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BIPLANE RACE, TELLS OF FLIGHT [[image]] [[caption]] Lieut Milling. [[/caption]] Winning the biplane race today gave me great pleasure, but no more than did the reception I got from the people along the route. It was splendid. Ovington made a great flight, and although I only had a biplane I tried to catch him but I lost my way. When I flew I used a map, for I never was a good hand at using a compass. When I reached a place called Burlington I followed the railroad to the west side and it seems that I struck a branch line to Concord. The first thing I realized I was going back toward Boston. It was then I landed in Concord and inquired where I was and got my direction. Like Mr Ovington I suffered bitterly from the cold and at Providence I was forced to borrow a raincoat in an effort to keep the life in me. It seems as if I had the ague from the time I left Nashua until I reached Boston. I did my flying high. On the road to Nashua I flew about 2000 feet in the air and was about the same hight when I passed from there to Worcester. I went 1000 higher down the valley to Providence, but on the trip to Atlantic I dropped back to 2000. I guided myself by the Blue Hill observatory. Strange to say I did not locate the bonfire, but the fire bombs gave me the road to the field. The flash in the air showed me the road. The arrangements were perfect everywhere except in Providence, where the lines were not drawn tight enough to hold the populace. If my engine had not worked beautifully there might have been a slaughter. That Mr. Atwood met with an accident, which prevented his continuing I am very sorry. He is a great aviator and I would liked to have had him go through without trouble of any kind. T.D. Milling MRS OVINGTON DELIGHTED [[?s]] Course Closely and Had [[?]] Worry For Him. EARLE OVINGTON [[?]] minute during the whole trip. I sat in the [[?]] read every telegram and telephone message [[?]] that way I knew that everything was going [[?]] on a map as he was reported from place [[?]] what his machine could do I was satisfied [[?ter]] with the engine. [[?]] was delightful. [[?]] the transcontinental one, and I am sure [[?]] encouraged him from the beginning to take [[incomplete]] OVINGTON'S OWN STORY Continued From the First Page me. Rarely is it possible for a man to gain honors at home. Invariably he must go abroad. I was fortunate, however, for here in Boston I have had my greatest success. The only regret I have on the day's flying was that Stone met with an accident. One likes to win, but I would much prefer to have had to fight all the way with Stone and then lose, than have a game and willing little chap like Stone meet with such a simple accident and be unable to proceed. He actually thought that he would win and, being without fear as regards the dangerous course, it is a pity that he had such tough luck. I wish him better luck next time FOUND PROVIDENCE CROWD "CRAZY WITH JOY." The flight was a hard one and there is no question but what if a man had trouble in some spots he might have been worried before he got a landing place, but if a man is to fly cross country he must expect to take his chances. You cannot always have a lawn of a 10-acre size to land upon. One objection I had to the management of the affair, and that was the way the crowd overran the field at Providence. There it was positively dangerous. Thousands swooped upon the field the moment I landed, but the real trouble was when I tried to start from there to Boston. The field was packed with people and when I started the crowds were within 15 feet of my wings and about 50 yards in front. Fortunately I knew that my engine was working like a charm or I would not have dared to leave the field. If it had stopped after it once left the ground, God only knows what injury it might have caused. However, one cannot blame the people for running over the field. They simply went crazy with joy, and I must say that the reception they gave me will be long remembered. At Nashua and Worcester, and of course at Atlantic, where it [[?]] expected, the conditions were excellent. At Nashua the only ones inside the horse track where I came down were a handful of officials and a few newspaper men as well as two photographers. I had all the room I wanted and I must say that the police at Nashua, Manchester and other New Hampshire cities who were on the job are entitled to great credit for the masterly manner in which they handled the thousands of spectators. I was told it was the greatest crowd that ever attended the fair, being estimated at 50,000, and I believe it. When I arrived at Worcester the same excellent policing ruled, but in that city it was even more strict as regards persons on the field. About the only man I saw was Mr L. J. Sweeney, a Globe reporter. He stole a march on the other newspaper men, for he gave me a message to deliver to Mr Philpott, the Globe aviation editor at Atlantic. I carried it all the way in my pocket, and when I reached the field at Squantum the first Massachusetts aeroplane mail delivery was completed. My congratulations to Worcester for the way the police handle a crowd. FALLS BACK ON COMPASS. My watch showed that the time was a few seconds past 10 minutes after 1 o'clock when starter Peck fired the gun that made my mechanics turn the propeller of my monoplane at Atlantic. Like a flash the engine took on the first turn, and with the seven cylinders working perfectly I raised my hand for the mechanics to let go the fusilage and my Bleriot was off. A short dash and the racing wings took the air. The machine left the ground and I was on my way. I thought that I knew the course, at least as far as Lowell, and to make sure I brought a map. It was my intention to follow the railroad and the rivers, but I soon found that either my memory was at fault or that I did not know the route. It did not agree with the map and after trying to locate [[?markers]] by the map I decided that I would give up trying to fly by map or memory and fall back on the compass, the friend of the marine on sea or air. I should have done that in the first place and would have saved much distance. PEOPLE LIKE LILLIPUTIANS The wind was surprisingly strong and I went up 700 feet and found that it was blowing almost 40 miles an hour. My engined worked beautifully [[?]] and turned for miles without a [[?]]. After being in the air about 40 minutes I decided that I must be somewhere in the neighborhood of Nashua and began to keep a sharp lookout. After a time I saw a little hollow with a ring of people packed solid. Everything appeared to be lilliputian, but I decided that it must be the place, otherwise so many persons would never be congregated there. I began to gradually point the machine toward the ground, and soon was convinced that I had reached the first control. The air was clear as a bell and one could see for miles. When I got down to within a few hundred feet of the ground I saw that not only had I found the place, but had approached it at a perfect angle to cross the tape. In fact, I barely shut off my engine and [[?glided]] across the finish line, being [[?]] the time, I believe, not more than a yard or so from the turf. I was fortunate in making such a perfect landing, for the machine was not [[?red]] in the least. Wife Wants to Hear His Voice. The officials were very kind and considerate and offered to do anything for [[?my]] comfort, after which they brought me up in the stand used in the trotting races and from there introduced me to the big crowd that packed the grandstand and homestretch of the half-mile track. From there I tried to 'phone my wife to let her know I was safe, but had to compromise on a telegram. There is a little story attached me telephoning my wife, for now I [[?just]] always do it. At Chicago I fell into lake Michigan and some well intentioned person said I made a beautiful landing on a vast lawn. Now she [[?must]] hear my voice to be satisfied that all is well. After complying with the rules of flying one hour at the control I again climbed into my machine, prepared to [[?]] the route that was pronounced dangerous; and to be candid it was not by any means one that could be considered perfect. Still, as I remarked before, the bitter must be taken with the sweet, when all make a whole. Luckily I did not have to try and determine for my own or any other person's satisfaction if it would have been hazardous to have tried to make [[?landing]]. I was not thinking of any [[?ng]], for after I left the fair grounds [[?]] New Hampshire behind me I headed [[?ht]] up and climbed to about 3000 [[?]] feet. It was "Let her go," [[?de]] on the compass for direction, and [[?]] volplane if I had to go down. [[?on]] Like Round Boat in Lake. [[?]] regard to Worcester I want to [[?]] that the idea of having a captive [[?]] for a guide was a most excellent one. At Nashua and other places [[?]] had smoke bombs, but they were [[?ately]] useless. When I decided that I had covered enough ground to be in the neighborhood of Worcester I circled down gradually and the first thing that caught my eye was a large round object that looked for all the world like a round [[?n]] in the middle of a lake. [[?For]] a minute or two I actually began to think what kind of a freak mind had [[?]] devised a round boat. Then it dawned upon me that the object must [[?have been]] balloon, and so it was. From that time it was a simple matter to [[?make]] the finishing line where I realized [[?that]] half the trip had been completed [[?]] landing, however, was not as [[?good]] a one as at Nashua, but as there was no harm done–in fact, it only being not so gentle as the previous one–I had no complaint to make. As in Nashau the committee was extremely courteous and the applause of the crowd when I was introduced from the vaudeville stage will long be fresh in my memory. From Worcester the trip to Providence was without incident. I had flown high and got over the mistake of trying to locate rivers and railroads, for the first were not discernible and the latter looked like highways and highways resembled railroads. At Narragansett park I met the over-enthusiastic crowd. They simply were flying mad. Their hearts were warm and they did not realize the danger they were in and in which they placed me. There I met Gov Pothier and his staff. If I ever line in Rhode Island and his excellency is running for office he will be sure to get my vote. Flies at Hight of More Than a Mile. They say that Rhode Island is the smallest state in the union, but if that is so, then from the crowd I saw it must have more population to the square inch than any other state has to the square foot. I don't know where all the people came from. When I bid adieu to Narragansett park I pointed the Dragon Fly toward the sky, for I realized that the cold air of the higher altitudes had a tendency to keep the motor cold as well as half freezing me. The motor, however, was of the greatest consideration and when I passed over what I judge by the distance must have been Attleboro I was more than a mile in the air. I was so high that I then commenced to gradually nose her down, but at that I was flying so high that I never saw Blue Hill, although I was sure I was headed for it. If I did see it I possibly did not recognize it. I could dimly discern the smoke of Boston but was unable to see the aviation field. That I was near it I knew, for I could see the coast line. A few more miles and I saw the field and Tommy Sopwith, the English aviator, carrying a passenger. It was kind of Tommy to come out and meet me, and both he and Grahame-White as well as Ely and Beatty gave me a most hearty welcome when I alighted. Mayor Fitzgerald was among the first to greet me, and what the crowd did in the way of applauding my flight was simply great. The only trouble I had on the whole trip was in trying to keep warm. It was bitter cold and I suffered severely. It gave me a great pleasure to congratulate Lieut Milling for his splendid flight. He was out to beat me but lost his way at historic Concord. Earle L. Ovington [[image]] Ovington Swooping Down Upon The Field at Atlantic at Sunset STONE'S FLYING RECORD. Did Good Work at Long Island and Chicaco–Plunge Into Lake Michigan One of His Experiences. Arthur B. Stone, who left Atlantic in the second of the monoplanes which started in the big race yesterday, is one of the late additions to the ranks of the professional flyers. He qualified as a pilot only a little more than a month ago. At the present meet at Atlantic he has three Queen monoplanes with him, and prior to this he did some good flying at Long Island and then at the big meet in Chicago. Stone uses Gnome motors in all his monoplanes. One of his 50-horse power machines is a passenger-carrying car. At Chicago, on Aug 12, Stone and his mechanician fell 45 feet when a sudden gust of wind overturned the monoplane in which they were ascending. Both fell under the wreckage when the aeroplane struck the ground, but as the engine missed them they were not dangerously hurt. On Aug 17, while flying well out over lake Michigan at the Chicago meet, Stone's engine failed him when at a hight of [[?1000]] feet and the machine began plunging toward the water. Stone dove from his car when within [[?30]] feet of the surface and escaped entanglement with the aeroplane. He wore a life preserver and managed to keep afloat for the half hour it required for a tug to come up and rescue him.
Transcription Notes:
Almost identical scan to page 26
