ACROSS THE CHANNEL

Otago Witness, Issue 2895, 8 September 1909, Page 51

ACROSS THE CHANNEL

o M. BLERIOT'S GREAT FLIGHT. AX INDOMITABLE" FRENCHMAN. (By tho London Correspondent of . the t Sjdney Daily T-elegraph.) LONDON, July 30. Louis Bleriot has flown the Channel, where Latham failed, and has been hailed as " hero and immortal " by two nations. The story of his achievement ha*; a fascination aii its own. Bleriot has been urged on to the conqrtest of the air by- sheer love of adventure. His spirit is the oldtime spirit of the msn who first crossed the Atlantic in ships scarce larger and stronger than cane canoes. He is made of the stuff that laughs nt obstacles and rebuffs / and gets big things done. Ths clashing Frenchman it-, at 37, a man of independent fortune, amassed by tli3 manufacture of the Bleriot motor car " Phares." But motor cars long since ceased to satisfy l.mi, and tame nine years ai;o lie resolved to fly like the Wrights. He invantcd and built for him.<velf; but, unlike the irdomit:ibl<? Americans, he had the means with which to experiment freely. He built and failed, and buift again. In 1906 he cleared the earth in a grotesque machine nicknamed " Tiie Duck," and after wobbling sorrily for a brief'space came down heavily. That was the end of "The Duck." Next year he was aloft again in a monoplane, and this time he '•fluttered along for 120 yards at Bagatelle, in France. That settled the que.-tion for him. It was thenceforth only a question of time. One day he would fly *-o far and s-o long a-s he w tiled. Ble'iot i> an extraordinary man. He h;.*; met witli more than 50 accidents while engaged in firing. But he has studied 1 1 io iivL of falling, and has received no *-eriou.* injury. Again and a^ain lie and his little machine have come d.iwn with a terrible bump, and always Bleriot ha*> emerged unscathed from the ruins. Hi> courage is shown by the painful circumstances under which he made till— journey aero-?"- th-3 Channel. A few day*, ago the petiol ignited in his machine, and beforo he could gtt clear one of his feet was very severely burned. Crutches , became nccewry. His wife and friends beogcl him to deeist until the injured j limb had recovered. They feared that the pain might cause his nerve to fail at a criti-t! moment. But Bleiiot would take i<r> chance-. His httl'3 monoplane we<x icady at ('al;ii>\ and Hubeit Latham's im-n Mere working day and night to complete the i.sw Antoinette. A burned foot «md a pair of crutches were but t nfles to a man of_Bleriot's mettle. He w-*nt down with 1 i.-> crutclu-to Calais, and limped and hopped about for a couple of day* waitng for favourable weather. Sunday mornng broke fine. He hobbled up to *lii-s monoplane, threw away his crutches, and laughed as he said: "I shan't want you again until I get back from England." Then he flew across from Calais to Dover. Hero is Bleriot's own story of his flight, told on Sunday morning, soon after his arrival at Dover : " A light breeze was

I blowing from the south-west. The ai^ was dear. Everything was prepared, a had neither eaten nor drunk anything since--I lose. My thoughts -were only upon the fight, and my determination to accomplish it this morning. At 4.35 M. Ls Blanc gives the signal, and in an instant I am in the air, my engine making 1200 revolutions, almost at its highest speed, in order that I may get quickly over the telegraph wires along the edge of the cliff. As soon as I am over the cliff I reduce my speed. There is now no need to force my engine. '* I begin my flight steady and sure towards the coast of England. I have no apprehensions, no sensations. The Escopette has seen me. She is driving ahead at full speed. She makes, perhaps, 42 kilometres (about 26 miles) an hour. What matters? I am making at least 68 kilometres (42£ miles). Bapidly I overtake her, travelling at a height of 80 metre-> (about 250 ft). The moment is supreme, yet I surprise myself by feeling no exultation. Below me is the sea, the surface disturbed by the windi which is now freshening. The motion of the waves bsneath me is not pleasant. I drive on. Ten minutes have gone. I have passed the destroyer, and I turn my head to.se« whether I am 'proceeding in the right direction. I am amazed. There is nothing to be seen — neither torpedo • destroyer .nor "France nor England. lam alone. I can see nothing at all. " Another 10 minutes. I am last. It is a strange position to be alone, unguided. without _ • compass, in the air, over the middle o£ the Channel. I touch nothing. My hands and feet rest lightly on the levers. I let the aeroplane take its own course. I care not whither, it goes. For 10 minutes I continue, neither rising nor falling nor turning, and then 20 minutes after I have left the French coast I see the green cliffs of Dover, tha castle, and away to the west the spot where I intended to land. What can I do? It is evident that the \\voA has taken me out of my course. I am almost at St. Margaret's Bay. and going ill the direction of Goodwin Sands. Now is the time to attend to steering. 1 press the lever with my foot, and turn easily towards the west, reversing the direction in which 1 am travelling. ~Sovr, indeed, I am in difficulties, for the wind here by the cliffs is much stronger, and my speed is reduced as I fight against it. Yet my, beautiful aeroplane responds still steadily. I fly westwards, hoping to cro.«s the harbour and reach Shakespeare Cliff again. The wind blows. I see an openng in the cliff. " Although I am confident that I can continue for an hour and a-half — that I might, indeed, return to Calais, — I can- < not resist the opportunity to make alanding upon this green spot. Once more: i I .turn my aeroplane, and, describing a - half-circle* I enter the opening, and find I._1 ._ myself again over dry land. Avoiding x the red buildings on my right, I attempt • a landing, but the wind" catches me and i whirls me lound two or three times. At" w once I stop my motor, and instantly my machine falls straight, upon the land front a height of 20 metres (60ft). In two or three seconds I am safe upon your shore. Soldiers in khaki run up and policemen. . Two of my compatriots are on the spot. They kiss *my cheeks. The conclusion of my flght overwhelms mo. Thus ended my flight across the Channel. The flight; could be easily done again. Shall I do it? I think not. I have promised my wife that after the Tace for which I have entered I will fly no more." There is little to add to a story at once so simple ajxd graphic Til* wonderful little flying machine is now on view in London." What strikes one about the famous monoplane is rer tiny size. , Her wings fold up, so that she can be tucked with ease into the space occupied by a . motor car. She has frequently been placed on wheels and hauled along country roads beliinl a motor car travelling up to 18 miles an hour. She costs far leas than a*molor car. You look at her and hor achievement and realise that fly- ; ing must toon be very general. Indeed, mcv even in your time will fly in easy fctage* to the Poles and round the world.