News Bytes
May-July 1998
Our Winds Are Always Steady Joseph J. Dosher, William J. Tate, Wilbur Wright, Orville Wright
Mr. J. J. Dosher of the Weather Bureau here has asked me to answer your letter to him, relative to the fitness of Kitty Hawk as a place to practice or experiment with a flying machine, etc.
In answering I would say that you would find here nearly any type of ground you could wish; you could, for instance, get a stretch of sandy land one mile by five with a bare hill in center 80 feet high, not a tree or bush anywhere to break the evenness
of the wind current. This in my opinion would be a fine place; our winds are always steady, generally from 10 to 20 miles velocity per hour.
You can reach here from Elizabeth City, N.C. (35 miles from here) by boat direct from Manteo 12 miles from here by mail boat every Mon., Wed. & Friday. We have Telegraph communication & daily mails. Climate healthy, you could find good place to
pitch tents & get board in private family provided there were not too many in your party; would advise you to come any time from September 15 to October 15. Don't wait until November. The autumn generally gets a little rough by November.
If you decide to try your machine here & come I will take pleasure in doing all I can for your convenience & success & pleasure, & I assure you you will find a hospitable people when you come among us.
Fragmentary Memorandum by Wilbur Wright circa September 13, 1900
Left Dayton Thurs. eve. at 6:30 over Big Four and C.& O. Arrived at Old Point about six o'clock p.m. the next day, and went over to Norfolk via the steamer <i>Pennsylvania</i>. Put up at the Monticello Hotel. Spent Saturday morning trying to find some spruce for parts of machine, but was unsuccessful. Finally I bought some white pine and had it sawed up at J. E. Etheridge Co. mill. Cumpston Goffigon, the foreman, very accommodating. The weather was near 100 Fahr. and I nearly collapsed. At 4:30 left for Eliz. City and put up at the Arlington where I spent several days waiting for a boat to Kitty Hawk. No one seemed to know anything about the place or how to get there. At last on Tuesday left. I engaged passage with Israel Perry on
his flat-bottom schooner fishing boat. As it was anchored about three miles down the river we started in his skiff which was loaded almost to the gunwale with three men, my heavy trunk and lumber. The boat leaked very badly and frequently dipped water
, but by constant bailing we managed to reach the schooner in safety. The weather was very fine with a light west wind blowing. When I mounted the deck of the larger boat I discovered at a glance that it was in worse condition if possible than the skiff. The sails were rotten, the ropes badly worn and the rudderpost half rotted off, and the cabin so dirty and vermin-infested that I kept out of it from first to last. The wind became very light, making progress slow. Though we had started immediately
after dinner it was almost dark when we passed out of the mouth of the Pasquotank and headed down the sound. The water was much rougher than the light wind would have led us to expect, and Israel spoke of it several times and seemed a little uneasy. After a time the breeze shifted to the south and east and gradually became stronger. The boat was quite unfitted for sailing against a head wind owing to the large size of the cabin, the lack of load, and its flat bottom. The waves which were now running quite high struck the boat from below with a heavy shock and threw it back about as fast as it went forward. The leeway was greater than the headway. The strain of rolling and pitching sprung a leak and this, together with what water came over the bow at times, made it necessary to bail frequently. At 11 o'clock the wind had increased to a gale and the boat was gradually being driven nearer and nearer the north shore, but as an attempt to turn round would probably have resulted in an upset there seemed nothing else to do but attempt to round the North River light and take refuge behind the point. In a severe gust the foresail was blown loose from the boom and fluttered to leeward with a terrible roar. The boy and I finally succeeded in taking it in though it was rather dangerous work in the dark with the boat rolling so badly. By the time we had reached a position even with the end of the point it became doubtful whether we would be able to round the light, which lay at the end of the bar e
xtending out a quarter of a mile from the shore. The suspense was ended by another roaring of the canvas as the mainsail also tore loose from the boom, and shook fiercely in the gale. The only chance was to make a straight run over the bar under nothing but a jib, so we took in the mainsail and let the boat swing round stern to the wind. This was a very dangerous maneuver in such a sea but was in some way accomplished without capsizing. The waves were very high on the bar and broke over the stern very badly. Israel had been so long a stranger to the touch of water upon his skin that it affected him very much.
Our nights in Kitty Hawk are interesting and, were there not so many of them, not unpleasant. A little excitement once in a while is not undesirable, but every night, especially when you are so sleepy, it becomes a little monotonous. This is "just befo
re the battle," sister, just before the squall begins. About two or three nights a week we have to crawl up at ten or eleven o'clock to hold the tent down. When one of these 45-mile nor'easters strikes us, you can depend on it, there is little sleep in
our camp for the night. Expect another tonight. We have just passed through one which took up two or three wagonloads of sand from the N.E. end of our tent and piled it up eight inches deep on the flying machine, which we had anchored about fifty feet
southwest. The wind shaking the roof and sides of the tent sounds exactly like thunder. When we crawl out of the tent to fix things outside the sand fairly blinds us. It blows across the ground in clouds. We certainly can't complain of the place. We c
ame down here for wind and sand, and we have got them.
We spent half the morning yesterday in getting the machine out of the sand. When we finally did get it free, we took it up the hill, and made a number of experiments in a twenty-five-mile wind. We have not been on the thing since the first time we had
it out, but merely experiment with the machine alone, sometimes loaded with seventy-five pounds of chains. We tried it with tail in front, behind, and every other way. When we got through, Will was so mixed up he couldn't even theorize. It has been wit
h considerable effort that I have succeeded in keeping him in the flying business at all. He likes to chase buzzards, thinking they are eagles, and chicken hawks, much better.
Today we took the machine about a mile below camp to some small steep hills to try gliding. The wind died out before we got there so all our experiments had to be made with the machine alone--no one on it. We let it up about four or five feet from the
brow of the hill and then started it forward over the embankment. We were greatly pleased with the results excepting a few little accidents to the machine. It would glide out over the side at a height of 15 or twenty feet for about 30 feet, gaining, we
think, in altitude all the while. After going about 30 feet out, it would sometimes turn up a little too much in front, when it would start back, increasing in speed as it came, and whack the side of the hill with terrific force. The result generally
was a broken limb somewhere, but we hastily splint the breaks and go ahead. If the wind is strong enough and comes from the northeast, we will probably go down to the Kill Devil Hills tomorrow, where we will try gliding on the machine.
I am sitting on our chicken coop writing this letter. The coop has never had a chicken in it yet, but we hope to have two tomorrow morning. Trying to camp down here reminds me constantly of those poor Arctic explorers. We are living nearly the whole ti
me on reduced rations. Once in a while we get a mess of fish, and if our stuff comes about the same time from Elizabeth City--which stuff consists of canned tomatoes, peaches, condensed milk, flour and bacon & butter--we have a big blowout or, as t
he Africans would say, "a big full." But it only lasts a day. We are expecting to have a big blowout tomorrow when we get those two chickens. We have just appointed the Kitty Hawk storekeeper our agent to buy us anything he can get hold of, in any quan
tities he can get, in the line of fish, eggs, wild geese or ducks. We have had biscuits, molasses, coffee, and rice today. Tomorrow morning we will have biscuits (made without either eggs or milk), coffee, and rice. The economics of this place were so
nicely balanced before our arrival that everybody here could live and yet nothing be wasted. Our presence brought disaster to the whole arrangement. We, having more money than the natives, have been able to buy up the whole egg product of the town and
about all the canned goods in the store. I fear some of them will have to suffer as a result.
Speaking about money reminds me of a pretty good one Tom the fisherman got off a few days ago when I asked him who was the richest man in Kitty Hawk. "Dr. Cogswell," he replied. "How much has he?" I inquired. "Why, his brother owes him fifteen thousand
dollars," and the young fisherman thought the question settled. Tom is a small chap . . . that can tell more big yarns than any kid of his size I ever saw. We took a picture of him as he came along the other day on his way home from the beach with a d
rum almost as large as he. The drum is a salt-water fish.
It is now after eight and "time to be abed." A cold nor'easter is blowing tonight, and I have seen warmer places than it is in this tent. We each of us have two blankets, but almost freeze every night. The wind blows in on my head, and I pull the blank
ets up over my head, when my feet freeze, and I reverse the process. I keep this up all night and in the morning am hardly able to tell "where I'm at" in the bedclothes. From this on we are going to run the stove at nights--at least from midnight on, w
hich heats up the tent pretty well. In spite of all these little drawbacks, I have been getting in from nine to ten hours of sleep every night--except the storm nights, when I'm either up running around outside the tent or in bed awake (with my clothes
on) expecting to see the tent get up and fly away every minute. Them's interesting times, but rather hard on sleep. There is no news here, except that Mr. Calhoun the storekeeper has just sold out and will leave Kitty Hawk tomorrow. He is the most int
eresting character I have found here. He is an old man, broken down in health, who came here to seek recovery. "It was the greatest mistake of my life," he always tells you, "and I will die here before I am able to get away." He was not greatly beloved
by the Kitty Hawkers, but was pretty well liked by us foreigners. I'm out of paper. Will start Tuesday for home.
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