The Aeroplane Speaks [15]
Secondhand Bicycle Trade to me!''
[[13]] Box-kite. The first crude form of biplane.
Now the Pilot decides to change the straight gliding descent to a spiral one, and, obedient to the Rudder, the Aeroplane turns to the left. But the Momentum (two tons at 100 miles per hour is no small affair) heavily resents this change of direction, and tries its level best to prevent it and to pull the machine sideways and outwards from its spiral course--that is, to make it ``side-skid'' outwards. But the Pilot deflects the Ailerons and ``banks'' up the planes to the correct angle, and, the Aeroplane skidding sideways and outwards, the lowest surfaces of the planes press up against the air until the pressure equals the centrifugal force of the Momentum, and the Aeroplane spirals steadily downwards.
Down, down, down, and the air grows denser, and the Pilot gulps largely, filling his lungs with the heavier air to counteract the increasing pressure from without. Down through a gap in the clouds, and the Aerodrome springs into view, appearing no larger than a saucer, and the Pilot, having by now got the ``feel'' of the Controls, proceeds to put the Aeroplane through its paces. First at its Maximum Angle, staggering along tail-down and just maintaining horizontal flight; then a dive at far over flying speed, finishing with a perfect loop; then sharp turns with attendant vertical ``banks'' and then a wonderful switchback flight, speeding down at a hundred and fifty miles an hour with short, exhilarating ascents at the rate of two thousand feet a minute!
All the parts are now working well together. Such wires as were before in undue tension have secured relief by slightly elongating their loops, and each one is now doing its bit, and all are sharing the burden of work together.
The Struts and the Spars, which felt so awkward at first, have bedded themselves in their sockets, and are taking the compression stresses uncomplainingly.
The Control Cables of twisted wire, a bit tight before, have slightly lengthened by perhaps the eighth of an inch, and, the Controls instantly responding to the delicate touch of the Pilot, the Aeroplane, at the will of its Master, darts this way and that way, dives, loops, spirals, and at last, in one long, magnificent glide, lands gently in front of its shed.
``Well, what result?'' calls the Flight-Commander to the Pilot.
``A hundred miles an hour and a thousand feet a minute,'' he briefly replies.
``And a very good result too,'' says the Aeroplane, complacently, as he is carefully wheeled into his shed.
That is the way Aeroplanes speak to those who love them and understand them. Lots of Pilots know all about it, and can spin you wonderful yarns, much better than this one, if you catch them in a confidential mood--on leave, for instance, and after a good dinner.
PART IV
'CROSS COUNTRY
The Aeroplane had been designed and built, and tested in the air, and now stood on the Aerodrome ready for its first 'cross-country flight.
It had run the gauntlet of pseudo-designers, crank inventors, press ``experts,'' and politicians; of manufacturers keen on cheap work and large profits; of poor pilots who had funked it, and good pilots who had expected too much of it. Thousands of pounds had been wasted on it, many had gone bankrupt over it, and others it had provided with safe fat jobs.
Somehow, and despite every conceivable obstacle, it had managed to muddle through, and now it was ready for its work. It was not perfect, for there were fifty different ways in which it might be improved, some of them shamefully obvious. But it was fairly sound mechanically, had a little inherent stability, was easily controlled, could climb a thousand feet a minute, and its speed was a hundred miles an hour. In short, quite a creditable machine, though of course the right man had not got the credit.
It is rough, unsettled weather with a thirty mile an hour wind on the ground, and that means fifty more or less aloft. Lots of clouds at different altitudes to bother the Pilot, and the
[[13]] Box-kite. The first crude form of biplane.
Now the Pilot decides to change the straight gliding descent to a spiral one, and, obedient to the Rudder, the Aeroplane turns to the left. But the Momentum (two tons at 100 miles per hour is no small affair) heavily resents this change of direction, and tries its level best to prevent it and to pull the machine sideways and outwards from its spiral course--that is, to make it ``side-skid'' outwards. But the Pilot deflects the Ailerons and ``banks'' up the planes to the correct angle, and, the Aeroplane skidding sideways and outwards, the lowest surfaces of the planes press up against the air until the pressure equals the centrifugal force of the Momentum, and the Aeroplane spirals steadily downwards.
Down, down, down, and the air grows denser, and the Pilot gulps largely, filling his lungs with the heavier air to counteract the increasing pressure from without. Down through a gap in the clouds, and the Aerodrome springs into view, appearing no larger than a saucer, and the Pilot, having by now got the ``feel'' of the Controls, proceeds to put the Aeroplane through its paces. First at its Maximum Angle, staggering along tail-down and just maintaining horizontal flight; then a dive at far over flying speed, finishing with a perfect loop; then sharp turns with attendant vertical ``banks'' and then a wonderful switchback flight, speeding down at a hundred and fifty miles an hour with short, exhilarating ascents at the rate of two thousand feet a minute!
All the parts are now working well together. Such wires as were before in undue tension have secured relief by slightly elongating their loops, and each one is now doing its bit, and all are sharing the burden of work together.
The Struts and the Spars, which felt so awkward at first, have bedded themselves in their sockets, and are taking the compression stresses uncomplainingly.
The Control Cables of twisted wire, a bit tight before, have slightly lengthened by perhaps the eighth of an inch, and, the Controls instantly responding to the delicate touch of the Pilot, the Aeroplane, at the will of its Master, darts this way and that way, dives, loops, spirals, and at last, in one long, magnificent glide, lands gently in front of its shed.
``Well, what result?'' calls the Flight-Commander to the Pilot.
``A hundred miles an hour and a thousand feet a minute,'' he briefly replies.
``And a very good result too,'' says the Aeroplane, complacently, as he is carefully wheeled into his shed.
That is the way Aeroplanes speak to those who love them and understand them. Lots of Pilots know all about it, and can spin you wonderful yarns, much better than this one, if you catch them in a confidential mood--on leave, for instance, and after a good dinner.
PART IV
'CROSS COUNTRY
The Aeroplane had been designed and built, and tested in the air, and now stood on the Aerodrome ready for its first 'cross-country flight.
It had run the gauntlet of pseudo-designers, crank inventors, press ``experts,'' and politicians; of manufacturers keen on cheap work and large profits; of poor pilots who had funked it, and good pilots who had expected too much of it. Thousands of pounds had been wasted on it, many had gone bankrupt over it, and others it had provided with safe fat jobs.
Somehow, and despite every conceivable obstacle, it had managed to muddle through, and now it was ready for its work. It was not perfect, for there were fifty different ways in which it might be improved, some of them shamefully obvious. But it was fairly sound mechanically, had a little inherent stability, was easily controlled, could climb a thousand feet a minute, and its speed was a hundred miles an hour. In short, quite a creditable machine, though of course the right man had not got the credit.
It is rough, unsettled weather with a thirty mile an hour wind on the ground, and that means fifty more or less aloft. Lots of clouds at different altitudes to bother the Pilot, and the