Curtiss, shortly after ten o’clock, made a preliminary trial, lowering his best anterior time. With this he was so pleased that he prepared immediately for the one official flight allowed in that contest. He filled his small gasoline tank, replenished his radiator, signed a legal paper certifying this to be his trial for the cup, and at once took wing, circling before the grand stand, then crossing the line at full speed. The biplane pitched perceptibly at its unusual gait, but turned the corner in easy curves, completing the first round in 7.57⅖, the second in 7.53⅕; the total time being 15 minutes, 50⅗ seconds, and showing an average speed of 47.04 miles an hour.
About noon Blériot came forth with his 80-horse monoplane No. 22, which was expected to eclipse the Curtiss biplane, but in reality proved exasperatingly slow. At two o’clock he tried another propeller, with little encouragement. An hour later he tried again with a four-blade propeller, but descended before completing the round. After tinkering for an hour, aided by several mechanics, he flew to his shed, shortly before five o’clock. As no start was allowed after five-thirty, he hastened zealously and started his official flight at five-ten. The mighty monoplane cut the air at terrific speed, without pitching, or rolling, and finished the first round in 7.47⅘, or 5⅔ seconds less than Curtiss’ best lap. The overjoyed French throng rent the air with frantic bravos! Curtiss and Mr. Bishop were silent, appreciating the skill of that fiery antagonist, with his monster engine. As the steady birdlike craft turned the last pylon, and swept homeward in magnificent career, the timers called out the seconds. The throng listened with abated breath and then with alarm. Blériot had lost speed in the second round. When he crossed the line his total time was 5⅗ seconds greater than that of his only rival. The conqueror of the Channel, the champion of France, was defeated and the international trophy must go to America, won by a taciturn, calculating Yankee, never before seen in Europe, and hardly known to fame.
Other official flights for the cup during the day were made by Latham and Lefebvre for France, and by Mr. Cockburn, champion for England, the latter bird-man sailing into a stack of wheat in the middle of his first round, then wheeling to earth. Incidentally Henri Farman established a new world’s three-man duration distance and speed record by carrying two passengers ten kilometers in 10 minutes 39 seconds. Thus ended the chief day of the tournament, leaving the contestants in the following order of speed: Curtiss, Blériot, Latham, Lefebvre.
Of the other leading prizes, that for the fastest single round was taken by Blériot; that for the fastest three-round flight was won by Curtiss on Sunday, with a record of 23 minutes, 29 seconds for the thirty kilometers; the Altitude Prize was won by Latham, who attained an elevation of 508.5 feet; the Prix des Mecaniciens was won by Bunau-Varilla in a flight of 100 kilometers; the Prix des Aëronats was won, on Sunday, by the large dirigible, the Colonel Renard, in a voyage of 50 kilometers, or 31.06 miles, at an average speed of 24.9 miles an hour. Along with the chief prizes, many smaller ones of considerable value were awarded, thus summing up the total of $37,000.
The small band of men who organized the first international aviation meet, with the Marquis de Polignac as president, and the great wine merchants of the Champagne district as their supporters, were now elated and triumphant. They had undertaken a novel and costly sporting enterprise, regarded by many as hazardous, or rash, even though sanctioned by the Aëro Club of France. For an enormous attendance would be required to meet the expense of preparations and prize money. It was doubtful whether the few available aviators could draw large crowds to Betheny for a week, even in ideal weather, and there was risk of sending the critical populace away displeased if abundant flights were not made. The whole event might prove a painful fiasco, if rains and high winds should predominate; for were not aviators notoriously reluctant to fly in rough weather? Vain apprehensions, ignoring the reckless and intrepid daring of the Gallic sportsmen! Nothing short of a week’s continual tempest could have kept them down.
The great tournament was a triumph, not only to the courageous promoters, but also to the aviators, the manufacturers, the whole of mankind. It astonished both actors and spectators. It marked a new epoch in the art of aëroplaning. It inaugurated a magical and wholly novel kind of recreation and public amusement that should be demanded at once in all civilized countries. It eradicated, in a measure, the inveterate notion that the aëroplane is essentially a fair-weather machine. With a cheap instrument capable of flying scores of miles in rain and wind, what applications might not come, of the greatest import to the world?
The fashion set at Rheims was imitated in other cities. Before the close of the year 1909, aviation meets were scheduled for Brescia in Italy, Berlin, Juvisy, near Paris, Blackpool and Doncaster, England. The succeeding year was to have more such events than the really capable aviators could attend. In both hemispheres, sums in cash, equaling or exceeding those at Rheims, would be offered by many prominent communities, eager to witness such novel and thrilling entertainment as only dexterous aviators could furnish. But it would be learned also that considerable financial risk attends an aviation meet, unless good judgment mark the choice of site, season, pilots and the executive agencies. Several of the meets following the one at Rheims succeeded neither in defraying expenses nor in furnishing competent aviators to repay the trouble of holding the tournament. The meets held in England were practically failures. A most interesting flight, however, was performed by Latham in a wind of 25 to 35 miles an hour. This itself was a very impressive achievement. The Brescia meeting was remarkable for the turbulence of its aërial currents and for Rougier’s record high flight of 645 feet.
The two most wonderful flights in the autumn of 1909 were those of Count de Lambert and Farman. During a meet at the Juvisy aërodrome, Lambert, on October 18th, after circling the ground a few times on a Wright biplane, attaining a height of 450 feet, started for Paris, steadily ascending in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. Circling this at an altitude of about 1,300 feet, he returned to Juvisy at 5.30 p.m., having journeyed 30 miles over that dangerous route, in about 50 minutes. This indicated that lofty flying might enable one to pass safely over a city, even with an unreliable motor, since, if the propeller stopped, a glide of many thousands of feet could be made, to choose a landing. Farman’s flight was less spectacular, but quite as marvelous. On November 4th, while competing for the Michelin trophy for the longest distance traversed in 1909, he flew continuously for 4 hours, 6 minutes, 25 seconds, voyaging in that time 144 miles, at an average speed of 35.06 miles an hour. This proved to be the record distance-and-endurance flight for the year. Other men spoke of sailing all day in a machine carrying ample gasoline, but failed to make good their words.
PLATE XXIX.