NOTE BY AUGUSTUS POST
Delegations of enthusiastic friends met Mr. Curtiss in New York, among them members of the Aero Club of America and other representative organisations. There followed a series of luncheons and dinners which seemed without end. Among all these the luncheon given by the Aero Club of America at the Lawyers' Club was notable because every one present showed such a warm interest in the success of American aeronautics, and such a firm determination not only to keep the trophy in this country, but to defend it the next year in an aviation meet that should be even greater than that with which Rheims had led the way.
But the real celebration took place in the little village of Hammondsport, the place where Mr. Curtiss was born and reared, and where he knew every man, woman, and child. The men in the factory and all his other warm friends got together and decided that there must be something out of the ordinary when he got back to town. They planned a procession all the way from Bath to Hammondsport, a distance of ten miles, with fireworks along the route. But a heavy rain came on just in time to spoil the fireworks plan, so they engaged a special train and this passed through a glow of red fire all the way home from Bath. At the Hammondsport station there was a carriage to draw him up the hill to his home, and fifty men furnished the motive power. There were arches with "Welcome" in electric lights, banners, fireworks, and speeches. Through the pouring rain there was a continuous procession of his friends and acquaintances–townspeople who had always given him their loyal support and the men from the shop who had made his success possible.
It was after eleven o'clock when the crowd dispersed–an almost unholy hour for Hammondsport.–AUGUSTUS POST.
[CHAPTER II HUDSON-FULTON CELEBRATION FIRST AMERICAN INTERNATIONAL MEET, AT LOS ANGELES]
I was not permitted to remain long in Hammondsport, although there was much work for me to do there in the way of planning improvements in the factory, as well as on my aeroplane, which had now come to be known throughout the world by reason of winning the Gordon Bennett Cup. There were tempting offers from all quarters to give exhibitions with the flying machine, which up to that time had been seen in but few places in this country. Some of these offers were accepted because I could not afford to reject them. Moreover, it required a great deal of money to run the shop, and there was no commercial demand for aeroplanes. They were, as yet, valuable only as "show machines," to see which the public was willing to pay goodly sums. For a long time preparations had been going on at New York City to celebrate the tri-centenary of the discovery of the Hudson river, and the centenary of the first steamboat trip on that stream by Fulton in the Clermont. It had been the idea of the originators of the Hudson-Fulton celebration–an idea that was expressed in the tentative plans published long before the celebration itself–that the new conquest of the air should be recognised, in some way, at the same time. At first it was intended that some sort of airship should accompany the naval parade the entire length of the Hudson, with a replica of Hendrik Hudson's Half Moon leading the way, Robert Fulton's old steamboat Clermont following, and the airship hovering above them thus furnishing a striking illustration of the wonderful advancement in the means of locomotion in a hundred years, and signalising the new science of air navigation. With this end in view the Celebration Committee engaged the Wright Brothers and myself to bring aeroplanes to New York, furnishing us with every facility on Governor's Island, in the Lower Bay, from which point all flights were to be made.
But aerial navigation in the fall of 1909 was not such a sure and certain thing as all that. Much depended upon the wind and weather, and it was soon demonstrated that the best that could be hoped for at the time of the celebration would be flights made at such times as the wind would permit. Day after day the public waited anxiously for flights to be made up the Hudson from Governor's Island, but day after day the wind blew up or down the Hudson in such blasts that it was not deemed safe to attempt a trip. For it must be remembered that there is scarcely a more difficult course anywhere in the country than over the Hudson river in the vicinity of New York. On both sides of the river, which is a swift-running stream, rise lofty hills, and at some places precipitous cliffs called the Palisades. On the New York side are miles upon miles of lofty apartment houses along Riverside Drive. If the wind blows across the river, either from the east or west, dangerous currents and eddies suck down through the canon-like streets, or over the steep Palisades, making flying extremely hazardous. For this reason there has never, even up to this time (August, 1912), been any flying to speak of over the Hudson, and for these reasons, the great river will not become a popular flying course for aeroplanes until they are so constructed as to be able to defy the treacherous, puffy wind currents. The hydroaeroplane, however, may navigate the course with safety, as it is perfectly safe in one of these machines to fly within a few feet of the water where there is the least danger from contrary air currents.
So much was printed in the New York newspapers while we were waiting for propitious weather that the public was keyed up to expect great things from the aeroplanes–far greater than the aeroplane could accomplish. Bulletins were posted by the newspapers from day to day, informing the public that flights would surely be made "to-day" provided the wind abated. In the meantime interest was doubly stimulated by the announcement of a ten-thousand-dollar prize for the first air-flight over Fulton's course, from New York to Albany, or from Albany to New York. One of the paintings made at the time as an "advance notice," I remember, showed so many aerial dreadnaughts in the sky, passing down the river by the Palisades at the same time, that one was forced to wonder how all of them were going to find room to navigate. However, the atmosphere had cleared long before the actual flight was made down the Hudson, the following summer.
In spite of the disappointment felt by the public at not seeing a fleet of aeroplanes sporting over the Hudson daily during the Hudson-Fulton celebration, there were many other things to divert the attention of New York's five millions and some few hundred thousands of visitors from this and other countries. The week of pomp and pageantry culminated in the most wonderful marine and land parades ever staged in this country, and seldom, if ever, excelled in the Old World. The marine parade extended all the way up to Albany, and at every stopping place there was a repetition, on a smaller scale, of the scenes of enthusiasm and general holiday spirit that had prevailed in the Metropolis. New York City was decorated as no one had ever seen it decorated before, and the great fleet of over a hundred warships that swung at anchor in the Hudson were visited by thousands by day and were outlined in myriads of electric lights at night, disguising their ominous guns in soft shadow and giving them a peaceful and almost fairy-like appearance. Then there were the dirigible balloons to command the attention of the crowds that thronged Riverside Drive waiting for the aeroplanes. They, too, were after the rich prize offered by the New York World. They furnished the only real contest during the Hudson-Fulton celebration. There were two of them, one entered by the intrepid Captain Thomas Baldwin, and the other by a Mr. Tomlinson. These were housed in great tents raised within an enclosure at Riverside Drive and One Hundred and Nineteenth street, behind a high fence, on which was painted "Hudson-Fulton Flights." This was the center of interest for great crowds for days during the period of waiting. Captain Baldwin, always popular with the people wherever he goes, was the centre of interest with the crowds that stood around the sheds, watching the mild, blunt noses of the big dirigibles as they bobbed and swayed with the gusts that swept around Grant's Tomb, reminding one of the ceaseless weaving of a restless elephant. But the elements seemed to be as much against the dirigibles as against the aeroplanes. Tomlinson made a start, after a long wait, but came to grief almost at once, while Captain Baldwin fared but little better. His trip extended but a few miles up the river, when he was forced to come down, thus ending the chances of the dirigibles.
The aeroplanes were scarcely more fortunate. October winds around New York are most unruly things, and at that particular period seemed worse than usual. Weather-wise folk learned after awhile to look out at the flags on the high buildings; if they stood out straight from the staff, the people went about their business, knowing there would be no flying that day. But every one kept an ear cocked for the firing of a big cannon on Governor's Island, the signal that a flight was about to be made. Even these were deceiving, for there were so many salutes being fired by the great fleets in the river and bay, that no one could tell when to give heed to gun signals. So the crowds sat along Riverside Drive, or depended upon the unhappy and over-worked policemen for word of the aeroplanes. Some people were disposed to hold the policemen personally responsible for the failure of the airships to fly. "You'd think," said one of the blue-coated guardians on Riverside Drive, "that I was keepin' 'em back, the way these people go at me. They blame me and not the wind!"