and fluttered about so like huge butterflies as to provoke constant merriment. They gave a faint suggestion of how ludicrous aëroplane clowns could be made by one who has genius for such things.
Barring the stormy voyages above mentioned, the most memorable events of the tournament were the Gordon Bennett speed contest, the Statue of Liberty race and Johnstone’s great altitude flight. Of the numerous other performances little need be said, except that they contributed to the general success of an elaborate and most interesting program. They served the daily need of a costly tournament; they delighted vast throngs of spectators whose admission fees helped to promote the aërial sport; but they did not of themselves have more than local interest, or constitute an advance in the records of first-class achievement.
The chief race of the meet, the James Gordon Bennett speed contest, was scheduled for Saturday, October 29th. The prize of $5,000 and the coveted cup were to be awarded to the pilot who should make the best average speed in 20 laps over a 5-kilometer course, aggregating 100 kilometers, or 62.14 miles. The winner should have the distinguished honor of taking to his own country the next annual contest for the precious speed prize.
Grahame-White, England’s foremost aviator and strongest hope in the contest, brought forth his untried 100-horse Blériot in the calmest part of the day, and took wing a quarter before nine. He flew with steady poise and swift, well-sustained speed, completing the 100-kilometer distance in 1 hour 1 minute and 4.7 seconds, at an average speed of 61 miles an hour.
Le Blanc, the most likely winner of all, sailed at nine o’clock. He was mounted on a 100-horse Blériot with nearly flat wings, the swiftest monoplane of French manufacture. He was the boldest, sturdiest and most dexterous pilot in a nation of renowned aviators, the winner of unnumbered trophies, the “Vainquer de l’Est.” He now flew at unwonted speed, establishing new world records at every round of the course. It seemed evident to the timers that only an accident to this impetuous Frenchman could retrieve the glory of England and save that of America. Suddenly the accident came. In the last lap, when victory seemed assured, the gasoline failed; the monoplane shot downward, knocked off a telegraph pole, and, with broken frame and engine, fell crashing to earth, entangling the brave aviator. Le Blanc was cut and bruised about the forehead, and was taken to the hospital to be bandaged, not seriously injured but in a towering rage, suspecting that some trickery had given him a shortage of fuel. He had lost the day, though his average speed for the whole flight was 67 miles an hour as against Grahame-White’s speed of 61 miles.
No well-tried machine was available to defend the American prestige. Curtiss had constructed a new monoplane designed for speed, but though he had brought the cup to America, he was not chosen as one of its three defenders. The little Wright biplane of 61 horse power had flown a few minutes with great velocity, and was looked to with some confidence. Mounted by Walter Brookins, it set out with tremendous speed, but had only well started when the cylinders began to miss fire. Brookins turned toward the infield to land, struck the ground with terrific shock and tumbled violently on the field beside his broken machine. He, too, was taken to the hospital for treatment, but was not seriously injured.
It was now granted that Grahame-White would be the ultimate winner. Other aviators attempted to defeat him, but lacked either the necessary speed or endurance. The cup was accordingly taken from the nations that had done the most to develop the practical art of aëroplaning. Of these two nations, the one most deserving of victory, by virtue of its more careful preparation, was defeated by an extraordinary mishap, when victory was at hand; the other failed perhaps for want of preparation rather than from lack of manipulative or constructive skill.
Of the various highly coveted stakes the largest in monetary value was known as the Thomas F. Ryan Statue of Liberty Prize. This was a cash sum of $10,000, to be awarded to the properly qualified contestant who should fly from the aviation ground to and around the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor, and return in the shortest time, the airline distance being 16 miles each way. The prize was founded by Mr. Thomas F. Ryan, whose son, Allan A. Ryan, was Chairman of the Committee on Arrangements of the tournament, and who though suffering with pain and ill-health, labored so indefatigably to insure the success of the event so germain to the aëronautical prestige of his country.
The Statue of Liberty race occurred on Sunday afternoon, October 30th, beginning just after three o’clock. Count De Lesseps in a 50-horse Blériot monoplane led the race, followed three minutes later by Grahame-White. They passed toward the southwest in perfect poise and vanished beyond the horizon unchallenged by an American contestant; for Moisant, the American champion, had shortly before injured his racing monoplane, and the other American racing machines had been damaged the week before, or had not yet been fully tested. But with admirable enterprise, Moisant telephoned Le Blanc, in New York, who was not racing because of the accident to his 100-horse Blériot the day previously, and offered the Frenchman $10,000 for his 50-horse Blériot monoplane. The sale was effected in time for the race that day. But for all that the enterprise seemed futile; for as Moisant was preparing to start, the others were returning, Grahame-White well in the lead, having overtaken De Lesseps. As these two aviators were receiving the applause of innumerable spectators and the felicitations of their friends, audacious Moisant, the impetuous soldier of fortune, and hero of the famous flight by compass from Paris to London, started toward the declining sun, just after four o’clock. He was determined to win by superior skill and daring. His prudent competitors had followed a circuitous southern route interspersed with landing places; but he flew like a maniac straight over the church spires and crowded buildings of Brooklyn, guided to his goal by a compass, rounded the Statue of Liberty at a great altitude and plunged homeward with all possible speed and directness. The megaphone announced his progress, which indicated some hope of victory so little expected and so much desired by the vast throng that stood gazing toward the western sun. In headlong career the swooping monoplane shot by the judges’ stand, circled and softly landed on the field, triumphant by 43 seconds over the 100-horse Blériot of Grahame-White. As the intrepid aviator approached the vast and delighted throng of spectators to acknowledge its noisy and tumultuous ovation, he was met by the chiefs of the tournament, draped in an American flag, and paraded before the grand stand, “which shook in its effort to do honor to the little air conqueror.” Ultimately, however, the prize was awarded to Count De Lesseps, because Moisant had failed to qualify properly, and Grahame-White had fouled the initial pylon.
The final day of the tournament was made memorable by Johnstone’s altitude flight. The best previous record was that of Wijnmalen to an elevation of 9,104 feet, made at Mourmelon, France. Johnstone ascended on a small Wright machine with powerful propellers adapted to rapid climbing, determined not only to surpass Wijnmalen but to exceed, if possible, the ten-thousand-foot level, and win the special prize offered for such achievement. He actually rose to the great elevation of 9,714 feet, but could not develop power enough to continue upward. On his descent he fully exhausted his fuel at 3,000 feet, and thence glided to earth, landing softly, 1 hour and 43 minutes from the time of starting.