Eyewitness to Octave Chanute’s Aviation Experiments

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The fatigue of crossing rough terrain increased my concern about locating the camp, and still Lake Michigan was not in view when the sun reached setting. There was lurid beauty in the desert sunset, with an afterglow of delicate coloring quite enchanting, and dark seemed to come on very suddenly. A ghostly thing appeared ahead in the twilight, which proved to be a glider with white wings, tied to stakes to prevent it from blowing away. The discovery was exulting, for camp could not be very distant. While I was examining the glider, the sharp bark of a dog nearby broke the silence. Then the forms of a man and dog came out of the dusk, approaching the glider.

Hello! the man exclaimed, startled at seeing me. Who are you?

I’m looking for Mr. Chanute-can you show me the way to his camp?

Well, who are you?

Chicago Tribune.

How on earth did you get here?

It was a hard journey.

Gosh, will the chief be hurt, he muttered, discovered-after all the trouble he went to. He paused a moment, I can’t help taking you to camp-you would follow me if I didn’t. Will you tell Mr. Chanute I didn’t bring you here-never saw you before? Will you do that?

I assured him I would, and we introduced ourselves. My guide was Walter Herring, later well-known in glider flying. We walked down the canyon to a break that opened out on the shore. Five minutes down the beach, Herring turned round a dune, and four tents came to view, hidden completely from the sight of the beach. A campfire spoke welcome, a steaming coffee pot said supper.

Herring took me to the central tent where the boss was making ready for supper. He led me to his chief with embarrassment and introduced me as a newspaperman who had straggled into camp. Surprised, shocked, hurt, Octave Chanute took the disclosure with dignity and bade me welcome. I explained who I was, how I got there. After regaining composure, Mr. Chanute softened the stiffness of the intrusion with the easy manner of a gentleman.

Well, sir, I make no concealment of my surprise and regret that you are here, he said rather sadly. I thought I had taken every precaution to ensure that our coming here would remain unknown; but it appears the press is omniscient, ubiquitous. Here you are, willy-nilly, and I cannot send you away. Then let us make a virtue out of necessity-please be welcome, and consider yourself my guest while you remain. He looked across the tent, adding with affability, That, sir, will be your cot, pointing to a bunk beside his bed, and join us at supper, which is being served.

Then this gallant reincarnation from the courts of the Louis handed me his own supper plate and insisted I take the seat he had been about to occupy. My protestations were in vain; he would not let me shift for myself and came presently with another supper and sat beside me. Knowing how much cut up he felt over being discovered, appalled at the thought of publicity, I marveled that such a perfect gentleman still existed outside storybooks. He introduced the members of his crew, and supper passed pleasantly with talk and getting acquainted.

Why do you object to the public knowing about your flying? I asked.

I do not fly, and never expect to, he said. I don’t like my daughter to overhear someone at the grocer’s say, ‘That’s the daughter of that old fool who thinks he can fly.’ Our experiments here are with air gliders only. Someday, I believe, men will fly like birds, but not until we know what type of gliders soar best-not until the laws of nature basic to flight are well understood. Then it may be possible that a motor will be added to overcome gravity and permit steering. I am merely trying to lay stepping stones for the future science and art of flying by accumulating scientific data and reducing them to tables for the use of others.

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Tags: Aircraft, Aviation History, Flight Technology, Social History

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