WRIGHT RACING BIPLANE OF 1910.
Wilbur Wright began his demonstration for the French syndicate on the plain of Auvours, ten miles from Le Mans, France, on August 8, 1908. For some weeks his flights were very brief, owing to the balky condition of his engine; but this difficulty was removed by the middle of September. After the accident to his brother he remained inactive for a few days; then, to reassure his supporters, he raised the world’s record by flying a distance of over 52 miles, remaining aloft 1 hour, 31 minutes, 25 seconds. After this he continued at frequent intervals to make long flights, quite usually taking a passenger with him, and on several occasions a lady. His endurance, his altitude, his abandon and perfect control amazed and delighted Europe. Incidentally he won some valuable prizes, beating the French records for duration, distance and elevation. Once he rose to a height of 380 feet. On September 21st, he flew 42 miles in 1 hour and 31 minutes; on October 11th, he carried a passenger an hour and ten minutes; finally on the last day of the year he flew 77 miles in two hours and twenty minutes, thus winning the much coveted Michelin prize, of twenty thousand francs for the longest distance flown during the year. It was a triumphal close to the most progressive and eventful year in aviation—the first year of exhibition flying, the inaugural year of a noble art.
Having completed the speed and distance tests at Le Mans by the close of the year 1908, Wilbur Wright went to Pau, in the South of France, for the winter practice with his three pupils, Count de Lambert, Paul Tissandier and Alfred Leblanc. Here on the vast trial grounds at Pont Long, six miles from Pau, he had a commodious hangar with a workshop on one side, and on the other, apartments for the aviator and his mechanics. He arrived with his pupils, on January 14th, and next day was joined by his brother and sister, who had followed him from Paris, Orville being now well recovered from his injuries received at Fort Myer. In a short time the machine was set up, and early in February began its regular service, having a pair of levers for the teacher and another pair for the passenger. The pupils quickly acquired the art of steering, being first allowed to control one lever, with Mr. Wright holding the other; then being entrusted to manage the whole machine, with their tutor as passenger; and finally becoming themselves teachers of the newly acquired art. Only a few hours’ practice was needed to attain proficiency, the whole time in the air aggregating hardly half a day for each pupil, though the lessons extended over many days.
A pleasant feature of the sojourn at Pau and Le Mans was the number and character of the visitors, and the boundless enthusiasm displayed toward the new art. Tens of thousands of people from the neighboring places, and tourists from many parts of the earth assembled to see the flights; statesmen, military officers, scientific and parliamentary delegations, representatives of innumerable periodicals. Queen Margherita, having missed a flight on her first visit to Le Mans, came a second time, and remained three hours standing on the field, fascinated by the wonderful aërial equipage. The King of Spain, Alfonso XIII, who visited the aërodrome at Pau, on February 20th, manifested the keenest interest and delight in examining the aëroplane and seeing it fly; first with the pilot alone, then with an extra passenger. He took a seat in the machine beside Mr. Wright, discussed its working, and expressed his deep regret that reasons of state prevented him from making an ascension. A month later the King of England, who was at Biarritz, adjourned to Pau, where he remained to witness two unusually fine flights. He expressed the greatest pleasure in the performance, questioned the brothers about the details of the machine, and complimented them on their achievement.
From Pau, Wilbur Wright went to Italy, about the end of March, to fulfill an engagement to give demonstrations and lessons in the use of the biplane. He was welcomed at Rome by the King of Italy, on April 2d, and later gave a public exhibition of flying, to aid the sufferers in the recent earthquake at Messina. His flights were attended with great enthusiasm, and his lessons in aviation were quickly mastered; his pupil, Lieutenant Calderara, soon making public flights alone. A rare sight it was, this modern winged chariot soaring above the ruins of that ancient campagna, bearing with it a moving-picture camera.
By the end of April Mr. Wright had finished his task in Italy, and was journeying homeward with his sister and brother by way of London, where they enjoyed the hospitalities of the Aëronautical Society of Great Britain; and where, on May 3d, the brothers received the beautiful gold medal of that famous society, the oldest aëronautical organization in the world.
The return to America was primarily for the purpose of completing the official tests at Fort Myer; but incidentally the brothers must find time to receive new honors and ovations. While in the shop at Dayton, working vigorously to complete a new aëroplane for the War Department, in the hope of finishing the demonstrations by June 28th, the limit of their allotted month, they were showered with attentions too numerous for their comfort. They must drop their tools in order to go to Washington to receive the gold medal of the Aëro Club of America from President Taft, at the White House, on June 10th. On June 17th they must witness an elaborate demonstration in their honor at Dayton, where they received a gold medal from the city, another from the State, and another from the Federal Government. Finally late in June, they arrived in Washington with the rehabilitated biplane, to make good their contract with the Signal Corps.
The early tests of this aëroplane were not an unmixed triumph for the Wright brothers and their well-wishers. At first the machine failed to fly completely about the drill ground. It took the air with difficulty, and came to the earth on the first turn. Some lack of adjustment in the frame was suspected. The motor was accused of weakness. The launching weights[49] were too light. The brothers explained that a new flyer is like a new horse; the driver must learn his idiosyncrasies before attempting to show him off to advantage. They intimated also that they would be pleased to have the great throng of prominent people, who flocked daily to the drill ground, kept away until their flying instrument was properly tuned for public performances. They discouraged superfluous attentions. The big legislators who ventured audaciously to peep into the sacred shed containing the marvelous machine, were hailed by the military guard, and unceremoniously marched across the line among the plain people. It was a dreadful shock to these mighty signors, and many a fat lawmaker cursed audibly, vowing never to vote a cent for flying squadrons. But still they haunted the drill ground daily, despite the long journey and the late dinner; for they were fascinated by the untold and unconjecturable possibilities of the new art.
June 28th came quickly, obliging the patient aviators to beg another extension of time. They were granted thirty days longer, which seemed to them more than necessary; but in this judgment they were mistaken. One accident after another delayed the consummation of their official task of flying one hour above the field, then five miles across country and return. Finally, on July 27th, Orville Wright, who was making all the flights, took with him Lieut. Frank P. Lahm, and sailed gloriously for one hour, twelve minutes and forty seconds, before ten thousand delighted spectators. It was an ideal summer evening, and all the maneuvers were performed with excellent poise, security and grace. A new world’s record was established. Now all the vast throng from the President and his cabinet to the simplest laborer, appreciating the achievement as a triumph for America and for humanity, burst forth into prolonged acclamation and applause.
The cross-country flight was next in order. The course from Fort Myer to Alexandria lay over scattered forests and a deep valley. The flight seemed a difficult and hazardous enterprise; but the brothers, confiding in their machine, seemed to have little apprehension of failure or peril. Indeed, they seemed most concerned about the bonus to be secured by flying at an average rate exceeding the contract speed of 40 miles an hour; for each additional mile an hour would pay them $2,500 above the normal price of the aëroplane. They accordingly declined to fly in any but very calm weather, no matter how vast the gathering of visitors, or how illustrious. They wished, of course, to expedite the final and crucial test; but they could not always have ideal conditions, and would not take undue chances. On the evening after the endurance test the engine balked, owing to the clogging of a rubber pipe from the gasoline tank. Dusk came on, and the disappointed crowd went home to a late dinner. The Secretary of War, who was present, very kindly granted a third extension of time, covering the rest of the month. Next evening it was a trifle breezy. Wilbur Wright announced that the flight could be made, but that the bonus would be less than on a still evening; he would therefore wait for calmer weather. Twelve thousand people were turned away disappointed. There was muttering among the impatient and warm of blood. It was remarked that the War Department could easily drop these procrastinated experiments and buy a practical aëroplane in the open market for $5,000. But the discommoded officers good-naturedly allowed the thrifty sons of Dayton to have their way in striving for a large bonus, beyond the normal price of $25,000.