POSTMASTER-GENERAL HITCHCOCK AND CAPTAIN BECK STARTING WITH THE AERO-MAIL
This is the first time regular United States mail ever was carried by aeroplane. Throughout the meet at Garden City in 1911, Earle L. Ovington and Beck carried mail over a regular route
Blériot's flight over the English Channel was one of the most dramatic that ever has been made by an aviator, as he encountered perils that no birdman ever before had faced. He had as a contestant one of the daring young aviators who has made the history of aviation read like a novel. This was Hubert Latham, who used the Antoinette monoplane, one of the most beautiful machines ever designed, and which is described fully later on. Young Latham had become a popular hero because of his daring feats. The aviators said that he was carrying on an endless battle with the wind, for he seemed to prefer flying high in the air when the wind was so gusty that other aviators were afraid to leave their hangars. He had made several monoplane records for endurance and altitude, and after a notable cross-country flight announced his intention of sailing across the English Channel to collect the 1,000 pounds from the Daily Mail. So he took his graceful monoplane to Calais, and after impatiently waiting for fair weather, soared from the towering cliffs and out over the stormy waters of the English Channel. Thousands cheered his daring and wished him success, but before he had gone more than six miles his motor failed him and he glided to the water. In a few minutes the boat that was sailing below him came up and found him calmly sitting on the upper framework of his machine, which was buoyed up by the great wings. He was looking as unconcerned as if he had been sitting in a motor boat on a lake, and declared he would try again the next day. His machine was wrecked in getting it ashore, however, and Blériot made his famous flight before the young man could get it repaired.
The older man had been injured in an accident and was still walking on crutches, with a badly burned foot, when a favourable opportunity for the trans-channel flight came. He was awakened before dawn on the morning of July 25th, and, throwing away his crutches as he got into his machine for a practise spin, he said: "I will show the world that I can fly even if I cannot walk."
At 4:35, just as the sun was rising, he sailed out over the precipice, and Latham, watching him, wept with disappointment at not being able to enter the contest. A torpedo boat destroyer was following him, but soon she dropped behind and he was over the trackless channel without any landmark to guide him. Finally the coast of France dropped out of sight and the intrepid aviator was alone, with nothing but his carefully planned monoplane between him and death in the tossing waters hundreds of feet below.
After ten minutes of this the cliffs of the English coast loomed up ahead, bathed in the early morning sunlight. He saw several boats far below him and followed their course, which brought him to the town of Deal, near which he landed. The first man to greet him was his good friend M. Montaine, but soon after a crowd of Englishmen were crowding about congratulating him on his wonderful achievement. Not to be outdone, young Latham cabled his congratulations.
August saw the beginning of the first great international meet at Rheims. Most of the leading aviators of the world gathered there to contest for the prizes and for fame. Curtiss, Blériot, Farman, Latham, Lefabre, Count de Lambert, Paul Tissandier, Louis Paulhan, Le Blanc, Roger Sommer, and Rougier all distinguished themselves and made their names as familiar in this country as they were in France.
Latham, with his apparently fearless disregard of danger, and his great, soaring Antoinette monoplane that looked more like a dragon-fly when up in the air than anything else, was one of the popular idols. Not only did he fly in rough winds but also in heavy rainfall, as did his rival, Blériot. Of course there were several bad accidents, but none to compare with the later fatalities.
The winning of the $10,000 Grand Prix de la Champagne for the longest flight was not so spectacular as the next day's great race. Latham had made a record of 96 miles that it was thought would stand. On the day of the finals, Friday, August 27th, Latham again took the air, making a spectacular flight several hundred feet high. At the same time several others were performing evolutions in the air, some high and some low. Farman was flying close to the ground and making but poor time in his slower craft. Finally, after all the others had come to earth, the longest flight having been made by Latham, with 68 miles to his credit, the crowd realized that Farman was making a record. Time after time he passed the grand stand, marking off the miles. It became dark, but the crowd still lingered, and was rewarded finally by seeing him bring his machine softly to the ground in front of the judges' stand, winner of the $10,000, with a record of 190 kilometres. His friends, wild with joy, pulled the exhausted aviator from his seat and carried him off the field on their shoulders.
The next day Curtiss, the only American taking part in the meet (although several Wright biplanes were flown by Frenchmen), brought out his 60-horsepower biplane to try for the speed prize of $5,000 offered by James Gordon Bennett. He made two rounds of the field at a speed of 47.04 miles an hour. Blériot then brought out his great 80-horsepower monoplane, but the test flights were discouraging. Finally, after working over his machine all afternoon and trying several propellers, he started at five o'clock and made his first round in much better time than Curtiss had done. He slackened up on the second round, however, and came to earth to find that he had lost to the gallant American. By winning the prize Curtiss was allowed to take the next year's contest to his own country.