CONQUEST OF THE AIR.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2609, 17 September 1909, Page 2

CONQUEST OF THE AIR.

“MY FLIGHT.”

M. BLERIOT DESCRIBES VOYAGE FROM CALAIS TO DOVER.

(By Louis Bleriot, in the '‘Daily Mai].” It is more important to he the .first to cross the Channel by aeroplane than to have won a prize of £I,OOO. Nevertheless, I must first acknowledge the enterprise of “The Daily Mail” and its recognition of the importance of aviation in the offer of the prize which I have had the honor to win. lam glad I have won it. lam more than happy that I have crossed the Channel. At first I promised my wife I would not make the attempt; then I determined that if one failed I would be the first to come. And lam here. PREPARATIONS FOR THE START. At 2.30 on Sunday I rose at the Terminus Hotel, at Calais, and at three o’clock departed with my friend M. Le Blanc in a motor-car to Baraques. On our way we noted that the weather was favorable to my endeavor. We therefore ordered the torpedo destroyer Escopette, generously placed at my disposal by our Government, to start. At 3.30 a.m. we went to the garage and examined aeroplane, which is my eleventh. I 'started the engine and found that it worked well. All was ready for the start. At four o’clock I took my seat in the aeroplane and made a trial flight of one quarter of an hour around Calais and its environs. „ The circuit was about fifteen kilometres (9£ miles). Having completed it I descended upon the spot on the cliff from which I intended to start. Here I waited for the sun to come out, the conditions of “The Daily Mail” prize requiring that I should fly between sunrise and sunset. At 4.30 we could see all round. Daylight had come. M. Le Blanc endeavored to see the coast of England, bu.t could not. A light breeze from the south-west was blowing. The air was clear. “I BEGIN.” Everything was prepared. I was dressed as I am at this moment, a “khaki” jacket lined with wool for warmth over my tweed clothes and beneath m3 7 engineer’s suit of blue cotton overalls. My close-fitting cap was fastened over my head and ears. I had neither eaten nor drunk anything since I rose. My thoughts were only upon the flight, and my determination to accomplish it this morning. 4.35 ! Tout est pret! Le Blanc gives the signal and in an instant I am in the air, my engine making 1,200 revolutions —almost 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 n<3 apprehensions, no sensations, pas du tout. The Fscopette has seen me. She is driving ahead at full speed. She makes perhaps 42 kilometres (about £3 miles) an hour. What matters? Tam making at least 68 kilometres (42f miles). Rapidly I overtake her, travelling at a height of 80 metres (about 250 feet). The moment is supreme, yet I surprise myself by feeling no exultation. Below me is the sea, the surface disturbed by the wind, which is now freshening The motion of the waves benoatn me is not pleasant. I drive on. Ten minutes have gone. I have passed the destroyer, and I turn my head to see -whether I am proceeding in the right direction. I am amazed. There is nothing to be seen, neither the tor-pedo-destroyer, nor France, nor England. I am alone. I can see nothing at all —rien du tout! For ten minutes I am lost. It is a strange position, to he alone, unguided, without compass, in the air over the middle of 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. FIRST SIGHT OF BRITAIN. For ten minutes I continue I neither rising nor falling, nor turning. And then,,-twenty minutes after I have left the French coast, I see the green cliffs of Dover, the castle, and away to the west the spot where I had intended to land.

What can I do? It is evident that the wind has taken me out of my course. lam almost at St. Margaret’s Bay and going in the direction of the Goodwin Sands. Now it is time to attend to the steering. I press the lever with my foot and turn easily towards the west, reversing the direction in which I am travelling. Now, indeed, I am in difficulties, for the wind here by the cliffs is much stronger, and my speed is reduced as I fighfl against it. Yet my beautiful aeroplane responds. Still steadily I fly westwards, hoping to cross the harbor and reach the ; Shakespeare Cliff. Again the wind blows. I see an opening 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 cannot resist the opportunity to make a landing upon this green spot. Once more I turn my aeroplane, and, describing a half-circle, I enter the opening and find myself again overdry land. Avoiding the red buildings on my right, I attempt a landing- but the wind catches me and whirls me round two or three times. At once I stop my motor, and instantly my machine falls straight upon the land from a height of 20 metres (65 feet). In two or three seconds I am safe upon your shore. t Soldiers in khaki run up, and a policeman. Two of my compatriots are on the spot. They kiss my cheeks. The conclusion of my flight overwhelms me. I have nothing to say, but accept the congratulations of the representatives of “The Daily Mail,” and accompany them to the Lord Warden Hotel.

Thus ended my flight across the Channel.