While the Wright brothers, lacking both funds and encouragement to continue their remarkable project, remained, from 1905 to 1908 in almost total obscurity—their wonderful flying machine packed away ignominiously in a barn,—in France a number of eager experimenters were working assiduously to outstrip them, and it was only by great good fortune that when Wilbur Wright arrived in France in 1908 he did not find himself beaten from the field. Actually the Wright machine was far in advance of the early French models, and although the French, with true spirit of sportsmanship, were quick to admit it when the fact was demonstrated, yet prior to 1908 they had no idea that such was the case, and were enthusiastically proud of their home-made models.

Among the very first of the French pioneers of flight was that gallant little Brazilian, Santos-Dumont, whose exploits with the dirigible had done so much to popularize air sports. His name was a household word with the French, who literally lionized him. Impatient of the limited opportunities for adventure presented by the dirigible, Santos-Dumont cast about in his mind for some means of procuring a more agile steed on which to perform his aerial tricks. In 1904 he became deeply interested in the subject of gliding, and made up his mind to try a few gliding experiments of his own. Like everything else he had attempted his method of attacking this new problem was startlingly original. Lilienthal and the other gliders had all made their flights above the solid ground. Santos-Dumont liked the idea of rising from the water much better. He ordered built for him a glider of his own design for this particular purpose. On every clear day when the wind was favorable, the plucky little aeronaut was out, learning to use his new-found wings. His glider, which floated on the surface of the water, had to be towed swiftly for some distance by a boat in order to give it the initial speed which Lilienthal secured by taking advantage of the force of gravity in his downward jump from the hilltop. Once he felt his speed to be sufficient, Santos-Dumont gently inclined his wings upward to catch the air current. To the surprise of every one he was remarkably successful. He actually succeeded in soaring short distances, and after a series of efforts he acquired a fair amount of skill in the use of his glider apparatus.

The next step was to attach some motive power to his flying machine. Before very long he had ready for trial a much more pretentious biplane glider, equipped with an 8 cylinder motor which drove a two-bladed aluminum propeller, and fitted with several original appliances to increase its soaring powers and its stability. In front was a curious arrangement resembling a box-kite, which was intended to fulfil the same purpose as the elevating plane which the Wright brothers placed in front of the two main planes of their machine. Santos-Dumont had experienced the same trouble as all the other gliders: the difficulty of keeping his machine in a horizontal position. The tiniest gust, blowing from one side or the other, was sufficient to cause it to lose its balance, and over it would topple sidewise. To overcome this obstacle the Wright brothers had adopted the ingenious method of wing-warping, imitated directly from the habits of birds. Santos-Dumont was not nearly of so scientific a turn of mind as the two great American pioneers. Without having gone so deeply into the subject, he determined to place upright planes between his main planes, to ward off gusts and increase the lateral stability. The idea was not a bad one, though far from being the best. In the summer of 1906 he flew with his glider successfully very short distances. In October of the same year he accomplished a demonstration flight of 200 feet at Bagatelle, near Paris. At the present day when airplanes go soaring above our heads faster than express trains, making long, continuous cross-country flights, that journey of 200 feet seems humorous, but at the time it was the European record. It aroused a great deal of popular enthusiasm, for the French, with their vivid powers of imagination, were quick to see the possibilities in this new, heavier-than-air contrivance. At once the Brazilian set to work to outstrip this first achievement. This time his originality took an entirely new turn. Instead of the biplane type he decided on a monoplane, and he began laying out plans for a monoplane so tiny, yet so efficient, that it was destined to become famous. But it was several years before this miniature flier was ready, and so for a while the idol of the French public dropped almost completely out of sight.

In the meantime others were up and doing in France. Henry Farman, who already had made his name famous in motor car racing, was the next to win popular acclaim for exploits in the air. Farman was known as a man of the most consummate daring, cool-headedness in emergency, and quick judgment. An Englishman by birth, he had resided all his life in France, where with his brother Maurice he had achieved an enviable reputation as a sportsman. Farman afterward designed and constructed airplanes of his own, but it was in one built by the Voisin brothers that he first took to the air.

The Voisins were very ambitious indeed in their first airplane project. The machine which they built was both large and heavy, and possessed of many unscientific features. Like the Wrights' machine it had two large horizontal planes, in front of which was placed a small elevating plane, which could be inclined up or down to lift the airplane into the air or bring it to earth again. Unlike the Wright model it had a large “tail,” or horizontal plane at the rear, intended to give it increased longitudinal stability. This feature represented an improvement. The Wrights had to keep their machine on the level by raising or lowering the front elevating plane in such a way as to counteract any pitching motion, but the tail of the Voisin biplane gave it a great deal more steadiness in the air. Fitted to the tail was a rudder, by which turning to right or left was accomplished. But the Voisin brothers had no wing-warping device on their large flier. Instead they used the upright curtains or planes between the main planes, which we have already seen on the machine designed by Santos-Dumont. Their airplane was equipped with an 8-cylinder motor, which turned a large propeller.

In this large and unwieldy machine, weighing possibly 1400 pounds, Henry Farman made a short flight in a closed circuit in 1908. At the time it was the record flight in Europe, and the French people fondly imagined it was the best in the world. That same year Wilbur Wright arrived on French soil and showed them in a few astounding experiments what the Wright biplane could do.

The successes of this tall, untalkative American, who had come over to France and with ease made the aerial adventures of Santos-Dumont and Farman seem like the first efforts of a baby learning to crawl, greatly as they surprised, and, perhaps, disappointed the French people, in the outcome had the result of spurring Frenchmen on to greater effort in the problem of airship design. Before the end of 1908 Henry Farman, in an improved Voisin, had wrested back the lost honors by flights which were longer than those made by Wilbur Wright.

And other Frenchmen were hard at work. After building a number of machines and meeting with many accidents and failures, BlÉriot emerged in the summer of 1909 with a successful monoplane. At almost the same time the Antoinette monoplane made its appearance, and soon these two similar machines were pitted against each other in a famous contest.

The London Daily Mail, with the intention of stimulating progress in aviation, put up a prize of £1000 for the first machine to fly the British Channel. In July, BlÉriot brought his monoplane to Calais; and Hubert Latham appeared as his antagonist, with an Antoinette machine. Both of the contestants were skilled pilots, and both were men of fearless daring. The feat which they were about to attempt required men with those qualities, for in these pioneer days of aviation it was not the easy task to fly the Channel which at first glance it might seem to be. Over the Channel the winds were almost always very severe, and they represented the greatest danger the airman had to face. The first airplanes had so small a factor of stability that it was almost impossible to fly them in even the gentlest breeze. The most intrepid aviators never once thought of attempting flight in unfavorable weather. To be overturned in crossing the Channel meant taking a big risk of death, and both BlÉriot and Latham realized that they were taking their lives in their hands in undertaking the trip. They had a long wait for calm weather, but on July 24th conditions seemed right for a start the next morning. Just at dawn Latham flew out across the sea and disappeared in the distance. Not very long behind him, BlÉriot, having tested with the utmost care every part of his little machine, climbed into the pilot's seat, and with a “Good-by” to the little group of mechanics and friends who stood about, sped away, hot on the trail.

On and on flew Latham in his larger Antoinette monoplane, and the hope of victory began to loom big. Far out over the Channel however, his engine suddenly “went wrong,” as engines in those days had a habit of doing, and the much feared thing happened: he began to fall. In a very few moments the plucky pilot was clinging to his airplane, as it floated for a few moments on the choppy sea. Before it could sink a vessel had hurried to the rescue, and Latham was hauled on board, disappointed, but safe.

BlÉriot, meanwhile, was far from being sure of his course as he flew on steadily through the early morning haze. But his engine continued to run smoothly, and finally far ahead, the white cliffs of England began to emerge out of the distance. With joy in his heart the Frenchman flew proudly in over the land and brought his airplane to the earth in the vicinity of Dover Castle. He was greeted as a hero by the British and the glad message of his triumph was speeded back to Calais.

Loth to be behindhand in airplane activities, America was also busily at work developing the heavier-than-air machine, and another famous name had by this time been added to that of the Wright brothers. By 1909 Glenn Curtiss with a group of distinguished co-experimenters had succeeded in constructing several very interesting flying machines. Curtiss' story is an interesting one. In 1900 he was the owner of a small bicycle shop in Hammondsport, New York. He had a mania for speed, having ridden in many cycling races, and it was he who first thought of attaching a motor to a bicycle for greater speed. He soon sprang into the limelight as a motorcyclist and a manufacturer of motorcycles. A small factory went up at Hammondsport, and achieved a reputation for the very good motors it turned out.

Curtiss first became interested in flying through an order he received from Captain Thomas Scott Baldwin for a motor to be used in a dirigible balloon. He set to work on the problem of constructing a motor suitable for the purpose, and, as might be expected, he became fascinated with the possibilities of flight. Curtiss and Baldwin made some very interesting experiments with the dirigible. Then, in 1905, Curtiss made the acquaintance of Dr. Alexander Bell. The famous inventor of the telephone was engrossed in the study of gliding machines, and had been carrying on a series of experiments with kites by which he hoped to evolve a scientific airplane. To further these experiments he had called in as associates in the work two engineers, F. W. Baldwin, and J. A. D. McCurdy, while Lt. Thomas Selfridge of the U. S. Army was also greatly interested.

Thus it came about that in the summer of 1907 this group of capable men formed what they were pleased to call the “Aerial Experiment Association,” of which Curtiss was perhaps the moving spirit. The first machine built by the Association was christened the Red Wing, the second the White Wing; the third was called the June Bug, and it proved so successful a flier that on July 4th, 1908, it was awarded the Scientific American trophy for a flight of one kilometer, or five-eighths of a mile.

While, in France, Farman and the Voisin brothers, Latham and BlÉriot were pushing steadily along the rough road to aviation successes,—in America, the Wright brothers and Curtiss with his associates, were demonstrating to the public on this side of the water what flying machines could do.

In fact, the airplane had definitely begun to assert its superiority as master of the air, and many eyes in all parts of the world were fixed on it and on the great future possibilities for which it stood. Everywhere, warm interest had been aroused, and, at least in France, the military importance of the heavier-than-air machine was coming to be realized.

Now the time was ripe for the great public demonstration of the world's airplanes which took place at Rheims in August, 1909. The Rheims Meeting is probably the most memorable event in the history of aviation. It placed the work of a dozen or more earnest experimenters definitely in the limelight, and gave the chance for comparisons, for a summing up of knowledge on the subject of flight, and for a test of strength, which resulted in the mighty impetus to aerial progress which followed immediately afterward.

Here at Rheims were gathered many famous flying men who already had made their names known throughout Europe and America. There were Farman, Latham, Paulhan, BlÉriot, Curtiss, and the three who flew Wright machines, the Comte de Lambert, Lefevre and Tissandier,—as well as many others, for there were thirty contestants in all. Many unusual feats delighted the spectators. Lefevre, a student of the Wrights, and up to that time unknown, amazed the assemblage by his wonderful aerial stunts. He circled gracefully in the air, making sharp, unexpected turns with the utmost skill, and winning round after round of applause.

Curtiss and BlÉriot emerged as contestants for the speed prize over 10 kilometers, and after several breathless attempts in which records were made and broken, the honor was finally carried off by BlÉriot, who covered the distance of 10 kilometers (about 6¼ miles) in 7 minutes, 47.80 seconds. Curtiss replied by beating his famous opponent in the contest for the Gordon Bennett Cup, offered for the fastest flight over 20 kilometers; and Curtiss also was the winner of the 30 kilometer race.

It was Farman, in a biplane of his own design, who surprised every one by his remarkable performance, and turned out to be the victor of the occasion. Flying for three hours without stopping, round the course, he covered 112 miles without the slightest difficulty, and was only forced to make a landing because of the rapidly approaching dusk. For his feat he was awarded the Grand Prize, and was hailed as the most successful of all the contestants.

Finally Latham, in an Antoinette monoplane, proved he had the machine with the greatest climbing powers, and carried off the Altitude prize on the closing day of the meeting.

Among those who looked on at the famous Rheims Meeting of 1909 there were none more keenly and intelligently interested than the representatives of the French military authorities. They had come for two reasons: to ascertain at first hand which were the best machines and to order them for the French Government; on the other hand, to encourage to the fullest extent possible all those men present who were earnestly working in the interests of aviation. France was ready and willing to spend money freely for this purpose, and the Rheims Meeting resulted in orders for machines of several makes. Some of these were regarded as having great possibilities from a military point of view; and others, though not looked on so favorably, were purchased as a sign of goodwill and support to future experiment. It was this far-seeing patronage which paved the way for France's later aerial triumphs, for it gave her a diversity of machines and a devoted coterie of workers all following original lines of experiment.

Let us glance for a moment at the little group of machines which stood out by their merits most prominently at that Rheims Meeting of 1909, and which gave the greatest promise for the future. To-day they seem antiquated indeed, but for all their rather curious appearance they were the legitimate forefathers of our powerful modern airplanes. Among the biplanes, those especially worthy of note were the Farman, the Wright, and the Voisin; while the BlÉriot and Antoinette monoplanes gave a most excellent account of themselves.

Farman, who had first learned to fly in a machine designed and built by the Voisin brothers, was far from satisfied with his sluggish, unmanageable steed and at once set to work on a design of his own. His one idea was to construct a biplane of light weight, speed and general efficiency. He did away with the box-kite tail of the Voisin model and substituted two horizontal tail planes with a vertical rudder fitted between them. Instead of the vertical planes or “curtains” between the main planes by which the Voisins attempted to preserve the lateral stability of their airplane, Farman adopted the “wing-warping” plan of the Wrights in a somewhat modified form. The Wright machine, it will be remembered, had wings whose rear portions were flexible, so that they could be drawn down at the will of the pilot. If the latter felt that the left side of his machine was falling he simply drew down or “warped” the rear edges of the wings on that side. The air rushing under the wing was blocked in its passage and the greater pressure thus created forced the wing upward on the left side until balance had been restored. Acting on this principle, Farman attached to the rear edges of the main planes at each side a flap, or as it is called to-day, an aileron, which worked on a hinge, so that it could be raised or lowered.

Another novel feature of this first Farman biplane was its method of starting and landing. Below the planes had been placed two long wooden skids, and to these small, pneumatic tired wheels had been attached by means of strong rubber bands. In rising, the airplane ran along the ground on these wheels until it had acquired the momentum necessary to lift it into the air. When a descent was made, the force of contact with the ground sent the wheels flying upward on their flexible bands, and allowed the strong skids to absorb the shock. This underbody or chassis was a distinct improvement on anything that had yet been devised, for it was light in weight and efficient.

In one other important respect the Farman machine was superior to all those demonstrated at Rheims in 1909, and that was in its engine. Airplane engines up to this time had been nothing more or less than automobile engines built as light in weight as possible. But in France a new engine had made its appearance, designed especially for airplane needs. Hooted as a freak at the first, and rejected by experts as “impossible,” it carried Farman round the course on his three hour flight without a hitch and made him the winner of the Grand Prize. This remarkable engine was the Gnome and the reason for its excellence lay in its unusual system of cooling. The overheating of his motor was a thorn in the flesh of many an early aviator. An engine which gave good service in an automobile would invariably overheat in an airplane because of the constant high speed at which it must run. Now motor car engines of whatever type, and whether water-cooled or air-cooled, had fixed cylinders and a revolving crankshaft. In the Gnome motor the cylinders revolved and the crankshaft was stationary. Flying through the air at tremendous speed they necessarily cooled themselves. This was the secret of the perfect running of the Farman biplane. Though Farman had been the first to recognize the merits of the Gnome and install it in his machine, he was not the last, for after the Rheims Meeting it rapidly became the favorite of practically all builders.

Next to the Farman, the Wright machine was probably the best for all-around service of the many demonstrated at the great meeting. Its one greatest disadvantage was the fact that it had to be launched from a rail. It carried no wheels—merely skids for landing—and so to gain initial momentum it had to be placed on a small trolley which ran down a rail. Such a method of gaining speed was exceedingly complicated, and the question at once arises: What would the pilot do if forced to make a landing far from his starting point? Of course it would have been quite impossible for him to have risen into the air for a return trip, and his machine, though in perfect condition, would have to have been packed and carted back home.

The Voisin biplane, though improved since Farman had piloted it in 1908, was still in 1909 an overly heavy, slow flying machine, more or less difficult to steer. It still had its “box-kite” tail and its upright curtains between the main planes. And it carried a rather weighty landing chassis built of hollow metal tubing, to which were attached pneumatic-tired bicycle wheels. Small wheels were also placed under the tail, to support it when running along the ground.

The BlÉriot monoplane could have claimed the honors for simplicity. It had a body built up of light woodwork, over part of which fabric had been stretched. On either side of the body extended the two supporting planes, supported above and below by wires. In the front of the body was the engine and at the rear extremity a small stabilizing plane. At the ends of the stabilizing plane, on either side, were two small planes which could be moved up and down. They took the place of the front elevating plane employed on the other machines. Just behind the stabilizing plane was the vertical rudder, which turned to right or left. The wings of the BlÉriot had the Wright brothers' wing warping arrangement. The pilot sat just behind the engine, operating the controls.

Larger in wing span and longer in body than the BlÉriot was the Antoinette monoplane. Like the BlÉriot it had its elevating planes at the rear, and carried its engine in the bow. Instead of the wing warping device it made use of movable flaps or ailerons at the rear edges of the wings. Another idea had been incorporated in this machine for the purpose of maintaining lateral stability. Its wings, instead of extending in a horizontal position from the body were inclined slightly upward,—a plan which met with serious condemnation from the engineering experts.

These five then, were the machines which claimed most attention in 1909, although many others,—as for instance the R. E. P. monoplane, built by M. Esnault-Pelterie, and the Breguet biplane—were flown at the famous meeting.

The Rheims event had been hugely successful, and the news of the splendid achievements of the airplane spread like wildfire throughout the world. Smaller meetings were arranged for in other cities, and everywhere the great aviators were called for to give exhibition flights. In September Santos-Dumont came once more before the public with the tiniest monoplane in existence, a little machine which he called the Demoiselle, and in a series of experiments proved its remarkable capabilities. Santos-Dumont had been residing for some time at St. Cyr, where he had worked on his designs for the Demoiselle. One of his aviator friends, M. Guffroy, was also experimenting at Buc, five miles away. The two men agreed that the one who first completed an airplane should fly in it to the home of the other and collect £40. In 6 minutes and 1 second Santos-Dumont covered the five miles on the 14th of September and claimed his reward.

WRIGHT MACHINE RISING JUST AFTER LEAVING THE RAIL