The Curtiss Aviation Book

by Glenn Hammond Curtiss; Augustus Post

When we brought the machine out on the 26th day of January I felt that we ought to get some results. There were no crowds of people present and there was no announcement of what was about to happen. I had not expected to make a flight, but climbed into the aviator's seat with a feeling that the machine would surely rise into the air when I wished, but that I would only try it on the water to see how the new float acted. Lieutenant Ellyson spun the propeller and I turned the machine into the wind. It ploughed through the water deeply at first, but gathered speed and rose higher and higher in the water and skipped more and more lightly until the float barely skimmed the surface of the bay. So intent was I in watching the water that I did not notice that I was approaching the shore and to avoid running aground I tilted the horizontal control and the machine seemed to leap into the air like a frightened gull. So suddenly did it rise that it quite took me by surprise.

But I kept the machine up for perhaps half a mile, then turned and dropped lightly down on the water, turned around and headed back to the starting point. The effect of that first flight on the men who had worked, waited, and watched for it was magical. They ran up and down the beach, throwing their hats up into the air and shouting in their enthusiasm.

I now headed about into the bay, in the direction of San Diego, and rose up into the air again even more easily than the first time. I flew for half a mile and turned twice to see how the machine would act in the air with the clumsy-looking float below it. The naval repair ship Iris caught sight of me as I went flying by and sent its siren blast far out over the water, and all the other craft blew their whistles, until it seemed as if all San Diego knew of the achievement. Satisfied that it was all right, I landed within a few yards of the shore, near the hangar.

We made flights nearly every day after this, taking the Army and Navy officers as passengers. I found the machine well adapted for passenger work and it became very popular. While experimenting we kept changing things from day to day, adding and taking off, lightening the machine, or adding more surface. We tried putting on an extra surface, making a triplane, and got remarkable lifting power. We changed the floats and finally made one long, flat-bottomed, scow-shaped float, twelve feet long, two feet wide, and twelve inches deep. It was made of wood, the bow being curved upward the full width of the boat and at the stern being curved downward in a similar manner. This single float was placed under the aeroplane so that the weight was slightly to the rear of the centre of the float, causing it to slant upward, giving it the necessary angle for hydroplaning on the surface of the water.

I will confess that I got more pleasure out of flying the new machine over water than I ever got flying over land, and the danger, too, was greatly lessened.

I then decided upon a test which I had been informed the Navy regarded as very important. In fact, I had been told that the Secretary of the Navy regarded the adaptability of the aeroplane to navy uses as depending very largely on its ability to alight on the water and be hoisted aboard a warship. With the hydroaeroplane I had developed, I had no doubts about being able to do this, without any platform or preparation on board the vessel.

So, on February 17, at San Diego, I sent word over to Captain Charles F. Pond, commanding the armoured cruiser Pennsylvania, then in the harbour, that I would be pleased to fly over and be hoisted aboard whenever it was convenient to him. He replied immediately, "come on over." The Pennsylvania is the ship that Ely landed on at San Francisco in his memorable flight, and it was Captain Pond who at that time gave over his ship and lent every assistance in his power to make the experiment the success it was. He lent his aid to this second experiment as willingly as he did to the first.

There were no special arrangements necessary for this test. All that would be needed to get the aeroplane and its operator on board would be to use one of the big hoisting cranes, just as they are used for handling the ship's launches.

The hydroaeroplane was launched on Spanish Bight, and in five minutes I was on the way. The machine skimmed over the water for a hundred yards and then rose into the air. In two or three minutes I was alongside the cruiser, just off the starboard quarter. There was a strong tide running and when I shut off the propeller the aeroplane drifted until a rope thrown from the ship was made fast to one of the planes by Lieutenant Ellyson of the Navy. It was drawn in close to the side of the ship, where a boat crane was lowered and I hooked it in a wire sling attached to the top of the planes. I then climbed up on top of the aeroplane and slipped my leg through the big hook of the crane, not caring to trust too much weight to the untested sling.

In five minutes from the time I landed on the water alongside the ship, the hydroaeroplane reposed easily on the superstructure deck of the big cruiser, just forward of the boat crane. It had been the easiest sort of work to land it there, and thus one more of the problems that stood in the way of a successful naval aeroplane was overcome.