THOUGH MANY AEROPLANES HAVE FLOWN THE NORTH ATLANTIC since the first successful flight in 1919, it is still a journey fraught with considerable danger. Here is Hawker’s Sopwith “Atlantic” fitted with a 375 h.p. 12-cylinder Rolls-Royce engine. A detachable undercarriage and a small boat which formed the top decking of the fuselage were ingenious features.
LONG before the feat was ultimately accomplished in the year 1919, the conquest of the North Atlantic by air was an ambition cherished by flying men. Prior to the First World War, when aeroplanes were still crude, ill-equipped and unreliable, the project was discussed and even planned. And against all wisdom, venturesome spirits were prepared to make an attempt on that aerial journey across the sea, which was to prove the undoing of many.
With the advent of the War, however, these plans were temporarily abandoned, and the idea of an Atlantic flight sank into oblivion as the conflict grew in intensity. But though the tremendous developments of the years 1914-1918 dwarfed many past events and ideas into insignificance, the possibilities of spanning those thousands of miles over the ocean still remained as an unabated lure when the War came to an end. So strong was this, and so eager were men to gain the honour of being the first flying conquerors of the Atlantic — and at the same time win the substantial prize of £10,000 offered by the “Daily Mail” — that machines were already being prepared in the early part of 1919.
Amongst these was a Rolls-Royce engined, Sopwith biplane which had been designed and put under construction in an astonishingly short time. It was to carry a crew of two, a pilot and a navigator, and the men who took these places were Harry Hawker and Commander Mackenzie Grieve. The aeroplane, named the “Atlantic”, followed normal design save that it had abnormally large fuel tanks and a special form of undercarriage which could be detached in the air by means of a trigger release arrangement. The object of this was to relieve the machine of a heavy part of its structure which was not absolutely essential once the flight had started. It was a bold move, the abandonment of the landing gear, but Hawker preferred to risk a minor mishap on landing rather than slow his pace and use extra fuel, by carrying the undercarriage in his long ocean passage. Critics regarded the scheme with considerable misgivings. Nevertheless, Hawker, with a confidence born of many years of brilliant flying, was as certain of its practicability as he was of his projected flight ending successfully.
At Brooklands Aerodrome he gave the “Atlantic” a long and thorough test, and then with his companion and his plane, he sailed for Newfoundland. The weather conditions on their arrival at St. John’s were neither encouraging nor promising for an early take-off, the ground being covered with snow and ice, while the aerodrome was indifferent as regards both surface and size.
In due course the “Atlantic” was assembled, rigged and tested, and for Hawker and Grieve there remained nothing to do but to wait for favourable weather conditions. Then began a series of postponements; reports came through that the morrow would provide suitable conditions of sky and wind, but with the coming of another day, hopes of starting were instantly extinguished by onslaughts of rain, fog or raging wind. Time and again circumstances arose which, with men of different calibre, would have played havoc with nerves keyed up for so great an adventure as that which lay before the “Atlantic’s” tiny crew. But with a placidity that caused wonderment amongst those who associated with them, Grieve and Hawker stood by, waiting for the weather to give them their chance. It came on Sunday, May 18.
So, on that day at 3.5 p.m, the Sopwith, staggering under its immense load of fuel, lurched dangerously into the air. For one breathless moment it seemed impossible that it could clear a fence on the verge of the field; then, as it gathered speed, Hawker’s sure hands coaxed the craft upward, and with a narrow margin, disaster was averted. Slowly, surely, the plane climbed into the sky, light playing on glistening fabric, struts and whirling airscrew. A few moments and it was gone. And heading out towards the grey ocean, those two courageous men settled down to their hazardous journey.
LONG BEFORE THEIR DEPARTURE, Hawker and Grieve had fully prepared their machine for their long flight, but bad weather caused a irksome delay. Here is the “Atlantic” undergoing one of its daily engine tests on the rough aerodrome at St John’s, Newfoundland, during the period of waiting.
Scarcely had the “Atlantic” flown out of sight of land than Hawker and Grieve were faced with the fog of Newfoundland Banks. With all the skill that had made him famous, Hawker climbed his craft through the vast vaporous shroud and at 4,000 feet they rose above it. For a whole hour they flew on without sight of the sea. Then for a few brief moments Grieve was able to make observations through a break in the clouds which enabled him to calculate the drift of their craft.
Hours passed, until at 10.15 p.m. they were able to estimate that they had journeyed some 400 miles. But as they drove onwards through the night, ominous clouds, towering like giants, rose up before them. Rain lashed across their plane and immense gusts beat and buffeted her wings, yet, with sky and sea obscured, the adventurers thundered on. As yet the moon had not risen, and the night was dark and dim. It was freezing hard, and as Hawker banked and turned to avoid the huge black clouds as best he might, his companion, with frost-bitten hands, struggled to take sights. It became clear that theirs was going to be no easy conquest of the sea and sky.
After hours the “Atlantic” was flying at 10,000 feet, and Hawker, watching his instruments, grew suddenly concerned. The thermometer registering the temperature of the engine’s cooling system was rising — a most ominous sign. By an arrangement of shutters on the radiator the temperature could be controlled, but Hawker, on operating them, found that there was no response. It became apparent that trouble, serious trouble, was developing. As he flew on, banking and turning his plane through the huge cloud areas, his mind grappled with this new development which, with each minute, grew more alarming. For, unless the Rolls-Royce engine could be kept at a reasonable temperature, failure, and a fall into the dark waters of the Atlantic, would be inevitable.
It was a desperate situation demanding desperate measures, and Hawker decided that he must dive his craft with the engine throttled down in order to reduce its high temperature. For three thousand feet the “Atlantic”, with screaming bracing wires, hurtled down towards the sea, and then, as it was brought on to an even keel, the pilot was relieved to find that the needle on the thermometer had retracted. The throttle was opened once more and the machine flew on. For a while at least calamity had been averted. Meanwhile, Grieve had been enduring considerable discomfort from the cold, and with the frequent changing of the course of the machine necessitated by the clouds and cooling trouble, his navigational work had been made extremely difficult.
In the first hour of Monday morning, both pilot and navigator were occupied with serious problems. For Hawker there was the trouble that had reappeared in the cooling system, while Grieve made the discovery that there was a big error in their navigation.
Eight hundred miles from land, darkness and storm clouds all around, and sudden and complete failure of their engine dreadfully imminent — such were the factors of the predicament in which these two wayfarers found themselves.
It now became perfectly plain to both Hawker and Grieve that they would never be able to set their machine down on dry land again, and that their only chance of survival was to be picked up by some passing vessel after their plane had settled on the sea. With this calamitous termination of their effort growing ever nearer they flew on. Slowly, cautiously, Hawker nursed his machine till he had reached 12,000 feet. For a time they travelled in the moonlight with the clouds below. But presently the course was blanked off with an expanse of clouds which rose thousands of feet higher. To attempt to rise above them would have overtaxed the strained engine: to penetrate their denseness would have courted danger too much. Descent was the only way.
END OF A GALLANT STORY. Though heavy seas were running when Hawker was compelled to bring his machine down, his wonderful skill prevented it from being wrecked at the time. But hours of buffeting by angry waves tore the plane to pieces. This picture shows the craft all but submerged just before being salved.
Through thousands of feet of blinding vapour the “Atlantic” glided downward, until at a bare 1,000 feet the air grew clear. But if Hawker felt any relief at that moment it was quickly changed to acute consternation when the idling engine failed to respond to the throttle. Below, the angry Atlantic rose up to meet them, as Grieve worked feverishly with the fuel pump in a desperate attempt to coax the engine into life again. Critical, terrible moments Then, when all seemed lost, the Rolls-Royce spluttered, coughed and roared off again This incident that so nearly spelt disaster occurred just as the east became streaked with dawn. Never could daylight have been more welcome than it was to those two men. Grieve had calculated that they were flying over the steamship line, and to sight a vessel was now their main concern. So for two and a half hours more Hawker nursed his stricken engine, flying in half a gale, dodging rainstorms and fleeting clouds, ever watchful, hoping to see some ship. And then at last a ship! A shout of delight came from Hawker as he pointed out a small craft.
Round and round they flew, firing Very lights until the crew observed them. Then, as soon as they obtained a responding signal, Hawker cautiously brought the “Atlantic” down on to the water. Few pilots in the world could then have alighted with such precision, under such circumstances, for heavy seas were running and a high wind added to the difficulties that confronted him. But so smoothly and perfectly did the “Atlantic” settle that Hawker and his companion were able to launch and enter their small emergency boat, which was carried on the plane. Meanwhile, a boat had put off from the rescuing ship, and after an anxious 1½ hours they were taken safely aboard. It was then that they discovered that the vessel that they had come across so providentially was the “Mary”, a small Danish steamer en route for Europe. Scarcely had they boarded her than a great storm broke, compelling the ship to heave-to. Thereafter she laboured through heavy seas, heading for the Scottish coast.
But meanwhile the world, and England in particular, waited anxiously for news. None came, for the “Mary” had no wireless and saw no passing ship to which a message might have been given. A week passed by and hope that the two men might be still alive wavered. Then the silence was broken; a message was flashed from the Butt of Lewis of the “Mary’s” arrival with the two airmen aboard. A wave of enthusiasm and jubilation swept over Britain. Hawker and Grieve were safe.
Later the details of their adventure became known. For 14½ hours they had fought a battle with the elements and with chance. Through rain and wind, fog and darkness they had struggled on, covering about 1,400 miles — nearly two-thirds of their journey. And though they failed, that gallant endeavour of Harry Hawker and Mackenzie Grieve will ever remain as one of the finest flights in the glorious history of aviation.
THE SORRY SPECTACLE OF THE REMAINS of the Sopwith “Atlantic” after being hauled aboard the S.S. Lake Charlottesville.
It now became perfectly plain to both Hawker and Grieve that they would never be able to set their machine down on dry land again, and that their only chance of survival was to be picked up by some passing vessel after their plane had settled on the sea. With this calamitous termination of their effort growing ever nearer they flew on. Slowly, cautiously, Hawker nursed his machine till he had reached 12,000 feet. For a time they travelled in the moonlight with the clouds below. But presently the course was blanked off with an expanse of clouds which rose thousands of feet higher. To attempt to rise above them would have overtaxed the strained engine: to penetrate their denseness would have courted danger too much. Descent was the only way.
Later the details of their adventure became known. For 14½ hours they had fought a battle with the elements and with chance. Through rain and wind, fog and darkness they had struggled on, covering about 1,400 miles — nearly two-