Blériot’s landing was the greatest jolt to British insularity since the birth of steam navigation. Nevertheless it was welcomed with unfeigned delight as emphasizing the triumph of a new art which enriches all people. Shortly afterward was erected on the spot a monument in white granite having the plan and size of the renowned No. XI monoplane.
Sportsmanlike, Latham wired his congratulations to Blériot, expressing the hope to follow ere long. Two days later he flew across the Channel to within one mile of the English coast, where he had to land in the water again because of motor failure. This time he struck the sea violently and suffered a broken nose. His goggles were shattered and cut his face.
The big competitive flyers of the world now turned toward Betheny Plain near Rheims, where the first International Aviation Meet was to be held August 22–29, 1909. Here was a place to make record flights, to win rich prizes, and to achieve great distinction. A well-designed aërodrome had been prepared for the occasion. In the midst of a broad plain was marked by means of high poles, or pylons, a rectangular course, measuring roughly one by two miles, or more exactly, 1,500 by 3,500 meters. At one end was the judges stand, the grand stand, the café and the aëroplane sheds. The numerous cash prizes offered for speed, for distance, for endurance, for altitude, etc., totaled in value nearly forty thousand dollars. But the most coveted prize of all was the James Gordon Bennett Aviation Cup, together with $5,000 cash, the winner of which should have the honor of placing the next international contest in his own country. This should be awarded to the aviator having the best speed over a two-round, or 20-kilometer course. The next most desired prize was a cash sum of $10,000 for the longest flight. A special charm of the tournament was that each fortunate entrant should meet the distinguished aviators from all localities, and should fly in presence of a world-gathering. Aëroplanes of all the most successful types were there, numbering together thirty-eight machines.
The first day of the great aviation week, Sunday, August 22d, was devoted to elimination trials to determine which aviators should represent France in the race for the Bennett trophy. Of the seventeen entrants in these trials the three who should cover two rounds of the course in the shortest time should be selected as champions, the next six, in order of speed, to act as reserve pilots. But owing to the severe weather of that day, only six of the seventeen entrants succeeded in flying well enough to be admitted in either capacity. Of these six the cup champions were: Blériot, Lefebvre, Lambert and Latham; the reserve champions being in order, Tissandier, Paulhan and Sommer. These men won their places by bold flying in rough conditions; for rain had fallen heavily during the previous night, and the wind was still blowing in swift and gusty current over the sodden field. Indeed, the weather seemed anything but propitious at the opening of that great experimental tournament, on the success of which should be based the estimates and forecast of so many subsequent meets. Swift clouds overhead, and black flags displayed on high masts, indicated that flying would be impossible. A passing storm raged at five o’clock in the afternoon. But toward evening the face of Nature brightened, and with it the hopes of the aviationists. The weather at last became ideal. Nearly all the aëroplanes came forth, and at six o’clock no fewer than seven were on the wing at one time. Some of them were doing most startling feats. Lefebvre would make a threatening swoop at the grand stand, then circle swiftly away. Blériot, in a moment of unsteadiness, charged a wheat stack with his swift monoplane, damaging his sharp-bladed propeller. Count de Lambert sailed under Paul Tissandier, heedless of the aërial wake beneath. The crowds applauded and cheered every novel and bold maneuver. The closing hour with its sunny calm atmosphere and its vivacious well-pleased populace, presaged greater joys for the morrow. Sir Henry Norman, who was present, declared that those events marked the birth of a new epoch in human development.
Monday, the second day of the meet, dawned fair and calm, with promise of settled weather. It was the last qualifying day for the ten-thousand-dollar long-distance prize, the Grand Prix de la Champagne. No one who had not flown a reasonable space on, or before Monday, could take part in the trials for that coveted honor on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. The aviators were about early, and many had qualified before evening. Several of the pilots tried for speed records. Blériot, with an 80-horse-power monoplane, made one round of the course in 8 minutes, 42⅖ seconds. Curtiss, in his 60-horse-power biplane, lowered the time to 8 minutes, 35⅗ seconds. This was an achievement of the greatest concern, since Curtiss stood alone, as champion of America, against the more experienced flyers of Europe. He thought of nothing, engaged in nothing, except the speed trials, for in these he hoped to win, with his 60-horse flyer, even against renowned Blériot, in his 80-horse machine. Other interesting events were designed solely to entertain or amuse the people. Lefebvre again furnished merriment by sweeping over and under, and around Paulhan, who was flying at an elevation of 25 feet. M. Kapferer had navigated from Meaux, in the dirigible Colonel Renard, and sailed about the grounds, with fine effect.
Tuesday should have brought ideal conditions and performances; for it was the day set for the visit of M. Falliéres, President of France. But the morning was dark, with ominous clouds gathering over the aërodrome, and black flags streaming in the strong wind. When the President arrived, though the clock told four, no flying had yet begun. He examined the machines, held an informal reception, and at five took his box in the grand stand. Presently Bunau-Varilla in his Voisin biplane, rocking in the fifteen-mile wind, flew past, waving his hat to the distinguished spectators. After him came dauntless young Paulhan who also passed the President, shortly before the latter, with his party, returned to the railway station. He flew at an elevation of 300 to 500 feet, his Voisin heaving and lurching in the tumultuous wind, like a boat on the breakers. He had no lateral stabilizing plane, so he let his box kite rock. The people were appalled, but what cared he for wind gusts, so far from earth? Let the craft roll and pitch; he was not uneasy. On the return lap he raced and beat a railway train. These were but inklings of what he would do with increased experience. Latham followed presently on his long swift monoplane, to the delight of all who love the graceful in mechanism and motion. Ere long he was chased and overhauled by Blériot, in his cross-Channel flyer. This was exciting, but Blériot produced still greater enthusiasm by beating the speed record, lowering it to 8 minutes, 4⅖ seconds, for one round of the 10-kilometer (6.21 mile) course. The day was ended, and the spectators were charmed again by the spectacular evolutions of Lefebvre, who cavorted in the air before the grand stand, cutting impressive curves and figure “8’s.”
Wednesday morning, the fourth of the meet, was heavy with black clouds, which presaged unfavorable weather. The winds were light, but still nothing transpired till late in the afternoon to break the monotony of waiting. During this long interval the crowd could amuse itself with gossip, refreshments and music, and with an occasional flight of lesser moment. About four o’clock Paulhan set forth in a six-mile wind to try for the Grand Prix de la Champagne. His lumbering Voisin had a speed of hardly more than thirty miles an hour, but it was driven by a very reliable 50-horse Gnome 7-cylinder motor, whose body spins round a fixed crank, carrying the propeller with it. No one at first expected a very long flight. The wind rose, sometimes exceeding 20 miles an hour, tossing the young pilot terribly, and once throwing him so far within the course that he must turn a complete circle in order to round the corner post, or pylon. But he kept right on, so long as there remained a drop of fuel. He first broke Wilbur Wright’s best record, by 23 minutes, then Sommer’s recent record, by 6 minutes, finally landing, at half past six o’clock, with a new world’s record of 82 miles in 2 hours, 43 minutes and 24⅘ seconds. The people were frantic with excitement; they clapped their hands and waved thousands of handkerchiefs; they rent the air with tremendous applause as he was borne toward the grand stand on the shoulders of his clamorous comrades. Others at the same time had been flying with varied fortune. During Paulhan’s long demonstration, Fournier had encountered a miniature whirlwind, turned over in the air, at a great height, and crashed sidewise to the ground, with some injury to his nose, and with much damage to the wings and tail of his machine. Latham, wishing to lower his circuit time, flew thrice around the course, but without improvement. During his flight, a splendid rainbow appeared, which together with the Antoinette dragon fly soaring high aloft with Latham on its back, produced an impressive spectacle.
Thursday morning brought fine weather and the promise of an eventful day. As a consequence serious efforts were made to excel all previous records, particularly for speed, duration and distance. In the forenoon Latham flew 43.5 miles in the Antoinette XIII. In the afternoon Count de Lambert, in his Wright biplane, flew 72 miles. Blériot entertained the throng by carrying Delagrange as passenger; but while sailing near the ground he encountered some dragoons, turned sidewise to avoid striking them, and plunged into a fence, breaking his propeller. But the great sensation of the day was Latham’s afternoon flight for the Grand Prix, in his Antoinette No. 29. Starting with plenty of fuel and favorable weather, he rose to a high level and flew till his supply was exhausted, at times encountering rough winds and for a while plowing through a rainstorm. It was the banner flight of the week thus far; for it surpassed all other long ones in distance and speed, though not equaling Paulhan’s in endurance. His total range, when compelled to alight through exhaustion of fuel, was 95.88 miles, in 2 hours, 18 minutes, 9⅗ seconds. This showed an average speed of 41.63 miles an hour for the whole distance, while the speed for his first round was 44.65 miles an hour. For this great achievement he could thank his 50-horse, 8-cylinder Antoinette motor, one of the lightest in existence, for that power.
Friday, August 27th, was the last day allotted for the distance, or Grand Prix contest. After the wonderful new records of Paulhan and Latham, people were marveling what might happen on the final day. Many assumed, of course, that Latham’s record of 96 miles would remain unsurpassed. At four-thirty, Latham started on another long flight, in his Antoinette monoplane No. 13, followed presently by Farman and Sommer in Farman biplanes; these flying six to twelve feet from the ground, with gallant Latham soaring aloft nearly three hundred feet in his swift long-winged fish, and occasionally gaining a lap on them. Sommer stopped after three rounds, because of motor trouble. Latham’s fuel gave out after a voyage of 68.35 miles, and he glided to earth. Farman continued to plod along on his slow, low-wandering craft, with little attention. Others were in the air, with biplanes and monoplanes, entertaining the populace—Blériot, Curtiss, Delagrange, Tissandier, Bunau-Varilla—these had the applause. Presently the spectators remembered that ground-skimming Farman had been a very long time on the wing. He now became the center of rapt attention. Slowly he distanced Paulhan’s great world’s record of Wednesday; slowly he distanced Latham’s greater world’s record of Thursday; but still he plodded away. The sun sank on his flight; darkness came on the field, so that he vanished from view at the far end of the course. At the close of the nineteenth round he landed in the dark before the grand stand, limp and exhausted, having journeyed 3¼ hours and traversed 118.06 miles. For the second time he had won a $10,000 prize; nineteen months ago by flying 1 kilometer, to-day by flying 190 kilometers. A searchlight was thrown upon him. He was pulled from his machine and carried upon the shoulders of his friends, receiving a prolonged and tremendous ovation.
The seventh morning of the tournament, Saturday, August 28th, came with a beaming smile, promising good flights and a pleasant termination of the glorious cup contest for the highest speed in two rounds of the 10-kilometer course. The air was calm, mild and hazy above the Betheny plain. The flyers were in fine mood for great achievements. The thronging groups of well-dressed men and women awaited further startling events, with varied animation and constant chatter. The day was well diversified with interesting flights; but, of course, not with long ones. The chief interest centered in the leading cup-champions—solitary Yankee Curtiss and great Blériot with his 80-horse monoplane, supported, if need be, by his allies in the contest, Lefebvre and Latham.