CHAPTER ONE: A DREAM; AND A REALITY.

Tuesday,  Late Afternoon;  August/20/1839.

A farmer’s fallow field, 14 kilometers south of Paris, France…

As  a newly appointed Professor of Physics and lecturer at the Ecole Polytechnique, Charles-Philippe Valcour looked a little out-of-place wearing high-quality gentleman’s clothing while treading over a muddy parcel of land overgrown with weeds, flowers and wild grasses where he was accompanied by four, burly sweat-stained local laborers who were hauling a fairly large mechanical winged-contraption of his out into the center of the field where it was safely deposited after much strain and cursing. The exhausting effort was not unexpected considering that the device carried was an unmanned helicoptere prototype that weighed around 330 pounds empty and had been carried 100′s of meters from a disused barn nearby where it had been assembled and stored for over a period of 26 months.

The gangly-looking machine had a central shaft that jutted up more than shoulder-high from the mechanical guts congregated at the base to keep a low center-of gravity. Two ‘wings’ carved out of ash wood, spanning six meters, sprouted out from the top of the shaft. They added an unexpected measure of difficulty when the apparatus was moved, converting the jarring rocking motions into amplified wing undulations that threatened to overpower the four men struggling to hold the machine as steady as possible .

The wing’s still continued to flex and sway a while, even after it had been lowered gently to the ground. The craft was very Spartan in design;  Professor Valcour had tried to keep weight and expense to a minimum. Alas, the single piston & cylinder acid-gas engine and its connecting crankrods, flywheel-gear, valves, gauges and integrated carbon dioxide gas-generating tank seemed to defy that goal. Together, the engine and its gas-generating and pressurizing tank made up two-thirds of the empty weight.

The tank, a slim rectangular wrought-iron box braced with rectangular iron ‘hoops’ on the outside, lined with wax on the inside, was for the time being left open on top. The rectangular iron lid that would hopefully seal it airtight was set within easy reach. The 70-liter-volume tank was awaiting a container of hydrochloric acid and a limestone block that it was intended to dissolve. The wait wouldn’t be long.

The four muscular laborers were already trudging back to the barn where those items awaited, and some other material as well.  Charles-Philippe joined them, showing no aversion to getting his hands and his fine clothing a little dirty. He shouldered a 25-kilogram rectangular block of limestone, while his four hired workmen carried lengthy rolls of rope. At the intended demonstration site, one of the younger workers, having laid down his burden of rope, assisted the professor in carefully lowering the moderately-heavy  limestone block in to the bowels of the acid-gas generating vessel, depositing it with great care onto the wax at the bottom.

About an hour later all five men were with exceedingly great caution manhandling an unusually designed, large glass container filled with a highly-corrosive mixture of 33 percent hydrochloric acid. Charles-Philippe used a rubber-lined cotton & canvas shroud to sling and to carry the brittle container. He knew that should the glass vessel break and the highly-corrosive liquid gush out, the rubber lining in the sling could offer brief but welcome protection against serious acid burns, giving him and his men an opportunity to flee the danger zone reasonably unscathed. From that day on the then youthful Professor of Physics would always resort to the use of protective  rubber articles or garments when it came to handling large quantities of highly-concentrated acids.

Their diligence and caution paid off. As several visitors and witnesses looked on, including a distinguished professor of mechanics from the prestigious Faculte des Sciences in Paris, the five burdened men using belts warily lowered the hazardous 165-pound-weight container and contents down onto a retractable, removable metal cradle inside the tank. The sigh of relief that swept over those present was most palpable.

A stone’s throw away, one of the onlookers leaned his head and whispered to another witness nearby, “That young professeur is clearly mad, I say – He’s clearly mad. I read the newspaper account about this outrageous project of his. The writer explained that he has spent over two-thousand francs on this folly over the last two years. It’s madness! Do you agree?” The glib naysayer provoked an unexpected reaction from the well-dressed middle-aged man whom he had whispered to. Calmly ceasing his sketch of the scene for the moment, an illustration accompanied by numerous notes written in on the margins of the broad white sheet it was on, he slowly deliberately turned to face the skeptic, giving him a look bordering on pity. “And pray tell, what newspaper was this article written in? It couldn’t have been Le Journal des Debats?”  The scorner creased his face disdainfully, “I don’t read that royal rag! I wouldn’t pay a centime for a year’s supply of that publication. Would you?” The middle-aged artist and writer grinned menacingly out of one corner of his mouth, “So you don’t like my father’s publication, eh? My name is Francois Edouard Bertin. Do I have to tell you, friend, who my father is?” The young skeptic’s face suddenly blossomed in alarm. Keenly aware of his foolishly rash utterances he hastened to put as much distance between himself and Monsieur Bertin as possible. Francois sighed and immediately resumed his interrupted sketch-work, writing down additional notes for his father’s newspaper as well.

Professor Valcour was too busy and out of earshot range to have heard the negative comments whispered.  It wouldn’t have mattered. He had heard and read plenty of derogatory remarks made about him and his project over the past two years.  Even his wife questioned his sanity of late. While that stung him immensely, he was also profoundly disappointed, even deeply hurt that his close friend and fellow Polytechnique alumnus, George-Richard Marchand appeared to distance himself from the project lately, excusing himself from being present that day. Because of the widespread ridicule that Charles was subjected to, the French military also distanced itself from the project, to the delight of his wife.

He shrugged it off. The past three years had been good to him, and to other members of his father’s household. His wife Charlotte had delivered their first child in September, 1837; a son named Edouard-Philippe. That same year, Charles had his first science-paper published. A year later he performed experiments with a modified bell-jar fitted with an electromagnet which he used to drop iron disks down onto an adjustable electric-wire rigged platform to measure the gravitational acceleration value at Earth’s surface to a  hitherto unmatched precision of  9 meters & 81/100ths of a meter per-second squared. That resulted in a second published science paper and brought him to the attention of the French Academy of Sciences.

Unfortunately his controversial helicoptere project appeared to doom his chances of becoming a member. It was only due to the the intervention of  and sponsorship from the renowned Professors Biot, Gay-Lussac and Poncelet that Charles was able to obtain tenure at his alma mater, grudgingly admitted to the faculty of sciences at the Polytechnique in the spring of 1839 as a junior professor. He was only 29-years-old at the time  and was subject to scorn & condescending remarks from his older colleagues because of his youth. Charles pointed out that one of his former mentors, the late Andre Ampere had been appointed professor of mathematics at l’Universite de Lyon when he was only 29 as well.

Charles Valcour had to admit that the past two years had been rough on him: straining his marriage; draining his savings to the point where he had to borrow money from his ailing father, Jean, as well as from his uncle, Gaston. His 27-year-old brother, Henri, had too many obligations to his own growing family to contribute financially. With Jean-Philippe Valcour increasingly unable to perform the hard physical  labor demanded of him in his new enlarged workshop, due to his worsening arthritis, Henri was saddled with the increased responsibility for both the day-to-day management of and the hands-on work required of him at his father’s place of business. There were hired hands to pay as well. He did set aside enough time aside however to collaborate with Monsieur Carbonneau’s metalworking family to make the 10-centimeter bore cast-iron cylinder, the fitted piston,  and the accompanying crankrods and flywheel gear cast and machine-tooled according to the drawings & specifications that Charles sent by correspondence. Uncle Gaston and Charles’ youngest brother, Maurice, dropped off the completed items during the summer of 1838 at the rented barn that he used to assemble the exotic machine. Maurice helped his brother out with the assembly for a few weeks before he departed to become a cadet at the Ecole Navale. He was only 17-years-old at the time, barely squeaking through the entrance exams and other admission requirements. Charles appreciated the help, despite his misgivings about his brother’s desire to become a sea captain. They parted amiably though. Neither realized it would be another eleven years before they would see each other again…

Nearly all the hard manual work, financial sacrifices and engineering frustrations were behind him as he overcame a brief struggle to insert a latching-hook connecting a short metal plug screwed into a drain-tube on one of the lower corners of the large squared tablet-shaped glass container inside the pressurizing tank to an adjacent, longer screw-threaded plug, itself inserted into a threaded metal sleeve integrated into the wrought-iron shell of the 70-liter vessel. “Voila! It’s done!” Charles exclaimed, clearly satisfied with the way things had gone so far that afternoon. He immediately eyed the efforts of his youthful assistant, the youngest of the four hired-hands who had just finished latching down the glass vessel and removing the containment stopper on its topside, making sure the 23-year old worker had carried out all his assigned tasks satisfactorily.  Noting Charles’ silent approval, the young man asked, “Do you want me to put the lid back on this tank next, Professeur? Or do you want me to begin applying the lubricating grease on the gears and crankrods?” Professor Valcour turned his head first one way, then the other, taking time to carefully observe the three other laborers fastening ropes to the machine’s outriggers. He slowly thoughtfully nodded, “The lid – - – It goes on next – - – Make sure it’s clean! – Make sure it sits correctly on the wax sealant!” he firmly admonished, adding, “I’ll go get the fastening screws and the screw driver.”

It took less than forty minutes to get the pressuring tank sealed and secured. By then the four ropes carried to the site had been secured.  the young professor waved off his assistant who went over to his preassigned position at the end of one of the ropes while Charles Valcour remained under the helicoptere propellers where, using the same screwdriver that he had used to secure the ribbed metal lid to the top of the tank with, he begin to turn & partially draw out the long screw-threaded plug on the side of  the carbon-dioxide generating vessel, simultaneously turning & finally completely drawing out the shorter screw-threaded plug from the drain-tube near the bottom of  the large glass container inside. The 33-percent hydrochloric acid solution began to gush out inside the sealed tank, sloshing about  at the bottom and bathing the limestone block. The vigorous corrosive action on the rapidly dissolving and frothing solid steadily and increasingly yielded salts, water, heat and carbon dioxide gas. The “fixed air”, as Professor Valcour called it, relentlessly built up pressure inside the tank. He could clearly see the stick-like measurement-indicator rising in the internal-pressure gauge. “Two atmospheres.” he announced, speaking  softly to himself. Shortly thereafter: “Three atmospheres.” He turned his head sharply and shouted, “PROFESSEUR PONCELET!! GET THE CHRONOGRAPH READY!! I’LL WAVE MY RIGHT ARM ONCE AS A SIGNAL!!” Professor Jean-Victor Poncelet, being the only other professional scientist on site that day,  standing more than 30 meters from the machine observing, obediently reached into his coat and pulled out an expensive precision timepiece containing a stopwatch mechanism and set it at zero seconds. He waved, acknowledging his fellow professor, “UNDERSTOOD, PROFESSEUR VALCOUR!! I’M READY!!”

With that, Charles turned, reached out and nervously took hold of the pressurized-gas release lever, tightening his fingers around it as he crouched. His stooped legs beginning to ache badly. “Five atmospheres.” he whispered anxiously to himself. He could hear the metal container groaning in protest as the internal pressure climbed relentlessly. “Six atmospheres.” Immediately he gave the lever a sharp yank and then thrust up his right arm, waving once. That done, awkwardly crouching, he scrambled out from beneath the now menacing propellers and started to trot over towards the Professor of Mechanics from the Faculte des Sciences. Charles had barely turned his back to the machine when he heard a loud blast coming from the first discharge of the highly-pressurized gas; simultaneously noticing the shifting shadow cast by the helicoptere propellers as they grudgingly began to spin. By the time he rose to his feet, out of reach of the spinning blades as he started jogging over to his academic peer, the blasts of expelled carbon dioxide gas, though much reduced in intensity for a short time, came at ever shorter intervals. The propeller blades were energetically spun up the first couple of seconds while the initial gas-pressure remained high.  Then the pressure dropped dramatically, slowing the build up of rotational speed. But speed up they did, however slowly for a little while.

The forces applied by the evolving gas on the piston steadily built up the intensity and frequency of the ‘swishing’ sounds Charles heard as he took his place beside Professor Poncelet. “Fifteen seconds.” Professor Valcour’s colleague called out moments later. Both were aware that the pressure in the tank was building up again. “Twenty seconds.” Charles nervously fidgeted with his fingers, anxious that the “spinning wings”, the propeller blades, appeared to be spinning too slowly to his liking at somewhere around two to three rotations per-second according to his crude estimation. “Twenty-five seconds.” The professor’s voice rising as the climbing pressure values drove up the din once more, threatening to drown out the slow-tempo throbbing fluttering sounds the propellers now made. “Thirty seconds!” The propellers were now spinning fast enough to  make an intense staccato chattering sound. Pollen & dust began to be blown about into swirling clouds; the vegetation nearby was rippled by the strong air blasts. “THIRTY-FIVE SECONDS!”  The props now appeared to blur into a disk. A sharp ‘whacking’ sound was heard accompanied by a deep bass rumbling drone. A couple of seconds later the craft hesitantly rose off the ground.

As it rose, the four startled and frightened laborers had the presence of mind to tighten their grip on each of the ropes that they were commanded to hold fast and taut; told to slacken the ropes only if the machine were to rise above shoulder height. A few seconds passed and the machine’s base was seen levitated to a height easily surpassing two meters; and the craft continued to climb. The four strong hired-hands struggled to restrain the craft’s unexpected tendency to counter-rotate; overcoming it with great effort as the machine rose a little higher still. Then suddenly the last of the pressurized carbon dioxide gas was vented; the roar of the props immediately diminishing in intensity and acoustic pitch. The helicoptere at once ceased climbing and started to descend. A couple of seconds later the loud chattering of the props swiftly vanished, leaving the decelerating propellers with a quieter whispering fluttering sound as the contraption leisurely descended to the ground.  From lift-off to alighting back on terra firma, no more than 20 seconds had elapsed. Back on the ground, the machine’s propellers continued to whirl around, but at an ever reduced tempo. A minute later, the helicoptere was quiet and nearly motionless. Small and diminishing quantities of steam were seen emanating out of one of the cylinder’s exhaust vents, the vapor and its heat a byproduct of the chemical reaction that had taken place in the machine’s now inert pressurizing tank.

For a few seconds after the machine settled back on the ground the small number of observers and witnesses present were left speechless. The four laborers, emotionally and physically exhausted, let go their ropes. They and their ropes fell to the ground almost simultaneously; the men plunking down on the soft earth with their buttocks, their faces alive with relief. The artist-journalist, Francois Bertin, his mouth agape, numbly let go his pencil and large sketch-pad. It was his emotional state instead of conscious thought that compelled him to start clapping; slowly at first. The others present quickly joined in the impromptu applause, even the skeptic started to vigorously clap. That naysayer uttered to no one in particular, “I knew it would work! I just knew it!” The only two individuals who didn’t participate were the two professors.

The senior of the two scientists had carefully observed both the passing seconds indicated on his handheld chronograph and the helicoptere while it was in motion. Having clicked off the precision time-piece at the precise moment of time required, pausing only long enough to confirm the position of the second hand, he nonchalantly slipped the analog stopwatch back inside his coat and immediately whipped out a pencil and small notebook. Ignoring Charles for the time being, who was himself making some important observations, he dutifully penciled down the details he needed to record. At last, lifting his eyes from the open page, with the smattering of applause already heard in the background, Professor Poncelet cracked a faint smile and then calmly told his colleague, “Forty-six seconds – - – The acid-gas engine was in operation for forty-six seconds according to my chronograph – - – It took thirty-seven seconds for the acid-gas engine to build up the rotational speed of the spinning wings – - – and nine seconds of time where actual powered-lift and ascension took place.” Charles gave his colleague a listless nod. “Merci, Professeur.” Puzzled, Professor Poncelet’s face furrowed slightly. “What’s wrong, my friend?” he asked, “The demonstration went quite well I think. How high do you estimate the helicoptere ascended?” Charles Valcour wearily pointed to a 10-meter-tall wooden post planted a safe distance behind the now reposing machine. “Using that post I estimate that the helicoptere rose to a maximum elevation of – just a little over five meters off the ground.” he weakly growled out, sighing faintly. The senior professor showed a flash of annoyance. Pushing that feeling aside, giving Professor Valcour a pleading look instead, he grasped the pencil and notebook in one hand and encouragingly clamped on to one of Charles’ shoulders with the other. “Listen, Professeur Valcour! You have brought glory to the Polytechnique! Our alma mater! – - – You have achieved the first, sustained, powered flight by an heavier-than-air machine – device – vehicle! Whatever you want to call it! You have made history! If it were up to me alone, I would honor you with immediate admission into the Academie des sciences!” Charles-Philippe Valcour momentarily grinned in embarrassment, being caught off guard by the artless praise. The younger scientist could see that his older colleague was utterly sincere in what he said. Charles had never seen Professor Poncelet so emotionally passionate; the man had a reputation for being analytically dispassionate instead.  His face,  showing its age, bearing a trimmed graying beard, couldn’t conceal his strong emotions. But the compelling appeal only made Charles feel more agonizingly torn inside emotionally. “Merci, Professeur Poncelet, but there is not much future for this acid-gas engine, especially when it comes to the matter of mechanical means of flight. I don’t think I will work on an improved helicoptere design. Even an improved acid-gas engine won’t help matters out much. The military has lost interest in the helicoptere for one thing.  And even if I were to employ this invention in the role of public amusement or spectacle, that would be little solace for my efforts.”

The senior professor was about to respond when one-by-one the small number of other witnesses present came over and heartily extended their congratulations, expressed their great relief, or both. Professor Poncelet was finally able to resume his conversation with his younger colleague uninterrupted. “You say that there is no future for this acid-gas engine? I don’t dispute that this initial primitive version over there has severe limitations, especially since you were using dilute muriatic acid. But remember this! Waterwheels were primitive and inefficient for many centuries, then!” Professor Poncelet added, pointing to himself, subtly smirking, “I made some improvements to them.” Charles, scowling in frustration, vigorously waving his hand in protest. “No! no! no! The analogy is well-meaning, but does not apply! Even if I were to have used one-hundred percent pure muriatic acid, if it could have been safely prepared and handled, with an correspondingly increased mass of chalk, I would barely have achieved half-a-minute of powered flight. Larger engines, with more power? Maybe a minute of powered flight would be possible – and that’s it!” Charles brusquely concluded. “You have invested hundreds of hours of your precious time, and some two-thousand francs designing and building that helicoptere – - – So what are you planning to do now with the flying machine and its acid-gas engine?” Professor Poncelet hesitantly asked, showing concern. Charles Valcour put his hand to his face, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly; finally replying, “I won’t break it to pieces, if that’s your concern. I will store the engine someplace. If someone in the future wants to use it, or the technology that went into it, they can have it.” Professor Poncelet looked relieved. “That’s commendable.” he remarked, “You do have a very productive and inventive mind, my friend – - – By the way,” he added, “that mechanical amusement that you invented and patented; the chronokinetoscope? I bought one of those devices last week for one of my grandnephews. He loves the repetitive moving images of the illustrated mime.” Charles smiled and nodded. “I’m glad he likes it.”  he breathed out in appreciation.

“So what project suits your fancy now?” Charles’ senior colleague inquired wearily. Professor Valcour was hesitant to reply. His older colleague had to prompt him a couple of times. “Rockets.” he finally explained, “If the helicoptere is not a genuinely practical technology at this time, perhaps sending men aloft to respectable heights as observers, by means of rocket-propelled kites or gliding-wings, may be possible.” Professor Poncelet frowned skeptically, asking, “By gunpowder-filled rockets? They only burn a few seconds and are notoriously prone to explode unexpectedly.” Charles shook his head smugly, simpering as he explained, “No!  I wouldn’t use gunpowder. But I do know that when gunpowder is combusted, fixed air and sulphurous gases are rapidly formed from the grained or powdered ingredients and those hot gases produced expand in all directions under great pressure. I would think that a conical or perhaps hemispherical metal shell could admit nitrous acid as a source of oxygen, and perhaps spirits, or benzoil as fuel. The rapid combustion involving the acidic oxygen source and a liquid fuel inside that shell – or chamber would, like the burning of gunpowder, produce copious quantities of hot pressurized gas, as well as vapor – - – and it maybe possible to force both the acidic and combustible liquids into such a hollow shell or chamber by means of – - – pressurized fixed air. Maybe the - theoretically rapid and intense combustion involving such liquids can be sustained by such means for? – Half-a-minute? – Maybe a minute?” Charles confidently explained, breaking out in a sincere grin at last.

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POSTSCRIPT:

Professor Charles-Philippe Valcour was finally elected  a member of the prestigious Academie des sciences before year’s end. Also that same year he and his wife finally had a jointly researched and written science paper of theirs published; the subject matter being the interpretation of matter, the “corporeal substance”, as an independent quantity exclusive of weight in a hypothetical gravity-free environment; and inclusive with weight where gravity exists and its influence generates that force known as weight on an object at rest on a celestial body’s surface.

In addition,  there were some surprising and welcome results that emerged from the helicoptere demonstration. Charles was stunned to discover that the muriatic acid had created a thin protective layer on the exposed parts of the cast-iron plugs used. This unexpected development would result in him abandoning the idea of using expensive gold-plating on iron components intended to be used in different apparatus  for future projects.

The brief powered ascent of his helicoptere resulted in Professor Valcour’s name being published in many newspapers and magazines throughout France in the weeks following the unmanned test-flight.  His accomplishment was famed across the English Channel as well. The prestigious English aviation theorist, engineer and experimenter, Sir George Cayley wrote him a congratulatory letter; the contents of which also made mention of an invention that Professor Valcour and his friend, George Marchand had both received a patent on: “the artificial-wind tunnel.” Having heard about the apparatus from a friend in the Royal Society, George Cayley petitioned Charles to design, build and ship him a six-foot-long, two-foot-diameter clockwork-driven version of such an apparatus, enclosing a generous personal check for fifty Pounds Sterling to be redeemed at a Rothschild banking house in Paris.

The English aviation pioneer received the completed item in the autumn of 1840 which he subsequently used with some equipment of his own to measure lift and drag forces applied on a 1/20th scale model of a “gliding winged-carriage” that he was designing and developing. The full-size winged craft would be completed and carry a courageous young lad into the air from the slopes of a hill near Scarborough, Yorkshire, England in 1843.  Sir George Cayley was later to confess that Professor Valcour’s vertical flying machine encouraged and motivated him to pursue a different method of achieving flight, settling on gliding, ironically as a result of the successful demonstration of the helicoptere, and also because of the limitations of that vertically ascending craft. The English aviation engineer was quoted as saying that in his opinion it would have taken him another six years to design and built that gliding-craft of his without the aid of the “artificial-wind tunnel”. As a result of their common interest in aviation research, George Cayley and Professor Valcour became became lifelong friends.

The notable Englishman wasn’t the only one to write Charles a letter back in 1839. His Majesty King Louis-Philippe’s personal secretary sent him a gold-trimmed envelope with a message praising him for his achievement; and also containing a formal invitation for him and his wife to attend a banquet in his honor. Hundreds of letters arrived at Charles’ home that year; he did his best to answer them all. One letter in particular stuck out for him. It was written by an impressionable eleven-year-old boy from Nantes whose name was Jules Verne. The boy asked if a helicoptere was capable of crossing the Atlantic with passengers if it were large enough? if it had a set of extra spinning wings to give it horizontal push? and if it had more powerful engines? Professor Valcour took his time writing a reply, stating that any flying machine using acid-gas engines could never achieve such a thing. But he informed the youth that he could not dismiss the possibility that in the future, naphtha or turpentine vapors might be ignited by electric sparks in an engine cylinder, or several of them to generate many hours of powerful engine operation to make such a dream a reality.

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