Above (feature image): This archive photograph tells volumes about the personalities of Bertha Benz and her husband Carl.
A Firm Hand on the Tiller
Bertha Benz sets out to prove the practical value of her husband Carl’s invention and drives straight into history.
Article by Ulli Kampelmann
Images from Ulli Kampelmann and Daimler Archives
The air was cool in the hours before dawn on a Sunday in August as Bertha tiptoed out of the bedroom. She gathered her sons Eugen and Richard, and together they quietly pushed her husband’s automobile out of the shed, not starting it until they were out of earshot of the house.
The short note she left for her husband explained that they had gone to visit her mother. She knew that once he read her note, he would believe they’d taken the train from Mannheim to Pforzheim, 118 kilometers (73 miles) away. She also knew he would discover the truth soon enough; she respected her husband’s genius because he was not only a competent engineer, he had invented and assembled the first-ever gasoline-powered automobile in 1885, just three years before. Her husband was Carl Benz.
An image from the documentary produced by Ulli Kampelmann that re-enacted the historic journey of Frau Benz and her two boys, Eugen and Richard.
Bertha well knew that Carl would never allow such a long-distance trip in his Motorwagen, as he called it. Not only was its stability highly questionable, it was in fact illegal for her to drive it. The local officials had received so many complaints from the citizenry when he was testing it, they forbade him to drive his automobile anywhere outside of his own property. To guarantee compliance with this law, they posted guards at his front gate. The church bishop added his admonitions by circulating warnings against this new “witch’s carriage” or “devil’s carriage” and advised the populace to avoid even looking at it. So Carl simply parked it and stopped driving.
Still, Bertha had faith in her husband and his invention and knew that only a successful long-distance journey could convince Carl and the world that his Motorwagen was worthy of attention and deserved to become a marketable machine.
By the time Carl awoke, the trio was well away on the noisy single-piston Motorwagen. The term “one lunger” would not be coined for another 20 years or so. The sun was up, the birds were greeting the day and laborers and farmers began to populate the roads and fields. As the machine pang-pang-panged down the dusty track, people stopped and stared at this alien contraption. Most were flabbergasted, some even paralyzed with awe and fear. “How can that thing move without horses?” many of them wondered. Some even fell to their knees and wailed to God for salvation from this magical contraption.
The roads in these times were mostly cart paths; dusty in late summer with a strip of grass and weeds running down the middle. That was all well and good for a four-wheel horse cart, but Carl Benz had not yet solved the problem of steering with two front wheels so his earliest autos sported a single front wheel controlled by a tiller. The conditions made for a bumpy ride because the front wheel rode primarily on this grass strip.
A map of the first road trip.
The Motorwagen his family borrowed was Carl’s Model III, a larger, stronger and sturdier vehicle than the original Patent Motorwagen for which he had received a patent in 1886. The rear wheels were iron-rimmed wooden cart wheels and the front was a smaller wood wheel with a solid rubber tire. The driver sat on the left side of the forward-facing two-person seat. The steering tiller rose vertically from the center of the floor and was manipulated with the driver’s right hand. The combination throttle and brake lever was on the left side of the vehicle and was worked with the left hand. It was pushed forward to drive, pulled back to brake. The brake itself was simply a pair of wooden blocks that could be jammed against the rear wheels by linkages from the lever.
Bertha did most of the driving but 15-year-old Eugen helped and even 13-year-old Richard took the tiller at times. They were each well-practiced from the turns they took driving hither and yon across their large property as well as the occasional sunset drives through Mannheim before the driving restrictions were imposed.
A rendering of an image from the Kampelmann documentary.
The 5-liter fuel tank held ligroin, a volatile petroleum ether similar to gasoline and primarily used as a cleaning fluid and solvent. Their reserve tank was simply an oil can containing another few liters and stored under the seat. Overall, they carried a bit more than two and a half gallons of fuel when they stole away from Mannheim that morning. The Motorwagen was powered by a 1.5 horsepower 4-stroke engine capable of driving the vehicle 11 miles per hour on the flat stretches. On steeper hills, they sometimes needed to get off and push.
At one point they approached a cyclist – a man riding a velocipede of the sort with the enormous front wheel. As the man realized what he was encountering, he became terrified, turned off the road, dropped his cycle in a ditch and ran off into the field. Bertha and the boys could only laugh.
They made it as far as Heidelberg, approximately 20 kilometers into the journey, when they resorted to the reserve fuel. They managed another 13 kilometers when, entering Wiesloch, they ran completely out of fuel and the car sputtered to a stop. It was their first break to fuel up. Eugen and Richard pushed while Bertha steered the car into the town center, causing a stir amongst the townsfolk.
A reproduction of the Model III Motorwagen the Benzes drove from Mannheim to Pforzheim, parked in front of the Stadt-Apotheke (City Pharmacy) in Wiesloch.
Because gas stations wouldn’t even come into being for a number of decades, a pharmacy, called an apothecary in those days, was the only place to get fuel. They pushed the car right up to the front steps of the old Stadt-Apotheke (City Pharmacy). Bertha went up the stairs and knocked on the door. The pharmacist Mr. Ockel was pleased to help, and sold Bertha all the ligroin he kept on hand – about three liters – making this apothecary the very first official gas station in the world. They had enough ligroin to travel the next dozen miles.
As an aside, the Stadt-Apotheke in the center of Wiesloch, now in its 275th year of operation, is still preserved just as it looked when Bertha and the boys stopped there, and has become a gathering place for automobile enthusiasts. The current owners are happy to welcome you and describe the details of the pharmacy and Bertha’s historic drive.
The townsfolk of Wiesloch were highly curious about this contraption, but not fully aware of its potential because it was pushed into town. Once the auto was fueled up and Richard gave the large flywheel a spin to start its engine, the unmuffled banging and smoke so startled the people on the street they were left with mouths agape. One woman standing nearby crossed herself and began crying, “Help, help, the devil has come.” The dogs and horses, too, jumped away causing no end of confusion.
Bertha and her sons were happy to continue their trek through farms and forest toward the town of Bad Schönborn. During the drive Bertha shared some family stories with Eugen and Richard – stories of Johann Benz, their grandfather the train engineer who died in a train accident when Carl was only 2 years old. From him Carl had inherited five pocket watches, and obviously also received his deep and lasting love of transportation vehicles. As a young engineer, Carl Benz had constantly bent his mind to the problems of moving people and their possessions from one place to another. A friend of Carl’s from Mannheim was the owner of one of the earliest bicycles, a “boneshaker.” But his friend was unhappy with this wooden contrivance so he sold it to Carl. For Carl, a sportive 22-year-old, it was a dream. He rode all the way from Mannheim to his home in Pforzheim, perhaps already wondering if there was a better method than foot-power to propel it. People were quite surprised whenever they saw this young man rolling along, because bicycles were quite new.
A painting created by Ulli Kampelmann depicts Frau Benz telling her boys stories of her earlier life with their father.
Eugen and Richard were also curious how their parents met so Bertha told them stories from the wonderful times when that dashing young man rode through Pforzheim on his boneshaker and all the girls were smitten. But Carl had eyes only for Bertha, and she was impressed with his intelligence and ambition. They loved to go dancing and soon started to make plans for their future together.
Bertha’s storytelling was interrupted as they noticed the engine getting hot again. They had to stop several times to get water to cool the engine. Luckily their route often kept them close to a river.
Near Bruchsal they ran low on fuel, and once again they located an apothecary to purchase the ligroin they needed. Here, too, the citizens were very surprised to see this unique vehicle. Interestingly enough, there were a few bystanders who understood that this Motorwagen could bring great changes to the future of transportation and they waved cheerfully.
The trio’s road trip was a true adventure. Dust from the road caked onto the oily drive chains which ultimately gummed them so badly they came off the drive gears. Fortunately, Bertha had worked for years beside Carl as he built, tested and rebuilt his engines and inventions. She understood all of the mechanics and was competent in handling all manner of breakdowns.
Near Bruchsal they found a very helpful blacksmith. Bertha described the problem with the chains and explained the needed repairs. The smithy had heard of Mr. Benz’s wonderful horseless carriage and was excited to help. He directed them to a nearby restaurant to relax and eat, promising to make their Motorwagen operational again in a fairly short time. After their meal Bertha and the boys refilled their water container and topped up the reserve fuel can. When they returned to the smithy, they found he’d completed the repairs. Proud to have been able to repair the Benz Motorwagen, he cheerfully refused any money and sent them on their way.
Driving over the hills put a strain on their simple wooden brakes. The blocks became slick and began to fail. Bertha had a bright idea and when they came to the next village, she looked up the local shoemaker and hired him to nail thick slabs of leather onto the wooden blocks. Ergo, Bertha invented the brake-pad.
Later, a new complication arose. The engine began to lose power and finally stopped running altogether. They still had enough fuel and saw nothing else out of the ordinary. Then Bertha disconnected the fuel line and discovered it was plugged. Although the trio carried no tools, she did have her wits so she pulled out her long hatpin and unplugged the tube. The engine fired up strongly and they were off once again.
Having passed through Weingarten, Grötzingen and Berghausen, by late afternoon they were approaching Söllingen near Pfinztal. Although they’d been on the road for 12 hours, their spirits were high and their eyes were bright. Then the engine abruptly stopped running again. This time the problem was more incomprehensible. After a long inspection of the engine, Eugen noticed that a spot of insulation on the sparkplug wire was chafed off. The exposed wire was shorting out against the engine, preventing the sparkplug from firing. Once again Bertha’s inventiveness came through. She slipped off one of her garters and wrapped it around the wire as a makeshift but effective insulation. With a healthy spin of the flywheel, the engine fired up and away they went on the final leg of their journey.
There remained a number of miles to travel and the sun was nearing the horizon. After following the river south for many hours, they turned east and passed through Ellmendingen. Not long afterward, somewhere around Dietlingen, the sun set and it became dark. The Motorwagen had no light so they navigated by the stars and the light of the moon. After an hour more of driving along the cart path through the fields, they finally spotted city lights ahead. They were nearly to Pforzheim!
Bertha, Eugen and Richard began singing and their mood was light. Once inside the city they stopped at the Zur Post hotel. Rather than going on to her mother’s house in such a bedraggled and begrimed condition, Bertha arranged for them to spend the night in the hotel and surprise her mother in the morning. It was about 10 p.m. when she sent a telegram from the hotel to her beloved Carl: “First long-distance road trip successfully completed. We arrived very well in Pforzheim.” They were filthy and tired, but very proud of their achievement.
Research for this story was carried out in the Daimler Archives and Collection in Stuttgart. The video documentary “The Car is Born,” produced by Kampelmann Productions, depicts this charming story in full and can be purchased as a DVD at www.thecarisborn.com or by contacting the author at [email protected] or 727.637.1218.