The Aeroplane

By Claude Grahame-White and Harry Harper

DigiCat Publishing presents to you this special edition of "The Aeroplane" by Claude Grahame-White, Harry Harper. DigiCat Publishing considers every written word to be a legacy of humankind. Every DigiCat book has been carefully reproduced for republishing in a new modern format. The books are available in print, as well as ebooks. DigiCat hopes you will treat this work with the acknowledgment and passion it deserves as a classic of world literature.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DigiCat
• Release date: Sep 5, 2022
• ISBN: 8596547214038

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Claude Grahame-White, Harry Harper

The Aeroplane

EAN 8596547214038

DigiCat, 2022

Contact: [e-mail]

Table of Contents

PREFACE

CHAPTER I WHAT EARLY HISTORY TELLS

CHAPTER II THE WORK OF SCIENTISTS

CHAPTER III FIRST FRUITS OF STUDY

CHAPTER IV OTTO AND GUSTAV LILIENTHAL

CHAPTER V GLIDING FLIGHT

CHAPTER VI THE BIRD MAN

CHAPTER VII WILBUR AND ORVILLE WRIGHT

CHAPTER VIII THE WRIGHT MOTOR-DRIVEN PLANE

CHAPTER IX DAWN OF FLIGHT

CHAPTER X RIVAL AIRMEN

CHAPTER XI A YEAR OF TRIUMPH

CHAPTER XII PERILS OF THE AIR

CHAPTER XIII MILITARY AND CROSS-COUNTRY FLYING

CHAPTER XIV SEA-PLANES AND AIRSHIPS

CHAPTER XV AERIAL WARFARE

CHAPTER XVI AT A MODERN AERODROME

CHAPTER XVII THE FLYING SCHOOL

CHAPTER XVIII TOURING BY AIR

CHAPTER XIX TWENTY YEARS HENCE

PREFACE

Table of Contents

Our aim in these pages is to tell a complete story of the aerial conquest, beginning from crude experiments, made hundreds of years ago; passing thence to the first serious experimenters, with their difficulties and triumphs; and so carrying on the tale to present-day achievements and the latest-type machines.

There is one aspect of this history which has an especial fascination; and it is the personality of the men who—braving ridicule and scorn and surmounting obstacles without number—laid the foundation-stones of flight. Instead of being a compilation of dates, with certain explanatory matter added, our book endeavours to make these men live: to show what induced them to embark upon their seemingly hopeless quest; to tell of their dreams and longings, and how they built their first frail craft; to trace them to their boyhood and their play with kites; to reveal them, in a word, as living beings, and not merely as names.

With this strongly human note, emphasizing the romance of the tale, there goes also a series of explanations—made clearer by drawings and diagrams—and tending always to show how, link by link and step by step, data and experience were secured; how each pioneer, however humble, played his individual and useful part; and how in the end, by sifting all such knowledge and carrying experiment to its final stage, the Wrights achieved the apparent miracle, and flew safely and successfully in a power-driven machine.

The book divides itself naturally into sections. First there is the story of the very early and haphazard tests, and of the notes and speculations of scientists; then of the advent of the practical, patient experimenter—the man who, taking a hint from the birds, realized that ere he could hope to fly he must learn first to balance himself when in the air. This stage, of course, introduces Otto Lilienthal—the German engineer who, by his gliding flights from hilltops with outstretched, bird-like wings, has won the honour of being styled the father of the aeroplane.

From a narration of his work, so vital a link in the chain of progress, the story passes to those two men—unflurried, reserved, and infinitely painstaking—who at last evolved order out of chaos: Wilbur and Orville Wright. Their diligent study is described; their perfected glider; the building of their own motor; and, finally, that great day of triumph which came in 1903—just eleven years ago.

The world being given thus an aeroplane which would fly, the steps which followed were mainly those of perfection and improvement. One by one the limitations were removed. At first men dared only to fly above a smooth-surfaced aerodrome, in case their motors should stop and send them gliding back to earth; but soon, gaining confidence in themselves and in their engines, they were passing high across country. So, also, in regard to their enemy the wind. Dreading even a gentle gust at first, for fear it might overturn them, they have gained so rapidly in skill that, thanks to their experience and the stability of their machines, the airmen of to-day will do battle with a gale. In this section of our book is a description of the greatest feats, both of early days and of modern times—such as speed flying, altitude records, and the touring of continents by air.

Thus logically may the tale be told: with digressions of course to cover the risks of aviation, and to explain how they are being overcome; to deal with aerial warfare and its many problems; to describe the advent of the sea-plane; and to discuss the day when—a perfected passenger craft being available—men will journey by air as they do now by land or sea.

CLAUDE GRAHAME-WHITE.

HARRY HARPER.

London

, 1914.

Note.

— The authors thank most cordially the proprietors of The Daily Mirror for permission to reproduce certain photographs, of an historical interest, which depict incidents from the cross-Channel flying both of Latham and Bleriot; also F. N. Birkett, Esq., the Topical Postcard Company, and The Central News for permission to use photographs illustrative of modern aviation.

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CHAPTER I

WHAT EARLY HISTORY TELLS

Table of Contents

Simon the magician—A monk who sprang from a tower—The Saracen who rose like a bird.

In learning to fly, men have passed through five definite and clearly-marked stages which have extended over centuries, and cost many lives. These five stages may be summarized thus:

1. Haphazard and foolhardy tests—ending generally in death.

2. A period of scientific research, in which the flight of birds was studied and experiments made with lifting planes of various shapes.

3. A phase during which engineers built large, power-driven machines, but had not the skill to control them when in flight.

4. A stage in which, making a simple apparatus of wings, men glided from hilltops, and learned to balance themselves while in the air.

5. The stage in which, perfecting the gliding machines they had learned to control, men fitted petrol motors to them, and achieved at last a power-driven flight.

In dim, remote ages, watching winged creatures as they skimmed above the earth, men longed passionately to fly; instead of scaling hills or creeping through woods, they desired to pass high above them; to spurn the obstructions of creatures earth-bound, and fly over mountains and seas. This longing to fly, even at the risk of life itself, was expressed beautifully by Otto Lilienthal, the greatest of the pioneers. He wrote:

With each advent of spring, when the air is alive with innumerable happy creatures; when the storks, on their arrival at their old northern resorts, fold up the imposing flying apparatus which carries them thousands of miles, lay back their heads and announce their arrival by joyfully rattling their beaks; when the swallows have made their entry and hurry through our streets and pass our windows in sailing flight; when the lark appears as a dot in the ether and manifests its joy of existence by its song; then a certain desire takes possession of man. He longs to soar upward and to glide free as a bird over smiling fields, leafy woods, and mirror-like lakes, and so enjoy the fairy landscape as only a bird can do.

But man’s first attempts to fly were ill-judged and foolish. He failed to understand the problems involved; he forgot that, even were he able to build a machine which would navigate the air, he must learn to control this craft; must learn to steer and balance it, and make it ride the gusts. One might, for example, take a bicycle and say to a man: Here is a machine that can be propelled along the road; mount it and ride away. But if the man had not learned to handle a bicycle, and balance himself on one, he would swerve for a few yards and then fall. So with the man who, without forethought or study, sought to navigate the air.

Probing the recesses of history we find that, even as far back as the reign of the Emperor Nero, there was one Simon the magician who—if legend can be credited—sought to rise towards Heaven. Simon, it would seem, actually lifted himself into the air by the use of some apparatus; but what this device was legend does not state. The spectators seem to have been horrified, and Simon’s ascent into the air was attributed to the assistance of Beelzebub. His triumph was short-lived, for, as the legend goes on to record, he fell to the earth and was killed. And this fate befell many who, in those very early days, made flimsy wings and threw themselves from towers or the tops of hills. Simon, it is thought, may have had some method in his apparent madness. He may, for instance, have made a lifting plane and discovered that, if he placed himself in a rising current of air, the effect would be to raise him from the ground; and this suggestion has a greater probability when we remember that in warm, southern lands there are often strong up-currents of air upon which birds will soar, with wings motionless. But what machine Simon used, and how he made his flight—if he did—are questions that remain unanswered.

_

Fig. 1.

Looking back into history, one fact is striking; and this is the part that monks played in studying flight. They had leisure to think, and time in which to make tests; and in many a monastery, hundreds of years ago, quaint theories were propounded and queer craft planned. In the eleventh century, at Malmesbury in England, there was a Benedictine monk named Elmerus, or Oliver, more ambitious than many of his brethren. He built himself a machine with wings; then, in order to put it to the test, he ascended a tall tower, faced the wind, and sprang into the air. That he had studied weighting and balance to some purpose was evident, for he glided a short distance without accident; then, struck perhaps by a sudden gust, lost equilibrium and came crashing to the ground. He was not killed, as were many less rash than he; but broke his legs, and nothing more is read of him as an experimenter. Of the doings of another of these brave but reckless men—a Saracen who tried to fly in the twelfth century—there is fuller information. He provided himself with wings which he stiffened with wooden rods, and held out upon either side of his body. Wearing these, he mounted to the top of a tower in Constantinople (Fig. 1) and stood waiting for a favourable gust of wind. When this came and caught his wings, he rose into the air like a bird. And then, of course, seeing that he had no idea of balancing himself when actually aloft, he fell pell-mell and broke his bones. People who had gathered to watch, seeing this inglorious ending to the flight, burst into laughter: ridicule rather than praise, indeed, was the fate of the pioneers, even to the days when the first real flights were made.

In the fifteenth century, working upon more sensible lines of thought, Leonardo da Vinci—an Italian genius who was painter, inventor, sculptor, writer, and musician —devised several machines by which men might navigate the air. Success did not come to him, as he had no motive power with which he could equip a craft; but how keen a watcher he was of the birds is shown by a passage from one of his manuscripts:

The kite and other birds, which beat their wings little, go seeking the course of the wind, and when the wind prevails on high then will they be seen at a great height, and if it prevails low they will hold themselves low. When the wind does not prevail at all, then the kite beats its wings several times in its flight in such a way that it raises itself high and acquires a start, descending afterwards a little and progressing without beating its wings, repeating the same performance time after time.

Da Vinci, too, had some notion as to the need for balancing a machine while in the air, and did not seem—like most others of the early pioneers—to imagine that once a man had launched himself from a height he would be able to control his craft by instinct. He wrote, indeed, suggesting the position of a pilot in a flying machine, that he should be free from the waist upwards, in order that he might keep himself in equilibrium, as one does in a boat.

He realised, too, a fact that the modern airman always bears in mind; and that is the value of flying high. Da Vinci wrote in this regard: Safety lies in flying at a considerable height from the ground, so that if equilibrium be temporarily upset there may be time and space for regaining it.

Among the machines Da Vinci planned was an ornithopter, or craft with arched wings which would flap like those of a bird; and a helicopter, or apparatus in which revolving screws are used to draw it up into the air. He devised mechanism by which a man might move two wings, shaped like those of the bird, and thus imitate natural fight. These wings were planned ingeniously, so that they would contract on the up-stroke and expand when forced downward. In one of his notebooks, too, he made a sketch of a helicopter machine which was to have a lifting propeller 96 feet in diameter, and to be built of iron with a bamboo framework. He made paper helicopters, or whirling screws, and sent them spinning into the air; and to him, also, was due the first suggestion for the use of a parachute.

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Fig. 2.

—Besnier’s Apparatus.

From this time, until the beginning of the nineteenth century, men still strove to fly, but all of them failed to see a vital point: that they must learn gradually to balance themselves in the air, even as the young birds have to do. So those who were not killed were badly injured, and those who persisted in experiments were looked upon either as madmen or fools. Some, however, were not so foolish as they seemed. They brought forward schemes so as to attract the attention of kings and those in high places; and this was particularly the case in France, during the reigns of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. But the notoriety they won was short-lived. The day came when they needed to make good their claims—when they were called upon to fly; and then they met death, disablement, or disgrace, and were forgotten quickly. Of the devices suggested many showed ingenuity; and some were quaint, in view of what we know of flight to-day. In the machine, for instance, designed by an experimenter named Besnier—who was a locksmith by trade—there were four lifting planes, closing on the up-stroke and opening on the down, and these the operator was to flap by the use of his hands and feet (Fig. 2). A rather similar idea was suggested as long ago as 1744, by the inventor De Bacqueville; his plan was to fix four planes or wings to his hands and feet, and then propel himself through the air by vigorous motions of his arms, and kickings of his legs (Fig. 3). He made a flight from a balcony overlooking a river, but finished his trial ingloriously by falling into a barge. Such schemes, indeed, were doomed to failure; and they are only interesting because they show how, even in those far-off days, men were ready to risk their lives in attempts to conquer the air.

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Fig. 3.

—De Bacqueville (1744).

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CHAPTER II

THE WORK OF SCIENTISTS

Table of Contents

Sir George Cayley’s forecasts—A steam-driven model which flew—The shape and curve of planes.

So passed the haphazard stage of flight; and now history moves to a second and more important period, that in which men of science were attracted to the problem. They worked upon theories, and made experiments with models; they studied the shape which Nature has given the birds; they sifted false notions and showed where error lay. But they did not fly. They were merely clearers of the ground, gathering information and classifying it, and paving the way for those daring workers who were to follow them—men who, by putting science to the test, were willing to risk their lives.

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Fig. 4.

—Sir George Cayley’s

suggestion for an

Arched Plane.

To England goes the distinction of the first practical attempts to solve the problems of flight; and it is the work of Sir George Cayley, an eminent scientist and engineer, that next merits attention. In a series of articles, published in Nicholson’s Journal during the years 1809-10, he forecasted many of the principles that go to the making of a modern-type aeroplane. He advised the construction of machines with fixed, outstretched wings like those of a bird; but he did more than this, for it is admitted generally he was first to point out that, to increase their lifting power as they were moved through the air, these wings should not be flat, but should be curved from front to back, or arched upward (Fig. 4). How important this suggestion was, subsequent experimenters were to show. Sir George Cayley realised also that a tail-plane, carried at the rear of a machine, would give it equilibrium, and might be moved up and down to control ascent or descent; and he used a rudder upon models, to steer them from side to side. He advised the use of steam engines as a motive power, and of revolving propellers to drive a craft through the air. But, like many another man, he was before his time. He built experimental craft—one, a model glider, which would sail down gracefully from the top of a hill; and another, a far larger machine, which would bear a man through the air, for a distance of several yards, if he ran forward with it against the wind. But the difficulty of obtaining a sufficiently light and practical motor, either of steam or other power, was an obstacle that proved insurmountable. One light engine, which Sir George Cayley planned, was to be driven by a series of gunpowder explosions in a cylinder; but the suggestion came to no practical issue.

This scientist did not write or work in vain. He compiled data which was invaluable, and interested and encouraged other men—even those, indeed, who in due course made the conquest. One of the first to work upon Sir George Cayley’s theories was an experimenter named Henson. He planned an ambitious machine weighing about a ton. It was to have planes of canvas stretched over a rigidly trussed frame of bamboo rods and hollow wooden spars; and these planes were to contain 4500 square feet of lifting surface, and be driven by screws operated by a steam engine of 30 h.p. (Fig. 5).

But this craft did not take practical shape, although in its appearance and many of its details it bore a resemblance to machines which ultimately were to fly. In the specification of the patent he took out for his invention, Henson indicated that it was for

Improvements in locomotive apparatus and machinery for conveying letters, goods, and passengers from place to place through the air.

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Fig. 5.

—Henson’s proposed Machine.

Explaining his theories in this same specification he wrote:

If any light and flat or nearly flat article be projected or thrown edgewise in a slightly inclined position, the same will rise into the air till the force exerted is expended, when the article so thrown or projected will descend; and it will readily be conceived that, if the article so projected or thrown possessed in itself a continuous power or force equal to that used in throwing or projecting it, the article would continue to ascend so long as the forward part of the surface was upwards in respect to the hinder part.

Had Henson been able to carry out his ideas, it is almost certain that this experimental machine would have been wrecked in its tests, and probably several more after it, seeing that he would have had to learn to control them when in flight, and remembering also that, even with aircraft as they are built to-day, many details have to be studied and improved before a successful model is evolved.

All such work, of course, entails heavy expense. It was, indeed, the cost of experiments which prevented many an early inventor from building a full-sized machine. The designing and construction of a man-carrying craft, and the employment of skilled workmen and mechanics, to say nothing of repairs that may have to be made during a series of tests, represent an expenditure that may amount to thousands of pounds. As a rule, the inventor is not a man of wealth; and so far as flying was concerned, at any rate in the early days,—and to a more limited extent even at the present time,—people with money thought the difficulties so great that they would not advance funds for the carrying out of trials. So men with ideas had to do the best they could, and this resolved itself generally into writing and lecturing, and endeavouring to interest the public. But the public was not easily interested; ordinary