Boys' Second Book of Inventions. Baker Ray Stannard
the inventor and his assistant hundreds of feet downward to their death on the pavements of Paris.
It will be most interesting and instructive to consider especially the work of Santos-Dumont, for he has been not only the most successful in making actual flights of any of the inventors who have taken up this great problem of air navigation, but his adventures have been most romantic and thrilling. In five years' time he has built and operated no fewer than ten great air-ships which he has sailed in various parts of Europe and in America. He has even crowned his experiences with more than one shipwreck in the air, an adventure by the side of which an ordinary sea-wreck is tame indeed, and he has escaped with his life as a result not only of good fortune but of real daring and presence of mind in the face of danger.
For an inventor, M. Santos-Dumont is a rather extraordinary character. The typical inventor – at least so we think – is poor, starts poor at least, and has a struggle to rise. M. Santos-Dumont has always had plenty of means. The inventor is always first a dreamer, we think. M. Santos-Dumont is first a thoroughly practical man, an engineer with a good knowledge of science, to which he adds the imagination of the inventor and the keen love and daring of the sportsman and adventurer, without which his experiments could never have been carried through.
It would seem, indeed, that nature had especially equipped M. Santos-Dumont for his work in aërial navigation. Supposing an inventor, having all the mental equipment of Santos-Dumont, the ideas, the energy, the means – supposing such a man had weighed two hundred pounds! He would have had to build a very large ship to carry his own weight, and all his problems would have been more complex, more difficult. Nature made Santos-Dumont a very small, slim, slight man, weighing hardly more than one hundred pounds, but very active and muscular. The first time I ever saw him, in Crystal Palace, London, where he was setting up one of his air-ships in a huge gallery, I thought him at first glance to be some boy, a possible spectator, who was interested in flying machines. His face, bare and shaven, looked youthful; he wore a narrow-brimmed straw hat and was dressed in the height of fashion. One would not have guessed him to be the inventor. A moment later he had his coat off and was showing his men how to put up the great fan-like rudder of the ship which loomed above us like some enormous Rugby football, and then one saw the power that was in him. Brazilian by nationality, he has a dark face, large dark eyes, an alertness of step and an energetic way of talking. His boyhood was spent on his father's extensive coffee plantation in Brazil; his later years mostly in Paris, though he has been a frequent visitor to England and America. He speaks Spanish, French, and English with equal fluency. Indeed, hearing his English one would say that he must certainly have had his training in an English-speaking country, though no one would mistake him in appearance for either English or American, for he is very much a Latin in face and form. One finds him most unpretentious, modest, speaking freely of his inventions, and yet never taking to himself any undue credit.
Santos-Dumont is still a very young man to have accomplished so much. He was born in Brazil, July 20, 1873. From his earliest boyhood he was interested in kites and dreamed of being able to fly. He says:
"I cannot say at what age I made my first kites; but I remember how my comrades used to tease me at our game of 'Pigeon flies'! All the children gather round a table, and the leader calls out: 'Pigeon flies! Hen flies! Crow flies! Bee flies!' and so on; and at each call we were supposed to raise our fingers. Sometimes, however, he would call out: 'Dog flies! Fox flies!' or some other like impossibility, to catch us. If any one should raise a finger, he was made to pay a forfeit. Now my playmates never failed to wink and smile mockingly at me when one of them called 'Man flies!' For at the word I would always lift my finger very high, as a sign of absolute conviction; and I refused with energy to pay the forfeit. The more they laughed at me, the happier I was."
Of course he read Jules Verne's stories and was carried away in imagination in that author's wonderful balloons and flying machines. He also devoured the history of aërial navigation which he found in the works of Camille Flammarion and Wilfrid de Fonvielle. He says, further:
"At an early age I was taught the principles of mechanics by my father, an engineer of the École Centrale des Arts et Manufactures of Paris. From childhood I had a passion for making calculations and inventing; and from my tenth year I was accustomed to handle the powerful and heavy machines of our factories, and drive the compound locomotives on our plantation railroads. I was constantly taken up with the desire to lighten their parts; and I dreamed of air-ships and flying machines. The fact that up to the end of the nineteenth century those who occupied themselves with aërial navigation passed for crazy, rather pleased than offended me. It is incredible and yet true that in the kingdom of the wise, to which all of us flatter ourselves we belong, it is always the fools who finish by being in the right. I had read that Montgolfière was thought a fool until the day when he stopped his insulters' mouths by launching the first spherical balloon into the heavens."
Upon going to Paris Santos-Dumont at once took up the work of making himself familiar with ballooning in all of its practical aspects. He saw that if he were ever to build an air-ship he must first know all there was to know about balloon-making, methods of filling with gas, lifting capacities, the action of balloons in the air, and all the thousand and one things connected with ordinary ballooning. And Paris has always been the centre of this information. He regards this preliminary knowledge as indispensable to every air-ship builder. He says:
"Before launching out into the construction of air-ships I took pains to make myself familiar with the handling of spherical balloons. I did not hasten, but took plenty of time. In all, I made something like thirty ascensions; at first as a passenger, then as my own captain, and at last alone. Some of these spherical balloons I rented, others I had constructed for me. Of such I have owned at least six or eight. And I do not believe that without such previous study and experience a man is capable of succeeding with an elongated balloon, whose handling is so much more delicate. Before attempting to direct an air-ship, it is necessary to have learned in an ordinary balloon the conditions of the atmospheric medium; to have become acquainted with the caprices of the wind, now caressing and now brutal, and to have gone thoroughly into the difficulties of the ballast problem, from the triple point of view of starting, of equilibrium in the air, and of landing at the end of the trip. To go up in an ordinary balloon, at least a dozen times, seems to me an indispensable preliminary for acquiring an exact notion of the requisites for the construction and handling of an elongated balloon, furnished with its motor and propeller."
His first ascent in a balloon was made in 1897, when he was 24 years old, as a passenger with M. Machuron, who had then just returned from the Arctic regions, where he had helped to start Andrée on his ill-fated voyage in search of the North Pole. He found the sensations delightful, being so pleased with the experience that he subsequently secured a small balloon of his own, in which he made several ascents. He also climbed the Alps in order to learn more of the condition of the air at high altitudes.
In 1898 he set about experimentation in the building of a real air-ship or steerable balloon. Efforts had been made in this direction by former inventors, but with small success. As far back as 1852 Henri Gifford made the first of the familiar cigar-shaped balloons, trying steam as a motive power, but he soon found that an engine strong enough to propel the balloon was too heavy for the balloon to lift. That simple failure discouraged experimenters for a long time. In 1877 Dupuy de Lome tried steering a balloon by man power, but the man was not strong enough. In 1883 another Frenchman, Tissandier, experimented with electricity, but, as his batteries had to be light enough to be taken up in the balloon, they proved effective only in helping to weigh it down to earth again. Krebs and Renard, military aëronauts, succeeded better with electricity, for they could make a small circuit with their air-ship, provided only that no air was stirring. Enthusiasts cried out that the problem was solved, but the two aëronauts themselves, as good mathematicians, figured out that they would have to have a motor eight times more powerful than their own, and that without any increase in weight, which was an impossibility at that time.
Santos-Dumont saw plainly that none of these methods would work. What then was he to try? Why, simple enough: the petroleum motor from his automobile. The recent development of the motor-vehicle had produced a light, strong, durable motor. It was Santos-Dumont's first great claim to originality that he should have applied this to the balloon. He discovered no new principles, invented nothing that could be patented. The cigar-shaped