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The Dominion of the Air: The Story of Aerial Navigation

by John M. Bacon · English · Gutenberg #861 · 542,786 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Dominion of the Air: The Story of Aerial Navigation

Author: John M. Bacon


        
Release date: March 1, 1997 [eBook #861]
                Most recently updated: July 23, 2008

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOMINION OF THE AIR: THE STORY OF AERIAL NAVIGATION ***




Produced by Dianne Bean





THE DOMINION OF THE AIR

The Story of Aerial Navigation

by Rev. J. M. Bacon




CHAPTER I. THE DAWN OF AERONAUTICS.


"He that would learn to fly must be brought up to the constant practice
of it from his youth, trying first only to use his wings as a tame goose
will do, so by degrees learning to rise higher till he attain unto skill
and confidence."

So wrote Wilkins, Bishop of Chester, who was reckoned a man of genius
and learning in the days of the Commonwealth. But so soon as we come to
inquire into the matter we find that this good Bishop was borrowing from
the ideas of others who had gone before him; and, look back as far as
we will, mankind is discovered to have entertained persistent and often
plausible ideas of human flight. And those ideas had in some sort of
way, for good or ill, taken practical shape. Thus, as long ago as the
days when Xenophon was leading back his warriors to the shores of
the Black Sea, and ere the Gauls had first burned Rome, there was a
philosopher, Archytas, who invented a pigeon which could fly, partly by
means of mechanism, and partly also, it is said, by aid of an aura or
spirit. And here arises a question. Was this aura a gas, or did men use
it as spiritualists do today, as merely a word to conjure with?

Four centuries later, in the days of Nero, there was a man in Rome who
flew so well and high as to lose his life thereby. Here, at any rate,
was an honest man, or the story would not have ended thus; but of the
rest--and there are many who in early ages aspired to the attainment
of flight--we have no more reason to credit their claims than those of
charlatans who flourish in every age.

In medieval times we are seriously told by a saintly writer (St.
Remigius) of folks who created clouds which rose to heaven by means of
"an earthen pot in which a little imp had been enclosed." We need no
more. That was an age of flying saints, as also of flying dragons.
Flying in those days of yore may have been real enough to the multitude,
but it was at best delusion. In the good old times it did not need the
genius of a Maskelyne to do a "levitation" trick. We can picture the
scene at a "flying seance." On the one side the decidedly professional
showman possessed of sufficient low cunning; on the other the ignorant
and highly superstitious audience, eager to hear or see some new
thing--the same audience that, deceived by a simple trick of schoolboy
science, would listen to supernatural voices in their groves, or
oracular utterances in their temples, or watch the urns of Bacchus fill
themselves with wine. Surely for their eyes it would need no more than
the simplest phantasmagoria, or maybe only a little black thread, to
make a pigeon rise and fly.

It is interesting to note, however, that in the case last cited there is
unquestionably an allusion to some crude form of firework, and what more
likely or better calculated to impress the ignorant! Our firework makers
still manufacture a "little Devil." Pyrotechnic is as old as history
itself; we have an excellent description of a rocket in a document at
least as ancient as the ninth century. And that a species of pyrotechny
was resorted to by those who sought to imitate flight we have proof in
the following recipe for a flying body given by a Doctor, eke a Friar,
in Paris in the days of our King John:--

"Take one pound of sulphur, two pounds of willowcarbon, six pounds of
rock salt ground very fine in a marble mortar. Place, when you please,
in a covering made of flying papyrus to produce thunder. The covering
in order to ascend and float away should be long, graceful, well filled
with this fine powder; but to produce thunder the covering should be
short, thick, and half full."

Nor does this recipe stand alone. Take another sample, of which chapter
and verse are to be found in the MSS. of a Jesuit, Gaspard Schott, of
Palermo and Rome, born three hundred years ago:--

"The shells of hen-eggs, if properly filled and well secured against the
penetration of the air, and exposed to solar rays, will ascend to the
skies and sometimes suffer a natural change. And if the eggs of the
larger description of swans, or leather balls stitched with fine
thongs, be filled with nitre, the purest sulphur quicksilver, or kindred
materials which rarify by their caloric energy, and if they externally
resemble pigeons, they will easily be mistaken for flying animals."

Thus it would seem that, hunting back in history, there were three main
ideas on which would-be aeronauts of old exercised their ingenuity.
There was the last-mentioned method, which, by the way, Jules Verne
partly relies on when he takes his heroes to the moon, and which in
its highest practical development may be seen annually on the night
of "Brock's Benefit" at the Crystal Palace. There is, again, the "tame
goose" method, to which we must return presently; and, lastly, there is
a third method, to which, as also to the brilliant genius who conceived
it, we must without further delay be introduced. This may be called the
method of "a hollow globe."

Roger Bacon, Melchisedeck-fashion, came into existence at Ilchester
in 1214 of parentage that is hard to trace. He was, however, a born
philosopher, and possessed of intellect and penetration that placed him
incalculably ahead of his generation. A man of marvellous insight and
research, he grasped, and as far as possible carried out, ideas which
dawned on other men only after centuries. Thus, many of his utterances
have been prophetic. It is probable that among his chemical discoveries
he re-invented gunpowder. It is certain that he divined the properties
of a lens, and diving deep into experimental and mechanical sciences,
actually foresaw the time when, in his own words, "men would construct
engines to traverse land and water with great speed and carry with them
persons and merchandise." Clearly in his dreams Bacon saw the Atlantic
not merely explored, but on its bosom the White Star liners breaking
records, contemptuous of its angriest seas. He saw, too, a future Dumont
circling in the air, and not only in a dead calm, but holding his own
with the feathered race. He tells his dream thus: "There may be made
some flying instrument so that a man sitting in the middle of the
instrument and turning some mechanism may put in motion some artificial
wings which may beat the air like a bird flying."

But he lived too long before his time. His ruin lay not only in his
superior genius, but also in his fearless outspokenness. He presently
fell under the ban of the Church, through which he lost alike his
liberty and the means of pursuing investigation. Had it been otherwise
we may fairly believe that the "admirable Doctor," as he was called,
would have been the first to show mankind how to navigate the air. His
ideas are perfectly easy to grasp. He conceived that the air was a true
fluid, and as such must have an upper limit, and it would be on this
upper surface, he supposed, as on the bosom of the ocean, that man would
sail his air-ship. A fine, bold guess truly. He would watch the cirrus
clouds sailing grandly ten miles above him on some stream that never
approached nearer. Up there, in his imagination, would be tossing the
waves of our ocean of air. Wait for some little better cylinders of
oxygen and an improved foot-warmer, and a future Coxwell will go aloft
and see; but as to an upper sea, it is truly there, and we may visit and
view its sun-lit tossing billows stretching out to a limitless horizon
at such times as the nether world is shrouded in densest gloom. Bacon's
method of reaching such an upper sea as he postulated was, as we have
said, by a hollow globe.

"The machine must be a large hollow globe, of copper or other suitable
metal, wrought extremely thin so as to have it as light as possible,"
and "it must be filled with ethereal air or liquid fire." This was
written in the thirteenth century, and it is scarcely edifying to find
four hundred years after this the Jesuit Father Lana, who contrived to
make his name live in history as a theoriser in aeronautics, arrogating
to himself the bold conception of the English Friar, with certain
unfortunate differences, however, which in fairness we must here clearly
point out. Lana proclaimed his speculations standing on a giant's
shoulders. Torricelli, with his closed bent tube, had just shown
the world how heavily the air lies above us. It then required little
mathematical skill to calculate what would be the lifting power of
any vessel void of air on the earth's surface. Thus Lana proposed
the construction of an air ship which possibly because of its
picturesquesness has won him notoriety. But it was a fraud. We have
but to conceive a dainty boat in which the aeronaut would sit at ease
handling a little rudder and a simple sail. These, though a schoolboy
would have known better, he thought would guide his vessel when in the
air.

So much has been claimed for Father Lana and his mathematical and other
attainments that it seems only right to insist on the weakness of his
reasoning. An air ship simply drifting with the wind is incapable of
altering its course in the slightest degree by either sail or rudder. It
is simply like a log borne along in a torrent; but to compare such a log
properly with the air ship we must conceive it WHOLLY submerged in the
water and having no sail or other appendage projecting into the air,
which would, of course, introduce other conditions. If, however, a man
were to sit astride of the log and begin to propel it so that it travels
either faster or slower than the stream, then in that case, either by
paddle or rudder, the log could be guided, and the same might be said of
Lana's air boat if only he had thought of some adequate paddle, fan, or
other propeller. But he did not. One further explanatory sentence may
here be needed; for we hear of balloons which are capable of being
guided to a small extent by sail and rudder. In these cases, however,
the rudder is a guide rope trailing on earth or sea, so introducing a
fresh element and fresh conditions which are easy to explain.

Suppose a free balloon drifting down the wind to have a sail suddenly
hoisted on one side, what happens? The balloon will simply swing till
this sail is in front, and thus continue its straightforward course.
Suppose, however, that as soon as the side sail is hoisted a trail rope
is also dropped aft from a spar in the rigging. The tendency of the sail
to fly round in front is now checked by the dragging rope, and it is
constrained to remain slanting at an angle on one side; at the same
time the rate of the balloon is reduced by the dragging rope, so that
it travels slower than the wind, which, now acting on its slant sail,
imparts a certain sidelong motion much as it does in the case of a
sailing boat.

Lana having in imagination built his ship, proceeds to make it float
up into space, for which purpose he proposes four thin copper globes
exhausted of air. Had this last been his own idea we might have pardoned
him. We have, however, pointed out that it was not, and we must further
point out that in copying his great predecessor he fails to see that he
would lose enormous advantage by using four globes instead of one.
But, beyond all, he failed to see what the master genius of Bacon saw
clearly--that his thin globes when exhausted must infallibly collapse by
virtue of that very pressure of the air which he sought to make use of.

It cannot be too strongly insisted on that if the too much belauded
speculations of Lana have any value at all it is that they throw into
stronger contrast the wonderful insight of the philosopher who so long
preceded him. By sheer genius Bacon had foreseen that the emptied
globe must be filled with SOMETHING, and for this something he suggests
"ethereal air" or "liquid fire," neither of which, we contend, were
empty terms. With Bacon's knowledge of experimental chemistry it is a
question, and a most interesting one, whether he had not in his mind
those two actual principles respectively of gas and air rarefied by heat
on which we launch our balloons into space to-day.

Early progress in any art or science is commonly intermittent. It was so
in the story of aeronautics. Advance was like that of the incoming tide,
throwing an occasional wave far in front of its rising flood. It was
a phenomenal wave that bore Roger Bacon and left his mark on the sand
where none other approached for centuries. In those centuries men were
either too priest-ridden to lend an ear to Science, or, like children,
followed only the Will-o'-the-Wisp floating above the quagmire which
held them fast. They ran after the stone that was to turn all to gold,
or the elixir that should conquer death, or the signs in the heavens
that should foretell their destinies; and the taint of this may be
traced even when the dark period that followed was clearing away. Four
hundred years after Roger's death, his illustrious namesake, Francis
Bacon, was formulating his Inductive Philosophy, and with complete
cock-sureness was teaching mankind all about everything. Let us look
at some of his utterances which may help to throw light on the way he
regarded the problem we are dealing with.

"It is reported," Francis Bacon writes, "that the Leucacians in ancient
time did use to precipitate a man from a high cliffe into the sea; tying
about him, with strings, at some distance, many great fowles; and fixing
unto his body divers feathers, spread, to breake the fall. Certainly
many birds of good wing (as Kites and the like) would beare up a good
weight as they flie. And spreading of feathers, thin and close, and in
great breadth, will likewise beare up a great weight, being even laid
without tilting upon the sides. The further extension of this experiment
of flying may be thought upon."

To say the least, this is hardly mechanical. But let us next follow
the philosopher into the domain of Physics. Referring to a strange
assertion, that "salt water will dissolve salt put into it in less
time than fresh water will dissolve it," he is at once ready with an
explanation to fit the case. "The salt," he says, "in the precedent
water doth by similitude of substance draw the salt new put in unto it."
Again, in his finding, well water is warmer in winter than summer, and
"the cause is the subterranean heat which shut close in (as in winter)
is the more, but if it perspire (as it doth in summer) it is the less."
This was Bacon the Lord. What a falling off--from the experimentalist's
point of view--from Bacon the Friar! We can fancy him watching a falcon
poised motionless in the sky, and reflecting on that problem which to
this day fairly puzzles our ablest scientists, settling the matter in a
sentence: "The cause is that feathers doe possess upward attractions."
During four hundred years preceding Lord Verulam philosophers would have
flown by aid of a broomstick. Bacon himself would have merely parried
the problem with a platitude!

At any rate, physicists, even in the brilliant seventeenth century,
made no material progress towards the navigation of the air, and thus
presently let the simple mechanic step in before them. Ere that century
had closed something in the nature of flight had been accomplished. It
is exceedingly hard to arrive at actual fact, but it seems pretty clear
that more than one individual, by starting from some eminence, could
let himself fall into space and waft himself away for some distance with
fair success and safety, It is stated that an English Monk, Elmerus,
flew the space of a furlong from a tower in Spain, a feat of the same
kind having been accomplished by another adventurer from the top of St.
Mark's at Venice.

In these attempts it would seem that the principle of the parachute
was to some extent at least brought into play. If also circumstantial
accounts can be credited, it would appear that a working model of a
flying machine was publicly exhibited by one John Muller before the
Emperor Charles V. at Nuremberg. Whatever exaggeration or embellishment
history may be guilty of it is pretty clear that some genuine attempts
of a practical and not unsuccessful nature had been made here and there,
and these prompted the flowery and visionary Bishop Wilkins already
quoted to predict confidently that the day was approaching when it
"would be as common for a man to call for his wings as for boots and
spurs."

We have now to return to the "tame goose" method, which found its best
and boldest exponent in a humble craftsman, by name Besnier, living
at Sable, about the year 1678. This mechanical genius was by trade a
locksmith, and must have been possessed of sufficient skill to construct
an efficient apparatus out of such materials as came to his hand, of
the simplest possible design. It may be compared to the earliest type of
bicycle, the ancient "bone shaker," now almost forgotten save by those
who, like the writer, had experience of it on its first appearance.
Besnier's wings, as it would appear, were essentially a pair of
double-bladed paddles and nothing more, roughly resembling the
double-paddle of an old-fashioned canoe, only the blades were large,
roughly rectangular, and curved or hollowed. The operator would commence
by standing erect and balancing these paddles, one on each shoulder, so
that the hollows of the blades should be towards the ground. The forward
part of each paddle was then grasped by the hands, while the hinder part
of each was connected to the corresponding leg. This, presumably,
would be effected after the arms had been raised vertically, the leg
attachment being contrived in some way which experience would dictate.

The flyer was now fully equipped, and nothing remained for him save
to mount some eminence and, throwing himself forward into space and
assuming the position of a flying bird, to commence flapping and
beating the air with a reciprocal motion. First, he would buffet the
air downwards with the left arm and right leg simultaneously, and while
these recovered their position would strike with the right hand and
left leg, and so on alternately. With this crude method the enterprising
inventor succeeded in raising himself by short stages from one height
to another, reaching thus the top of a house, whence he could pass over
others, or cross a river or the like.

The perfecting of his system became then simply a question of practice
and experience, and had young athletes only been trained from early
years to the new art it seems reasonable to suppose that some crude
approach to human flight would have been effected. Modifications and
improvements in construction would soon have suggested themselves, as
was the case with the bicycle, which in its latest developments can
scarcely be recognised as springing from the primitive "bone-shaker"
of thirty-three years ago. We would suggest the idea to the modern
inventor. He will in these days, of course, find lighter materials
to hand. Then he will adopt some link motion for the legs in place of
leather thongs, and will hinge the paddle blades so that they open out
with the forward stroke, but collapse with the return. Then look on
another thirty-three years--a fresh generation--and our youth of both
sexes may find a popular recreation in graceful aerial exercise. The
pace is not likely to be excessive, and molestations from disguised
policemen--not physically adapted, by the way, to rapid flight--need not
be apprehended.

One of the best tests of Besnier's measure of success is supplied by the
fact that he had pupils as well as imitators. First on this list must be
mentioned a Mr. Baldwin, a name which, curiously enough, twice over
in modern times comes into the records of bold aerial exploits. This
individual, it appears, purchased a flying outfit of Besnier himself,
and surpassed his master in achievement. A little later one Dante
contrived some modification of the same apparatus, with which he pursued
the new mode of progress till he met with a fractured thigh.

But whatever the imitators of Besnier may have accomplished, to the
honest smith must be accorded the full credit of their success, and
with his simple, but brilliant, record left at flood mark, the tide
of progress ebbed back again, while mankind ruminated over the great
problem in apparent inactivity. But not for long. The air-pump about
this period was given to the world, and chemists were already busy
investigating the nature of gases. Cavallo was experimenting on kindred
lines, while in our own land the rival geniuses of Priestley and
Cavendish were clearing the way to make with respect to the atmosphere
the most important discovery yet dreamed of. In recording this dawn of
a new era, however, we should certainly not forget how, across the
Atlantic, had arisen a Rumford and a Franklin, whose labours were
destined to throw an all-important sidelight on the pages of progress
which we have now to chronicle.



CHAPTER II. THE INVENTION OF THE BALLOON.


It was a November night of the year 1782, in the little town of
Annonay, near Lyons. Two young men, Stephen and Joseph Montgolfier, the
representatives of a firm of paper makers, were sitting together over
their parlour fire. While watching the smoke curling up the chimney one
propounded an idea by way of a sudden inspiration: "Why shouldn't smoke
be made to raise bodies into the air?"

The world was waiting for this utterance, which, it would seem, was on
the tip of the tongue with many others. Cavendish had already discovered
what he designated "inflammable air," though no one had as yet given it
its later title of hydrogen gas. Moreover, in treating of this gas--Dr.
Black of Edinburgh, as much as fifteen years before the date we have now
arrived at, had suggested that it should be made capable of raising a
thin bladder in the air. With a shade more of good fortune, or maybe
with a modicum more of leisure, the learned Doctor would have won
the invention of the balloon for his own country. Cavallo came almost
nearer, and actually putting the same idea into practice, had succeeded
in the spring of 1782 in making soap bubbles blown with hydrogen gas
float upwards. But he had accomplished no more when, as related, in the
autumn of the same year the brothers Montgolfier conceived the notion of
making bodies "levitate" by the simpler expedient of filling them with
smoke.

This was the crude idea, the application of which in their hands was
soon marked with notable success. Their own trade supplied ready and
suitable materials for a first experiment, and, making an oblong bag of
thin paper a few feet in length, they proceeded to introduce a cloud
of smoke into it by holding crumpled paper kindled in a chafing dish
beneath the open mouth. What a subject is there here for an imaginative
painter! As the smoky cloud formed within, the bag distended itself,
became buoyant, and presently floated to the ceiling. The simple trial
proved a complete success, due, as it appeared to them, to the ascensive
power of a cloud of smoke.

An interesting and more detailed version of the story is extant. While
the experiment was in progress a neighbour, the widow of a tradesman who
had been connected in business with the firm, seeing smoke escaping into
the room, entered and stood watching the proceedings, which were not
unattended with difficulties. The bag, half inflated, was not easy to
hold in position over the chafing dish, and rapidly cooled and collapsed
on being removed from it. The widow noting this, as also the perplexity
of the young men, suggested that they should try the result of tying
the dish on at the bottom of the bag. This was the one thing wanted to
secure success, and that good lady, whose very name is unhappily
lost, deserves an honoured place in history. It was unquestionably the
adoption of her idea which launched the first balloon into space.

The same experiment repeated in the open air proving a yet more
pronounced success, more elaborate trials were quickly developed, and
the infant balloon grew fast. One worthy of the name, spherical in shape
and of some 600 cubic feet capacity, was now made and treated as before,
with the result that ere it was fully inflated it broke the strings that
held it and sailed away hundreds of feet into the air. The infant
was fast becoming a prodigy. Encouraged by their fresh success, the
inventors at once set about preparations for the construction of a much
larger balloon some thirty-five feet diameter (that is, of about 23,000
cubic feet capacity), to be made of linen lined with paper and this
machine, launched on a favourable day in the following spring, rose with
great swiftness to fully a thousand feet, and travelled nearly a mile
from its starting ground.

Enough; the time was already ripe for a public demonstration of the new
invention, and accordingly the 5th of the following June witnessed the
ascent of the same balloon with due ceremony and advertisement. Special
pains were taken with the inflation, which was conducted over a pit
above which the balloon envelope was slung; and in accordance with the
view that smoke was the chief lifting power, the fuel was composed of
straw largely mixed with wool. It is recorded that the management of
the furnace needed the attention of two men only, while eight men could
hardly hold the impatient balloon in restraint. The inflation, in spite
of the fact that the fuel chosen was scarcely the best for the purpose,
was conducted remarkable expedition, and on being released, the
craft travelled one and a half miles into the air, attaining a height
estimated at over 6,000 feet.

From this time the tide of events in the aeronautical world rolls on in
full flood, almost every half-year marking a fresh epoch, until a new
departure in the infant art of ballooning was already on the point of
being reached. It had been erroneously supposed that the ascent of the
Montgolfier balloon had been due, not to the rarefaction of the air
within it--which was its true cause--but to the evolution of some light
gas disengaged by the nature of the fuel used. It followed, therefore,
almost as a matter of course, that chemists, who, as stated in the last
chapter, were already acquainted with so-called "inflammable air," or
hydrogen gas, grasped the fact that this gas would serve better than any
other for the purposes of a balloon. And no sooner had the news of the
Montgolfiers' success reached Paris than a subscription was raised, and
M. Charles, Professor of Experimental Philosophy, was appointed, with
the assistance of M. Roberts, to superintend the construction of a
suitable balloon and its inflation by the proposed new method.

The task was one of considerable difficulty, owing partly to the
necessity of procuring some material which would prevent the escape of
the lightest and most subtle gas known, and no less by reason of the
difficulty of preparing under pressure a sufficient quantity of gas
itself. The experiment, sound enough in theory, was eventually carried
through after several instructive failures. A suitable material was
found in "lustring," a glossy silk cloth varnished with a solution of
caoutchouc, and this being formed into a balloon only thirteen feet in
diameter and fitted without other aperture than a stopcock, was after
several attempts filled with hydrogen gas prepared in the usual way by
the action of dilute sulphuric acid on scrap iron.

The preparations completed, one last and all-important mistake was
made by closing the stop-cock before the balloon was dismissed, the
disastrous and unavoidable result of this being at the time overlooked.

On August 25, 1783, the balloon was liberated on the Champ de Mars
before an enormous concourse, and in less than two minutes had reached
an elevation of half a mile, when it was temporarily lost in cloud,
through which, however, it penetrated, climbing into yet higher cloud,
when, disappearing from sight, it presently burst and descended to earth
after remaining in the air some three-quarters of an hour.

The bursting of this little craft taught the future balloonist his first
great lesson, namely, that on leaving earth he must open the neck of
his balloon; and the reason of this is obvious. While yet on earth the
imprisoned gas of a properly filled balloon distends the silk by virtue
of its expansive force, and in spite of the enormous outside pressure
which the weight of air exerts upon it. Then, as the balloon rises
high in the air and the outside pressure grows less, the struggling gas
within, if allowed no vent, stretches the balloon more and more until
the slender fabric bursts under the strain.

At the risk of being tedious, we have dwelt at some length on the
initial experiments which in less than a single year had led to the
discovery and development of two distinct methods--still employed and in
competition with each other--of dismissing balloons into the heavens. We
are now prepared to enter fully into the romantic history of our subject
which from this point rapidly unfolds itself.

Some eleven months only after the two Montgolfiers were discovered
toying with their inflated paper bag, the younger of the two brothers
was engaged to make an exhibition of his new art before the King at
Versailles, and this was destined to be the first occasion when
a balloon was to carry a living freight into the sky. The stately
structure, which was gorgeously decorated, towered some seventy
feet into the air, and was furnished with a wicker car in which the
passengers were duly installed. These were three in number, a sheep, a
cock, and a duck, and amid the acclamations of the multitude, rose a few
hundred feet and descended half a mile away. The cock was found to have
sustained an unexplained mishap: its leg was broken; but the sheep
was feeding complacently, and the duck was quacking with much apparent
satisfaction.

Now, who among mortals will come forward and win the honour of being the
first to sail the skies? M. Pilitre de Rozier at once volunteered, and
by the month of November a new air ship was built, 74 feet high, 48 feet
in largest diameter, and 15 feet across the neck, outside which a wicker
gallery was constructed, while an iron brazier was slung below all.
But to trim the boat properly two passengers were needed, and de Rozier
found a ready colleague in the Marquis d'Arlandes. By way of precaution,
de Rozier made a few preliminary ascents with the balloon held captive,
and then the two intrepid Frenchmen took their stand on opposite sides
of the gallery, each furnished with bundles of fuel to feed the furnace,
each also carrying a large wet sponge with which to extinguish the
flames whenever the machine might catch fire. On casting off the balloon
rose readily, and reaching 3,000 feet, drifted away on an upper current.

The rest of the narrative, much condensed from a letter of the Marquis,
written a week later, runs somewhat thus: "Our departure was at
fifty-four minutes past one, and occasioned little stir among the
spectators. Thinking they might be frightened and stand in need of
encouragement, I waved my arm. M. de Rozier cried, 'You are doing
nothing, and we are not rising!' I stirred the fire, and then began to
scan the river, but Pilitre cried again, 'See the river; we are dropping
into it!' We again urged the fire, but still clung to the river bed.
Presently I heard a noise in the upper part of the balloon, which gave
a shock as though it had burst. I called to my companion, 'Are you
dancing?' The balloon by now had many holes burned in it, and using my
sponge I cried that we must descend. My companion, however, explained
that we were over Paris, and must now cross it. Therefore, raising the
fire once more, we turned south till we passed the Luxemburg, when,
extinguishing the flame, the balloon came down spent and empty."

Daring as was this ascent, it was in achievement eclipsed two months
later at Lyons, when a mammoth balloon, 130 feet in height and lifting
18 tons, was inflated in seventeen minutes, and ascended with no less
than seven passengers. When more than half a mile aloft this machine,
which was made of too slender material for its huge size, suddenly
developed a rent of half its length, causing it to descend with immense
velocity; but without the smallest injury to any of the passengers.
This was a memorable performance, and the account, sensational as it may
read, is by no means unworthy of credit; for, as will be seen hereafter,
a balloon even when burst or badly torn in midair may, on the principle
of the parachute, effect its own salvation.

In the meanwhile, the rival balloon of hydrogen gas--the Charliere, as
it has been called--had had its first innings. Before the close of
the year MM. Roberts and Charles constructed and inflated a hydrogen
balloon, this time fitted with a practicable valve, and in partnership
accomplished an ascent beating all previous records. The day, December
17, was one of winter temperature; yet the aeronauts quickly reached
6,000 feet, and when, after remaining aloft for one and a half hours,
they descended, Roberts got out, leaving Charles in sole possession.
Left to himself, this young recruit seems to have met with experiences
which are certainly unusual, and which must be attributed largely to the
novelty of his situation. He declared that at 9,000 feet, or less
than two miles, all objects on the earth had disappeared from view, a
statement which can only be taken to mean that he had entered cloud.
Further, at this moderate elevation he not only became benumbed with
cold, but felt severe pain in his right ear and jaw. He held on,
however, ascending till 10,500 feet were reached, when he descended,
having made a journey of thirty miles from the start.

Ascents, all on the Continent, now followed one another in rapid
succession, and shortly the MM. Roberts essayed a venture on new lines.
They attempted the guidance of a balloon by means of oars, and though
they failed in this they were fortunate in making a fresh record. They
also encountered a thunderstorm, and by adopting a perfectly scientific
method--of which more hereafter--succeeded in eluding it. The storm
broke around them when they were 14,000 feet high, and at this altitude,
noting that there were diverse currents aloft, they managed to manoeuvre
their balloon higher or lower at will and to suit their purpose, and
by this stratagem drew away from the storm centre. After six and a half
hours their voyage ended, but not until 150 miles had been covered.

It must be freely granted that prodigious progress had been made in
an art that as yet was little more than a year old; but assuredly not
enough to justify the absurdly inflated ideas that the Continental
public now began to indulge in. Men lost their mental balance, allowing
their imagination to run riot, and speculation became extravagant in
the extreme. There was to be no limit henceforward to the attainment
of fresh knowledge, nor any bounds placed to where man might roam. The
universe was open to him: he might voyage if he willed to the moon or
elsewhere: Paris was to be the starting point for other worlds: Heaven
itself had been taken by storm.

Moderation had to be learned ere long by the discipline of more than
one stern lesson. Hitherto a marvellous--call it a Providential--good
fortune had attended the first aerial travellers; and even when mishaps
presently came to be reckoned with, it may fairly be questioned whether
so many lives were sacrificed among those who sought to voyage through
the sky as were lost among such as first attempted to navigate the sea.

It is in such ventures as we are now regarding that fortune seems
readiest to favour the daring, and if I may digress briefly to adduce
experiences coming within my own knowledge, I would say that it is to
his very impulsiveness that the enthusiast often owes the safety of his
neck. It is the timid, not the bold rider, that comes to grief at the
fence. It is the man who draws back who is knocked over by a tramcar.
Sheer impetus, moral or physical, often carries you through, as in
the case of a fall from horse-back. To tumble off when your horse is
standing still and receive a dead blow from the ground might easily
break a limb. But at full gallop immunity often lies in the fact that
you strike the earth at an angle, and being carried forward, impact is
less abrupt. I can only say that I have on more than one occasion found
the greatest safety in a balloon venture involving the element of risk
to lie in complete abandonment to circumstances, and in the increased
life and activity which the delirium of excitement calls forth. In
comparing, however, man's first ventures by sky with those by sea, we
must remember what far greater demand the former must have made upon the
spirit of enterprise and daring.

We can picture the earliest sea voyager taking his first lesson astride
of a log with one foot on the bottom, and thus proceeding by sure stages
till he had built his coracle and learned to paddle it in shoal water.
But the case was wholly different when the first frail air ship stood at
her moorings with straining gear and fiercely burning furnace, and when
the sky sailor knew that no course was left him but to dive boldly up
into an element whence there was no stepping back, and separated from
earth by a gulf which man instinctively dreads to look down upon.

Taking events in their due sequence, we have now to record a voyage
which the terrors of sky and sea together combined to make memorable.
Winter had come--early January of 1785--when, in spite of short dark
days and frosty air, M. Blanchard, accompanied by an American, Dr.
Jeffries, determined on an attempt to cross the Channel. They chose the
English side, and inflating their balloon with hydrogen at Dover, boldly
cast off, and immediately drifted out to sea. Probably they had not paid
due thought to the effect of low sun and chilly atmosphere, for their
balloon rose sluggishly and began settling down ere little more than
a quarter of their course was run. Thereupon they parted with a large
portion of their ballast, with the result that they crept on as far as
mid-Channel, when they began descending again, and cast out the residue
of their sand, together with some books, and this, too, with the
uncomfortable feeling that even these measures would not suffice to
secure their safety.

This was in reality the first time that a sea passage had been made by
sky, and the gravity of their situation must not be under-estimated.
We are so accustomed in a sea passage to the constant passing of other
vessels that we allow ourselves to imagine that a frequented portion of
the ocean, such as the Channel, is thickly dotted over with shipping of
some sort. But in entertaining this idea we are forgetful of the fact
that we are all the while on a steamer track. The truth, however, is
that anywhere outside such a track, even from the commanding point of
view of a high-flying balloon, the ocean is seen to be more vast than
we suppose, and bears exceedingly little but the restless waves upon
its surface. Once fairly in the water with a fallen balloon, there is
clearly no rising again, and the life of the balloon in this its wrong
element is not likely to be a long one. The globe of gas may under
favourable circumstances continue to float for some while, but the open
wicker car is the worst possible boat for the luckless voyagers, while
to leave it and cling to the rigging is but a forlorn hope, owing to
the mass of netting which surrounds the silk, and which would prove a
death-trap in the water. There are many instances of lives having been
lost in such a dilemma, even when help was near at hand.

Our voyagers, whom we left in mid-air and stream, were soon descending
again, and this time they threw out their tackle--anchor, ropes, and
other gear, still without adequately mending matters. Then their case
grew desperate. The French coast was, indeed, well in sight, but there
seemed but slender chance of reaching it, when they began divesting
themselves of clothing as a last resort. The upshot of this was
remarkable, and deserves a moment's consideration. When a balloon has
been lightened almost to the utmost the discharge of a small weight
sometimes has a magical effect, as is not difficult to understand.
Throwing out ten pounds at an early stage, when there may be five
hundred pounds more of superfluous weight, will tell but little, but
when those five hundred pounds are expended then an extra ten pounds
scraped together from somewhere and cast overboard may cause a balloon
to make a giant stride into space by way of final effort; and it was so
with M. Blanchard. His expiring balloon shot up and over the approaching
land, and came safely to earth near the Forest of Guiennes. A
magnificent feast was held at Calais to celebrate the above event. M.
Blanchard was presented with the freedom of the city in a gold box, and
application was made to the Ministry to have the balloon purchased and
deposited as a memorial in the church. On the testimony of the grandson
of Dr. Jeffries the car of this balloon is now in the museum of the same
city.

A very noteworthy example of how a balloon may be made to take a fresh
lease of life is supplied by a voyage of M. Testu about this date, which
must find brief mention in these pages. In one aspect it is laughable,
in another it is sublime. From every point of view it is romantic.

It was four o'clock on a threatening day in June when the solitary
aeronaut took flight from Paris in a small hydrogen balloon only
partially filled, but rigged with some contrivance of wings which were
designed to render it self-propelling. Discovering, however, that
this device was inoperative, M. Testu, after about an hour and a half,
allowed the balloon to descend to earth in a corn field, when, without
quitting hold of the car, he commenced collecting stones for ballast.
But as yet he knew not the ways of churlish proprietors of land, and
in consequence was presently surprised by a troublesome crowd, who
proceeded, as they supposed, to take him prisoner till he should pay
heavy compensation, dragging him off to the nearest village by the trail
rope of his balloon.

M. Testu now had leisure to consider his situation, and presently hit on
a stratagem the like of which has often since been adopted by aeronauts
in like predicament. Representing to his captors that without his
wings he would be powerless, he suffered them to remove these weighty
appendages, when also dropping a heavy cloak, he suddenly cut the cord
by which he was being dragged, and, regaining freedom, soared away into
the sky. He was quickly high aloft, and heard thunder below him, soon
after which, the chill of evening beginning to bring him earthward,
he descried a hunt in full cry, and succeeded in coming down near the
huntsmen, some of whom galloped up to him, and for their benefit he
ascended again, passing this time into dense cloud with thunder and
lightning. He saw the sun go down and the lightning gather round, yet
with admirable courage he lived the night out aloft till the storms were
spent and the midsummer sun rose once more. With daylight restored, his
journey ended at a spot over sixty miles from Paris.

We have, of course, recounted only a few of the more noteworthy early
ballooning ventures. In reality there had up to the present time been
scores of ascents made in different localities and in all conditions of
wind and weather, yet not a life had been lost. We have now, however,
to record a casualty which cost the first and boldest aeronaut his life,
and which is all the more regrettable as being due to circumstances that
should never have occurred.

M. Pilatre de Rosier, accompanied by M. Romain, determined on crossing
the Channel from the French side; and, thinking to add to their buoyancy
and avoid the risk of falling in the sea, hit on the extraordinary idea
of using a fire balloon beneath another filled with hydrogen gas! With
this deadly compound machine they actually ascended from Boulogne, and
had not left the land when the inevitable catastrophe took place.

The balloons caught fire and blew up at a height of 3,000 feet, while
the unfortunate voyagers were dashed to atoms.



CHAPTER III. THE FIRST BALLOON ASCENT IN ENGLAND.


As may be supposed, it was not long before the balloon was introduced
into England. Indeed, the first successful ascent on record made in our
own country took place in the summer of 1784, ten months previous to the
fatal venture narrated at the close of the last chapter. Now, it is a
remarkable and equally regrettable circumstance that though the
first ascent on British soil was undoubtedly made by one of our own
countrymen, the fact is almost universally forgotten, or ignored, and
the credit is accorded to a foreigner.

Let us in strict honesty examine into the case. Vincent Lunardi, an
Italian, Secretary to the Neapolitan Ambassador, Prince Caramanico,
being in England in the year 1784, determined on organising and
personally executing an ascent from London; and his splendid enterprise,
which was presently carried to a successful issue, will form the
principal subject of the present chapter. It will be seen that
remarkable success crowned his efforts, and that his first and ever
memorable voyage was carried through on September 15th of that year.

More than a month previously, however, attention had been called to the
fact that a Mr. Tytler was preparing to make an ascent from Edinburgh in
a hot air balloon, and in the London Chronicle of August 27th occurs the
following circumstantial and remarkable letter from a correspondent to
that journal:

"Edinburgh, Aug. 27, 1784.

"Mr. Tytler has made several improvements upon his fire balloon. The
reason of its failure formerly was its being made of porous linen,
through which the air made its escape. To remedy this defect, Mr. Tytler
has got it covered with a varnish to retain the inflammable air after
the balloon is filled.

"Early this morning this bold adventurer took his first aerial flight.
The balloon being filled at Comely Garden, he seated himself in the
basket, and the ropes being cut he ascended very high and descended
quite gradually on the road to Restalrig, about half a mile from the
place where he rose, to the great satisfaction of those spectators who
were present. Mr. Tytler went up without the furnace this morning; when
that is added he will be able to feed the balloon with inflammable air,
and continue his aerial excursions as long as he chooses.

"Mr. Tytler is now in high spirits, and in his turn laughs at those
infidels who ridiculed his scheme as visionary and impracticable. Mr.
Tytler is the first person in Great Britain who has navigated the air."

Referring to this exploit, Tytler, in a laudatory epistle addressed
to Lunardi, tells of the difficulties he had had to contend with, and
artlessly reveals the cool, confident courage he must have displayed.
No shelter being available for the inflation, and a strong wind blowing,
his first misfortune was the setting fire to his wicker gallery. The
next was the capsizing and damaging of his balloon, which he had lined
with paper. He now substituted a coat of varnish for the paper, and his
gallery being destroyed, so that he could no longer attempt to take up
a stove, he resolved to ascend without one. In the end the balloon was
successfully inflated, when he had the hardihood to entrust himself to
a small basket (used for carrying earthenware) slung below, and thus
to launch himself into the sky. He did so under the conviction that the
risk he ran was greater than it really was, for he argued that his craft
was now only like a projectile, and "must undoubtedly come to the ground
with the same velocity with which it ascended." On this occasion the
crowd tried for some time to hold him near the ground by one of the
restraining ropes, so that his flight was curtailed. In a second
experiment, however, he succeeded in rising some hundreds of feet, and
came to earth without mishap.

But little further information respecting Mr. Tytler is apparently
forthcoming, and therefore beyond recording the fact that he was the
first British aeronaut, and also that he was the first to achieve a
balloon ascent in Great Britain, we are unable to make further mention
of him in this history.

Of his illustrious contemporary already mentioned there is, on the
contrary, much to record, and we would desire to give full credit to his
admirable courage and perseverance. It was with a certain national
and pardonable pride that the young Italian planned his bold exploit,
feeling with a sense of self-satisfaction, which he is at no pains to
hide, that he aimed at winning honour for his country as well as for
himself. In a letter which he wrote to his guardian, Chevalier Gherardo
Compagni, he alludes to the stolid indifference of the English people
and philosophers to the brilliant achievements in aeronautics which
had been made and so much belauded on the Continent. He proclaims the
rivalry as regards science and art existing between France and England,
attributing to the latter an attitude of sullen jealousy. At the same
time he is fully alive to the necessity of gaining English patronage,
and sets about securing this with tactful diplomacy. First he casts
about for a suitable spot where his enterprise would not fail to enlist
general attention and perhaps powerful patrons, and here he is struck by
the attractions and facilities offered by Chelsea Hospital. He therefore
applies to Sir George Howard, the Governor, asking for the use of
the famous hospital, to which, on the occasion of his experiments, he
desires that admittance should only be granted to subscribers, while
any profits should be devoted to the pensioners of the hospital. His
application having been granted, he assures his guardian that he "still
maintains his mental balance, and his sleep is not banished by the
magnitude of his enterprise, which is destined to lead him through the
path of danger to glory."

This letter was dated the 15th of July, and by the beginning of August
his advertisement was already before the public, inviting subscribers
and announcing a private view of his balloon at the Lyceum, where it was
in course of construction, and was being fitted with contrivances of
his own in the shape of oars and sails. He had by this time not only
enlisted the interest of Sir George Howard, and of Sir Joseph Banks, but
had secured the direct patronage of the King.

But within a fortnight a most unforeseen mishap had occurred, which
threatened to overwhelm Lunardi in disappointment and ruin. A Frenchman
of the name of Moret, designing to turn to his own advertisement the
attention attracted by Lunardi's approaching trials, attempted to
forestall the event by an enterprise of his own, announcing that he
would make an ascent with a hot air balloon in some gardens near Chelsea
Hospital, and at a date previous to that fixed upon by Lunardi. In
attempting, however, to carry out this unworthy project the adventurer
met with the discomfiture he deserved. He failed to effect his
inflation, and when after fruitless attempts continued for three
hours, his balloon refused to rise, a large crowd, estimated at 60,000,
assembled outside, broke into the enclosure, committing havoc on all
sides, not unattended with acts of violence and robbery.

The whole neighbourhood became alarmed, and it followed as a matter
of course that Lunardi was peremptorily ordered to discontinue his
preparations, and to announce in the public press that his ascent from
Chelsea Hospital was forbidden. Failure and ruin now stared the young
enthusiast in the face, and it was simply the generous feeling of the
British public, and the desire to see fair play, that gave him another
chance. As it was, he became the hero of the hour; thousands flocked
to the show rooms at the Lyceum, and he shortly obtained fresh grounds,
together with needful protection for his project, at the hands of
the Hon. Artillery Company. By the 15th of September all incidental
difficulties, the mere enumeration of which would unduly swell these
pages, had been overcome by sheer persistence, and Lunardi stood in the
enclosure allotted him, his preparations in due order, with 150,000
souls, who had formed for hours a dense mass of spectators, watching
intently and now confidently the issue of his bold endeavour.

But his anxieties were as yet far from over, for a London crowd had
never yet witnessed a balloon ascent, while but a month ago they had
seen and wreaked their wrath upon the failure of an adventurer. They
were not likely to be more tolerant now. And when the advertised
hour for departure had arrived, and the balloon remained inadequately
inflated, matters began to take a more serious turn. Half an hour later
they approached a crisis, when it began to be known that the balloon
still lacked buoyancy, and that the supply of gas was manifestly
insufficient. The impatience of the mob indeed was kept in restraint by
one man alone. This man was the Prince of Wales who, refusing to join
the company within the building and careless of the attitude of the
crowd, remained near the balloon to check disorder and unfair treatment.

But an hour after time the balloon still rested inert and then,
with fine resolution, Lunardi tried one last expedient. He bade his
colleague, Mr. Biggen, who was to have ascended with him, remain behind,
and quietly substituting a smaller and lighter wicker car, or rather
gallery, took his place within and severed the cords just as the last
gun fired. The Prince of Wales raised his hat, imitated at once by all
the bystanders, and the first balloon that ever quitted English soil
rose into the air amid the extravagant enthusiasm of the multitude. The
intrepid aeronaut, pardonably excited, and fearful lest he should not
be seen within the gallery, made frantic efforts to attract attention
by waving his flag, and worked his oars so vigorously that one of
them broke and fell. A pigeon also gained its freedom and escaped. The
voyager, however, still retained companions in his venture--a dog and a
cat.

Following his own account, Lunardi's first act on finding himself fairly
above the town was to fortify himself with some glasses of wine, and to
devour the leg of a chicken. He describes the city as a vast beehive,
St. Paul's and other churches standing out prominently; the streets
shrunk to lines, and all humanity apparently transfixed and watching
him. A little later he is equally struck with the view of the open
country, and his ecstasy is pardonable in a novice. The verdant pastures
eclipsed the visions of his own lands. The precision of boundaries
impressed him with a sense of law and order, and of good administration
in the country where he was a sojourner.

By this time he found his balloon, which had been only two-thirds full
at starting, to be so distended that he was obliged to untie the mouth
to release the strain. He also found that the condensed moisture round
the neck had frozen. These two statements point to his having reached
a considerable altitude, which is intelligible enough. It is, however,
difficult to believe his further assertion that by the use of his single
oar he succeeded in working himself down to within a few hundred feet of
the earth. The descent of the balloon must, in point of fact, have been
due to a copious outrush of gas at his former altitude. Had his oar
really been effective in working the balloon down it would not have
needed the discharge of ballast presently spoken of to cause it to
reascend. Anyhow, he found himself sufficiently near the earth to land
a passenger who was anxious to get out. His cat had not been comfortable
in the cold upper regions, and now at its urgent appeal was deposited
in a corn field, which was the point of first contact with the earth.
It was carefully received by a country-woman, who promptly sold it to
a gentleman on the other side of the hedge, who had been pursuing the
balloon.

The first ascent of a balloon in England was deserving of some record,
and an account alike circumstantial and picturesque is forthcoming. The
novel and astonishing sight was witnessed by a Hertfordshire farmer,
whose testimony, published by Lunardi in the same year, runs as
follows:--

This deponent on his oath sayeth that, being on Wednesday, the 15th
day of September instant, between the hours of three and four in the
afternoon, in a certain field called Etna, in the parish of North Mimms
aforesaid, he perceived a large machine sailing in the air, near the
place where he was on horseback; that the machine continuing to approach
the earth, the part of it in which this deponent perceived a gentleman
standing came to the ground and dragged a short way on the ground in
a slanting direction; that the time when this machine thus touched the
earth was, as near as this deponent could judge, about a quarter before
four in the afternoon. That this deponent being on horseback, and his
horse restive, he could not approach nearer to the machine than about
four poles, but that he could plainly perceive therein gentleman dressed
in light coloured cloaths, holding in his hand a trumpet, which had the
appearance of silver or bright tin. That by this time several harvest
men coming up from the other part of the field, to the number of twelve
men and thirteen women, this deponent called to them to endeavour to
stop the machine, which the men attempted, but the gentleman in
the machine desiring them to desist, and the machine moving with
considerable rapidity, and clearing the earth, went off in a north
direction and continued in sight at a very great height for near an hour
afterwards. And this deponent further saith that the part of the machine
in the which the gentleman stood did not actually touch the ground for
more than half a minute, during which time the gentleman threw out a
parcel of what appeared to this deponent as dry sand. That after the
machine had ascended again from the earth this deponent perceived a
grapple with four hooks, which hung from the bottom of the machine,
dragging along the ground, which carried up with it into the air a small
parcel of loose oats, which the women were raking in the field. And
this deponent further on his oath sayeth that when the machine had risen
clear from the ground about twenty yards the gentleman spoke to this
deponent and to the rest of the people with his trumpet, wishing
them goodbye and saying that he should soon go out of sight. And this
deponent further on his oath sayeth that the machine in which the
gentleman came down to earth appeared to consist of two distinct parts
connected together by ropes, namely that in which the gentleman appeared
to be, a stage boarded at the bottom, and covered with netting and ropes
on the sides about four feet and a half high, and the other part of the
machine appeared in the shape of an urn, about thirty feet high and of
about the same diameter, made of canvas like oil skin, with green, red,
and yellow stripes.

NATHANIEL WHITBREAD.

Sworn before me this twentieth day of September, 1784, WILLIAM BAKER.

It was a curious fact, pointed out to the brave Italian by a resident,
that the field in which the temporary descent had been made was called
indifferently Etna or Italy, "from the circumstance which attended the
late enclosure of a large quantity of roots, rubbish, etc., having been
collected there, and having continued burning for many days. The common
people having heard of a burning mountain in Italy gave the field that
name."

But the voyage did not end at Etna. The, as yet, inexperienced aeronaut
now cast out all available ballast in the shape of sand, as also his
provisions, and rising with great speed, soon reached a greater altitude
than before, which he sought to still farther increase by throwing down
his plates, knives, and forks. In this somewhat reckless expenditure he
thought himself justified by the reliance he placed on his oar, and it
is not surprising that in the end he owns that he owed his safety in
his final descent to his good fortune. The narrative condensed concludes
thus:--

"At twenty minutes past four I descended in a meadow near Ware. Some
labourers were at work in it. I requested their assistance, but they
exclaimed they would have nothing to do with one who came on the Devil's
Horse, and no entreaties could prevail on them to approach me. I at last
owed my deliverance to a young woman in the field who took hold of
a cord I had thrown out, and, calling to the men, they yielded that
assistance at her request which they had refused to mine."

As may be supposed, Lunardi's return to London resembled a royal
progress. Indeed, he was welcomed as a conqueror to whom the whole town
sought to do honour, and perhaps his greatest gratification came by
way of the accounts he gathered of incidents which occurred during his
eventful voyage. At a dinner at which he was being entertained by the
Lord Mayor and judges he learned that a lady seeing his falling oar, and
fancying that he himself was dashed to pieces, received a shock thereby
which caused her death. Commenting on this, one of the judges bade him
be reassured, inasmuch as he had, as if by compensation, saved the
life of a young man who might live to be reformed. The young man was a
criminal whose condemnation was regarded as certain at the hands of the
jury before whom he was being arraigned, when tidings reached the court
that Lunardi's balloon was in the air. On this so much confusion arose
that the jury were unable to give due deliberation to the case, and,
fearing to miss the great sight, actually agreed to acquit the prisoner,
that they themselves might be free to leave the court!

But he was flattered by a compliment of a yet higher order. He was told
that while he hovered over London the King was in conference with his
principal Ministers, and his Majesty, learning that he was in the sky,
is reported to have said to his councillors, "We may resume our own
deliberations at pleasure, but we may never see poor Lunardi again!" On
this, it is further stated that the conference broke up, and the King,
attended by Mr. Pitt and other chief officers of State, continued to
view Lunardi through telescopes as long as he remained in the horizon.

The public Press, notably the Morning Post of September 16, paid
a worthy tribute to the hero of the hour, and one last act of an
exceptional character was carried out in his honour, and remains in
evidence to this hour. In a meadow in the parish of Standon, near Ware,
there stands a rough hewn stone, now protected by an iron rail. It marks
the spot where Lunardi landed, and on it is cut a legend which runs
thus:

     Let Posterity know
     And knowing be astonished
     that
     On the 15th day of September 1784
     Vincent Lunardi of Lusca in Tuscany
     The first aerial traveller in Britain
     Mounting from the Artillery Ground
     In London
     And Traversing the Regions of the Air
     For Two Hours and Fifteen Minutes
     In this Spot Revisited the Earth.
     On this rude monument
     For ages be recorded
     That Wondrous Enterprise
     Successfully atchieved
     By the Powers of Chemistry
     And the Fortitude of Man
     That Improvement in Science
     Which
     The Great Author of all Knowledge
     Patronyzing by His Providence
     The Invention of Mankind
     Hath graciously permitted
     To Their Benefit
     And
     His own Eternal Glory.



CHAPTER IV. THE DEVELOPMENT OF BALLOON PHILOSOPHY.


In less than two years not only had the science of ballooning reached
almost its highest development, but the balloon itself, as an aerostatic
machine, had been brought to a state of perfection which has been but
little improved upon up to the present hour. Better or cheaper methods
of inflation were yet to be discovered, lighter and more suitable
material remained to be manufactured; but the navigation of the air,
which hitherto through all time had been beyond man's grasp, had been
attained, as it were, at a bound, and at the hands of many different
and independent experimentalists was being pursued with almost the same
degree of success and safety as to-day.

Nor was this all. There was yet another triumph of the aeronautical
art which, within the same brief period, had been to all intents and
purposes achieved, even if it had not been brought to the same state of
perfection as at the present hour. This was the Parachute. This fact
is one which for a sufficient reason is not generally known. It is very
commonly supposed that the parachute, in anything like its present form,
is a very modern device, and that the art of successfully using it had
not been introduced to the world even so lately as thirty years ago.
Thus, we find it stated in works of that date dealing with the subject
that disastrous consequences almost necessarily attended the use of the
parachute, "the defects of which had been attempted to be remedied
in various ways, but up to this time without success." A more correct
statement, however, would have been that the art of constructing and
using a practicable parachute had through many years been lost or
forgotten. In actual fact, it had been adopted with every assurance of
complete success by the year 1785, when Blanchard by its means lowered
dogs and other animals with safety from a balloon. A few years later he
descended himself in a like apparatus from Basle, meeting, however, with
the misadventure of a broken leg.

But we must go much further back for the actual conception of the
parachute, which, we might suppose, may originally have been suggested
by the easy floating motion with which certain seeds or leaves will
descend from lofty trees, or by the mode adopted by birds of dropping
softly to earth with out-stretched wings. M. de la Loubere, in his
historical account of Siam, which he visited in 1687-88, speaks of an
ingenious athlete who exceedingly diverted the King and his court
by leaping from a height and supporting himself in the air by two
umbrellas, the handles of which were affixed to his girdle. In 1783,
that is, the same year as that in which the balloon was invented, M.
le Normand experimented with a like umbrella-shaped contrivance, with a
view to its adoption as a fire escape, and he demonstrated the soundness
of the principle by descending himself from the windows of a lofty house
at Lyons.

It was, however, reserved for M. Jacques Garnerin in 1797 to make the
first parachute descent that attracted general attention. Garnerin had
previously been detained as a State prisoner in the fortress of Bade,
in Hungary, after the battle of Marchiennes in 1793, and during his
confinement had pondered on the possibility of effecting his escape by a
parachute. His solitary cogitations and calculations resulted, after his
release, in the invention and construction of an apparatus which he put
to a practical test at Paris before the court of France on October 22nd,
1797. Ascending in a hydrogen balloon to the height of about 2,000 feet,
he unhesitatingly cut himself adrift, when for some distance he dropped
like a stone. The folds of his apparatus, however, opening suddenly,
his fall became instantly checked. The remainder of his descent, though
leisurely, occupying, in fact, some twelve minutes, appeared to the
spectators to be attended with uncertainty, owing to a swinging motion
set up in the car to which he was clinging. But the fact remains that he
reached the earth with only slight impact, and entirely without injury.

It appears that Garnerin subsequently made many equally successful
parachute descents in France, and during the short peace of 1802 visited
London, where he gave an exhibition of his art. From the most reliable
accounts of his exploit it would seem that his drop was from a very
great height, and that a strong ground wind was blowing at the time, the
result of which was that wild, wide oscillations were set up in the car,
which narrowly escaped bringing him in contact with the house tops in
St. Pancreas, and eventually swung him down into a field, not without
some unpleasant scratches.

Nor was Garnerin the only successful parachutist at this period. A
Polish aeronaut, Jordaki Kuparento, ascended from Warsaw on the 24th
of July, 1804 in a hot air balloon, taking up, as was the custom, an
attached furnace, which caused the balloon to take fire when at a great
height. Kuparento, however, who was alone, had as a precaution provided
himself with a parachute, and with this he seems to have found no
difficulty in effecting a safe descent to earth.

It was many years after this that fresh experimentalists, introducing
parachutes on new lines and faulty in construction, met with death or
disaster. Enough, however, has already been said to show that in
the early years we are now traversing in this history a perfectly
practicable parachute had become an accomplished fact. The early form is
well described by Mr. Monck Mason in a letter to the Morning Herald in
1837, written on the eve of an unrehearsed and fatal experiment made by
Mr. Cocking, which must receive notice in due course. "The principle,"
writes Mr. Monck Mason, "upon which all these parachutes were
constructed is the same, and consists simply of a flattened dome of silk
or linen from 24 feet to 28 feet in diameter. From the outer margin all
around at stated intervals proceed a large number of cords, in length
about the diameter of the dome itself, which, being collected together
in one point and made fast to another of superior dimensions attached to
the apex of the machine, serve to maintain it in its form when expanded
in the progress of the descent. To this centre cord likewise, at a
distance below the point of junction, varying according to the fancy of
the aeronaut, is fixed the car or basket in which he is seated, and the
whole suspended from the network of the balloon in such a manner as to
be capable of being detached in an instant at the will of the individual
by cutting the rope by which it is made fast above."

It followed almost as a matter of course that so soon as the balloon
had been made subject to something like due control, and thus had become
recognised as a new machine fairly reduced to the service of man, it
began to be regarded as an instrument which should be made capable of
being devoted to scientific research. Indeed, it may be claimed that,
among the very earliest aeronauts, those who had sailed away into the
skies and brought back intelligent observations or impressions of the
realm of cloud-land, or who had only described their own sensations at
lofty altitudes, had already contributed facts of value to science. It
is time then, taking events in their due sequence, that mention should
be made of the endeavours of various savants, who began about the
commencement of the nineteenth century to gather fresh knowledge from
the exploration of the air by balloon ascents organised with fitting
equipment. The time had now come for promoting the balloon to higher
purposes than those of mere exhibition or amusement. In point of fact,
it had already in one way been turned to serious practical account.
It had been used by the French during military operations in the
revolutionary war as a mode of reconnoitring, and not without success,
so that when after due trial the war balloon was judged of value a
number of similar balloons were constructed for the use of the various
divisions of the French army, and, as will be told in its proper place,
one, at least, of these was put to a positive test before the battle of
Fleurus.

But, returning to more strictly scientific ascents, which began to be
mooted at this period, we are at once impressed with the widespread
influence which the balloon was exercising on thinking minds. We note
this from the fact that what must be claimed to be the first genuine
ascent for scientific observation was made in altogether fresh ground,
and at so distant a spot as St. Petersburg.

It was now the year 1804, and the Russian Academy had determined on
attempting an examination of the physical condition of the higher
atmosphere by means of the balloon. The idea had probably been suggested
by scientific observations which had already been made on mountain
heights by such explorers as De Luc, Saussure, Humboldt, and others. And
now it was determined that their results should be tested alongside such
observations as could be gathered in the free heaven far removed from
any disturbing effects that might be caused by contiguity to earth. The
lines of enquiry to which special attention was required were such as
would be naturally suggested by the scientific knowledge of the hour,
though they may read somewhat quaintly to-day. Would there be any change
in the intensity of the magnetic force? Any change in the inclination
of the magnetised needle? Would evaporation find a new law? Would solar
rays increase in power? What amount of electric matter would be found?
What change in the colours produced by the prism? What would be the
constitution of the higher and more attenuated air? What physical effect
would it have on human and bird life?

The ascent was made at 7.15 on a summer evening by M. Robertson and
the Academician, M. Sacharof, to whom we are indebted for the following
resume of notes, which have a special value as being the first of their
class. Rising slowly, a difference of atmosphere over the Neva gave the
balloon a downward motion, necessitating the discharge of ballast. As
late as 8.45 p.m. a fine view was obtained of the Newski Islands, and
the whole course of the neighbouring river. At 9.20 p.m., when the
barometer had fallen from 30 inches to 23 inches, a canary and a dove
were dismissed, the former falling precipitately, while the latter
sailed down to a village below. All available ballast was now thrown
out, including a spare great coat and the remains of supper, with the
result that at 9.30 the barometer had fallen to 22 inches, and at this
height they caught sight of the upper rim of the sun. The action of
heart and lungs remained normal. No stars were seen, though the sky was
mainly clear, such clouds as were visible appearing white and at a great
height. The echo of a speaking trumpet was heard after an interval of
ten seconds. This was substantially the outcome of the experiments. The
practical difficulties of carrying out prearranged observations amid the
inconvenience of balloon travel were much felt. Their instruments were
seriously damaged, and their results, despite most painstaking and
praiseworthy efforts, must be regarded as somewhat disappointing.

But ere the autumn of the same year two other scientific ascents,
admirably schemed and financed at the public expense, had been
successfully carried out at Paris in a war balloon which, as will be
told, had at this time been returned from military operations in Egypt.
In the first of these, Gay Lussac ascended in company with M. Biot, with
very complete equipment. Choosing ten o'clock in the morning for their
hour of departure, they quickly entered a region of thin, but wet
fog, after which they shot up into denser cloud, which they completely
surmounted at a height of 6,500 feet, when they described the upper
surface as bearing the resemblance, familiar enough to aeronauts and
mountaineers, as of a white sea broken up into gently swelling billows,
or of an extended plain covered with snow.

A series of simple experiments now embarked upon showed the behaviour
of magnetised iron, as also of a galvanic pile or battery, to remain
unaltered. As their altitude increased their pulses quickened, though
beyond feeling keenly the contrast of a colder air and of scorching rays
of the sun they experienced no physical discomfort. At 11,000 feet a
linnet which they liberated fell to the earth almost helplessly, while a
pigeon with difficulty maintained an irregular and precipitate flight.
A carefully compiled record was made of variations of temperature and
humidity, and they succeeded in determining that the upper air was
charged with negative electricity. In all this these two accomplished
physicists may be said to have carried out a brilliant achievement, even
though their actual results may seem somewhat meagre. They not only
were their own aeronauts, but succeeded in arranging and carrying out
continuous and systematic observations throughout the period of their
remaining in the sky.

This voyage was regarded as such a pronounced success that three weeks
later, in mid-September, Gay Lussac was induced to ascend again, this
time alone, and under circumstances that should enable him to reach an
exceptionally high altitude. Experience had taught the advisability of
certain modifications in his equipment. A magnet was ingeniously slung
with a view of testing its oscillation even in spite of accidental
gyrations in the balloon. Thermometers and hygrometers were carefully
sheltered from the direct action of the sun, and exhausted flasks were
supplied with the object of bringing down samples of upper air for
subsequent analysis.

Again it was an early morning ascent, with a barometer on the ground
standing at 30.6 inches, and a slightly misty air. Lussac appears
to have accomplished the exceedingly difficult task of counting the
oscillations of his magnet with satisfaction to himself. At 10,000 feet
twenty vibrations occupied 83 seconds, as compared with 84.33 seconds at
the earth's surface. The variation of the compass remained unaltered,
as also the behaviour of magnetised iron at all altitudes. Keeping his
balloon under perfect control, and maintaining a uniform and steady
ascent, he at the same time succeeded in compiling an accurate table of
readings recording atmospheric pressure, temperature and humidity,
and it is interesting to find that he was confronted with an apparent
anomaly which will commonly present itself to the aeronaut observer.
Up to 12,000 feet the temperature had decreased consistently from 82
degrees to 47 degrees, after which it increased 6 degrees in the next
2,000 feet. This by no means uncommon experience shall be presently
discussed. The balloon was now steadily manoeuvred up to 18,636 feet, at
which height freezing point was practically reached. Then with a further
climb 20,000 feet is recorded, at which altitude the ardent philosopher
could still attend to his magnetic observations, nor is his arduous and
unassisted task abandoned here, but with marvellous pertinacity he yet
struggled upwards till a height of no less than 23,000 feet is recorded,
and the thermometer had sunk to 14 degrees F. Four miles and a quarter
above the level of the sea, reached by a solitary aerial explorer, whose
legitimate training lay apart from aeronautics, and whose main care
was the observation of the philosophical instruments he carried! The
achievement of this French savant makes a brilliant record in the early
pages of our history.

It is not surprising that Lussac should own to having felt no
inconsiderable personal discomfort before his venture was over. In spite
of warm clothing he suffered greatly from cold and benumbed fingers,
not less also from laboured breathing and a quickened pulse; headache
supervened, and his throat became parched and unable to swallow food. In
spite of all, he conducted the descent with the utmost skill, climbing
down quietly and gradually till he alighted with gentle ease at St.
Gourgen, near Rouen. It may be mentioned here that the analysis of the
samples of air which he had brought down proved them to contain the
normal proportion of oxygen, and to be essentially identical, as tested
in the laboratory, with the free air secured at the surface of the
earth.

The sudden and apparently unaccountable variation in temperature
recorded by Lussac is a striking revelation to an aerial observer, and
becomes yet more marked when more sensitive instruments are used than
those which were taken up on the occasion just related. It will be
recorded in a future chapter how more suitable instruments came in
course of time to be devised. It is only necessary to point out at this
stage that instruments which lack due sensibility will unavoidably read
too high in ascents, and too low in descents where, according to the
general law, the air is found to grow constantly colder with elevation
above the earth's surface. It is strong evidence of considerable
efficiency in the instruments, and of careful attention on the part of
the observer, that Lussac was able to record the temporary inversion
of the law of change of temperature above-mentioned. Had he possessed
modern instrumental equipment he would have brought down a yet more
remarkable account of the upper regions which he visited, and learned
that the variations of heat and cold were considerably more striking
than he supposed.

With a specially devised instrument used with special precautions, the
writer, as will be shown hereafter, has been able to prove that the
temperature of the air, as traversed in the wayward course of a balloon,
is probably far more variable and complex than has been recorded by most
observers.

The exceptional height claimed to have been reached by Gay Lassac need
not for a moment be questioned, and the fact that he did not experience
the same personal inconvenience as has been complained of by mountain
climbers at far less altitudes admits of ready explanation. The physical
exertion demanded of the mountaineer is entirely absent in the case of
an aeronaut who is sailing at perfect ease in a free balloon. Moreover,
it must be remembered that--a most important consideration--the aerial
voyager, necessarily travelling with the wind, is unconscious, save
at exceptional moments, of any breeze whatever, and it is a
well-established fact that a degree of cold which might be insupportable
when a breeze is stirring may be but little felt in dead calm. It should
also be remembered, in duly regarding Gay Lussac's remarkable record,
that this was not his first experience of high altitudes, and it is an
acknowledged truth that an aeronaut, especially if he be an enthusiast,
quickly becomes acclimatised to his new element, and sufficiently inured
to its occasional rigours.



CHAPTER V. SOME FAMOUS EARLY VOYAGERS.


During certain years which now follow it will possibly be thought that
our history, so far as incidents of special interest are concerned,
somewhat languishes. Yet it may be wrong to regard this period as one of
stagnation or retrogression.

Before passing on to later annals, however, we must duly chronicle
certain exceptional achievements and endeavours as yet unmentioned,
which stand out prominently in the period we have been regarding as also
in the advancing years of the new century Among these must in justice
be included those which come into the remarkable, if somewhat pathetic
subsequent career of the brilliant, intrepid Lunardi.

Compelling everywhere unbounded admiration he readily secured the means
necessary for carrying out further exploits wherever he desired while
at the same time he met with a measure of good fortune in freedom from
misadventure such as has generally been denied to less bold adventurers.
Within a few months of the time when we left him, the popular hero and
happy recipient of civic and royal favours, we find him in Scotland
attempting feats which a knowledge of practical difficulties bids us
regard as extraordinary.

To begin with, nothing appears more remarkable than the ease,
expedition, and certainty with which in days when necessary facilities
must have been far harder to come by than now, he could always fill his
balloon by the usually tedious and troublesome mode attending hydrogen
inflation. We see him at his first Scottish ascent, completing the
operation in little more than two hours. It is the same later at
Glasgow, where, commencing with only a portion of his apparatus, he
finds the inflation actually to proceed too rapidly for his purpose,
and has to hold the powers at his command strongly in check. Later, in
December weather, having still further improved his apparatus, he makes
his balloon support itself after the inflation of only ten minutes.
Then, as if assured of impunity, he treats recognised risks with a
species of contempt. At Kelso he hails almost with joy the fact that
the wind must carry him rapidly towards the sea, which in the end he
narrowly escapes. At Glasgow the chances of safe landing are still
more against him, yet he has no hesitation in starting, and at last the
catastrophe he seemed to court actually overtook him, and he plumped
into the sea near Berwick, where no sail was even in sight, and a
winter's night coming on. From this predicament he was rescued by a
special providence which once before had not deserted him, when in a
tumult of violent and contrary currents, and at a great height to boot,
his gallery was almost completely carried away, and he had to cling on
to the hoop desperately with both hands.

Then we lose sight of the dauntless, light-hearted Italian for
one-and-twenty years, when in the Gentleman's Magazine of July 31,
1806, appears the brief line, "Died in the convent of Barbadinas, of a
decline, Mr. Vincent Lunardi, the celebrated aeronaut."

Garnerin, of whom mention has already been made, accomplished in the
summer of 1802 two aerial voyages marked by extreme velocity in the
rate of travel. The first of these is also remarkable as having been
the first to fairly cross the heart of London. Captain Snowdon, R.N.,
accompanied the aeronaut. The ascent took place from Chelsea Gardens,
and proved so great an attraction that the crowd overflowed into the
neighbouring parts of the town, choking up the thoroughfares with
vehicles, and covering the river with boats. On being liberated, the
balloon sped rapidly away, taking a course midway between the river
and the main highway of the Strand, Fleet Street, and Cheapside, and so
passed from view of the multitude. Such a departure could hardly fail
to lead to subsequent adventures, and this is pithily told in a letter
written by Garnerin himself: "I take the earliest opportunity of
informing you that after a very pleasant journey, but after the most
dangerous descent I ever made, on account of the boisterous weather and
the vicinity of the sea, we alighted at the distance of four miles from
this place and sixty from Ranelagh. We were only three-quarters of an
hour on the way. To-night I intend to be in London with the balloon,
which is torn to pieces. We ourselves are all over bruises."

Only a week after the same aeronaut ascended again from Marylebone, when
he attained almost the same velocity, reaching Chingford, a distance of
seventeen miles, in fifteen minutes.

The chief danger attending a balloon journey in a high wind, supposing
no injury has been sustained in filling and launching, results not so
much from impact with the ground on alighting as from the subsequent
almost inevitable dragging along the ground. The grapnels, spurning the
open, will often obtain no grip save in a hedge or tree, and even then
large boughs will be broken through or dragged away, releasing the
balloon on a fresh career which may, for a while, increase in mad
impetuosity as the emptying silk offers a deeper hollow for the wind to
catch.

The element of risk is of another nature in the case of a night ascent,
when the actual alighting ground cannot be duly chosen or foreseen.
Among many record night ascents may here, somewhat by anticipation
of events, be mentioned two embarked upon by the hero of our last
adventure. M. Garnerin was engaged to make a spectacular ascent from
Tivoli at Paris, leaving the grounds at night with attached lamps
illuminating his balloon. His first essay was on a night of early
August, when he ascended at 11 p.m., reaching a height of nearly three
miles. Remaining aloft through the hours of darkness, he witnessed the
sun rise at half-past two in the morning, and eventually came to earth
after a journey of some seven hours, during which time he had covered
considerably more than a hundred miles. A like bold adventure carried
out from the same grounds the following month was attended with graver
peril. A heavy thunderstorm appearing imminent, Garnerin elected to
ascend with great rapidity, with the result that his balloon, under the
diminished pressure, quickly became distended to an alarming degree, and
he was reduced to the necessity of piercing a hole in the silk, while
for safety's sake he endeavoured to extinguish all lamps within reach.
He now lost all control over his balloon, which became unmanageable in
the conflict of the storm. Having exhausted his ballast, he presently
was rudely brought to earth and then borne against a mountain side,
finally losing consciousness until the balloon had found anchorage three
hundred miles away from Paris.

A night ascent, which reads as yet more sensational and extraordinary,
is reported to have been made a year or two previously, and when it is
considered that the balloon used was of the Montgolfier type the account
as it is handed down will be allowed to be without parallel. It runs
thus: Count Zambeccari, Dr. Grassati of Rome, and M. Pascal Andreoli of
Antona ascended on a November night from Bologna, allowing their balloon
to rise with excessive velocity. In consequence of this rapid transition
to an extreme altitude the Count and the Doctor became insensible,
leaving Andreoli alone in possession of his faculties. At two o'clock in
the morning they found themselves descending over the Adriatic, at
which time a lantern which they carried expired and was with difficulty
re-lighted. Continuing to descend, they presently pitched in to the sea
and became drenched with salt water. It may seem surprising that the
balloon, which could not be prevented falling in the water, is yet
enabled to ascend from the grip of the waves by the mere discharge of
ballast. (It would be interesting to inquire what meanwhile happened to
the fire which they presumably carried with them.) They now rose into
regions of cloud, where they became covered with hoar frost and also
stone deaf. At 3 a.m. they were off the coast of Istria, once more
battling with the waves till picked up by a shore boat. The balloon,
relieved of their weight, then flew away into Turkey.

However overdrawn this narrative may appear, it must be read in the
light of another account, the bare, hard facts of which can admit of
no question. It is five years later, and once again Count Zambeccari is
ascending from Bologna, this time in company with Signor Bonagna. Again
it is a Montgolfier or fire balloon, and on nearing earth it becomes
entangled in a tree and catches fire. The aeronauts jump for their
lives, and the Count is killed on the spot. Certainly, when every
allowance is made for pardonable or unintentional exaggeration, it
must be conceded that there were giants in those days. Giants in the
conception and accomplishment of deeds of lofty daring. Men who came
scathless through supreme danger by virtue of the calmness and courage
with which they withstood it.

Among other appalling disasters we have an example of a terrific descent
from a vast height in which the adventurers yet escape with their lives.
It was the summer of 1808, and the aeronauts, MM. Andreoli and Brioschi,
ascending from Padua, reach a height at which a barometer sinks to eight
inches, indicating upwards of 30,000 feet. At this point the balloon
bursts, and falls precipitately near Petrarch's tomb. Commenting on
this, Mr. Glaisher, the value of whose opinion is second to none, is not
disposed to question the general truth of the narrative. In regard to
Zambeccari's escape from the sea related above, it should be stated that
in the case of a gas-inflated balloon which has no more than dipped its
car or gallery in the waves, it is generally perfectly possible to raise
it again from the water, provided there is on board a store of ballast,
the discharge of which will sufficiently lighten the balloon. A case in
point occurred in a most romantic and perilous voyage accomplished by
Mr. Sadler on the 1st of October, 1812.

His adventure is one of extraordinary interest, and of no little value
to the practical aeronaut. The following account is condensed from Mr.
Sadler's own narrative. He started from the grounds of Belvedere House,
Dublin, with the expressed intention of endeavouring to cross over the
Irish Channel to Liverpool. There appear to have been two principal
air drifts, an upper and a lower, by means of which he entertained fair
hopes of steering his desired course. But from the outset he was menaced
with dangers and difficulties. Ere he had left the land he discovered
a rent in his silk which, occasioned by some accident before leaving,
showed signs of extending. To reach this, it was necessary to
extemporise by means of a rope a species of ratlins by which he
could climb the rigging. He then contrived to close the rent with his
neckcloth. He was, by this time, over the sea, and, manoeuvring his
craft by aid of the two currents at his disposal, he was carried to the
south shore of the Isle of Man, whence he was confident of being able,
had he desired it, of landing in Cumberland. This, however, being
contrary to his intention, he entrusted himself to the higher current,
and by it was carried to the north-west of Holyhead. Here he dropped
once again to the lower current, drifting south of the Skerry Lighthouse
across the Isle of Anglesea, and at 4.30 p.m. found himself abreast of
the Great Orme's Head. Evening now approaching, he had determined to
seek a landing, but at this critical juncture the wind shifted to the
southward, and he became blown out to sea. Then, for an hour, he appears
to have tried high and low for a more favourable current, but without
success; and, feeling the danger of his situation, and, moreover,
sighting no less than five vessels beating down the Channel, he boldly
descended in the sea about a mile astern of them. He must for certain
have been observed by these vessels; but each and all held on their
course, and, thus deserted, the aeronaut had no choice but to discharge
ballast, and, quitting the waves, to regain his legitimate element. His
experiences at this period of his extraordinary voyage are best told in
his own words. "At the time I descended the sun was near setting Already
the shadows of evening had cast a dusky hue over the face of the ocean,
and a crimson glow purpled the tops of the waves as, heaving in the
evening breeze, they died away in distance, or broke in foam against the
sides of the vessels, and before I rose from the sea the orb had sunk
below the horizon, leaving only the twilight glimmer to light the vast
expanse around me. How great, therefore, was my astonishment, and how
incapable is expression to convey an adequate idea of my feelings when,
rising to the upper region of the air, the sun, whose parting beams I
had already witnessed, again burst on my view, and encompassed me with
the full blaze of day. Beneath me hung the shadows of even, whilst the
clear beams of the sun glittered on the floating vehicle which bore me
along rapidly before the wind."

After a while he sights three more vessels, which signify their
willingness to stand by, whereupon he promptly descends, dropping
beneath the two rear-most of them. From this point the narrative of the
sinking man, and the gallant attempt at rescue, will rival any like tale
of the sea. For the wind, now fast rising, caught the half empty balloon
so soon as the car touched the sea, and the vessel astern, though in
full pursuit, was wholly unable to come up. Observing this, Mr. Sadler,
trusting more to the vessel ahead, dropped his grappling iron by way of
drag, and shortly afterwards tried the further expedient of taking off
his clothes and attaching them to the iron. The vessels, despite these
endeavours, failing to overhaul him, he at last, though with reasonable
reluctance, determined to further cripple the craft that bore him so
rapidly by liberating a large quantity of gas, a desperate, though
necessary, expedient which nearly cost him his life.

For the car now instantly sank, and the unfortunate man, clutching at
the hoop, found he could not even so keep himself above the water, and
was reduced to clinging, as a last hope, to the netting. The result of
this could be foreseen, for he was frequently plunged under water by the
mere rolling of the balloon. Cold and exertion soon told on him, as he
clung frantically to the valve rope, and when his strength failed him he
actually risked the expedient of passing his head through the meshes
of the net. It was obvious that for avail help must soon come; yet the
pursuing vessel, now close, appeared to hold off, fearing to become
entangled in the net, and in this desperate extremity, fainting from
exhaustion and scarcely able to cry aloud, Mr. Sadler himself seems to
have divined the chance yet left; for, summoning his failing strength,
he shouted to the sailors to run their bowsprit through his balloon.
This was done, and the drowning man was hauled on board with the life
scarcely in him.

A fitting sequel to the above adventure followed five years afterwards.
The Irish Sea remained unconquered. No balloonist had as yet ever
crossed its waters. Who would attempt the feat once more? Who more
worthy than the hero's own son, Mr. Windham Sadler?

This aspiring aeronaut, emulating his father's enterprising spirit,
chose the same starting ground at Dublin, and on the longest day of
1817, when winds seemed favourable, left the Porto Bello barracks at
1.20 p.m. His endeavour was to "tack" his course by such currents as he
should find, in the manner attempted by his father, and at starting the
ground current blew favourably from the W.S.W. He, however, allowed his
balloon to rise to too high an altitude, where he must have been taken
aback by a contrary drift; for, on descending again through a shower of
snow, he found himself no further than Ben Howth, as yet only ten miles
on his long journey. Profiting by his mistake, he thenceforward, by
skilful regulation, kept his balloon within due limits, and successfully
maintained a direct course across the sea, reaching a spot in Wales not
far from Holyhead an hour and a half before sundown. The course taken
was absolutely the shortest possible, being little more than seventy
miles, which he traversed in five hours.

From this period of our story, noteworthy events in aeronautical history
grow few and far between. As a mere exhibition the novelty of a balloon
ascent had much worn off. No experimentalist was ready with any new
departure in the art. No fresh adventure presented itself to the minds
of the more enterprising spirits; and, whereas a few years previously
ballooning exploits crowded into every summer season and were not
neglected even in winter months, there is now for a while little to
chronicle, either abroad or in our own country. A certain revival of the
sensational element in ballooning was occasionally witnessed, and not
without mishap, as in the case of Madame Blanchard, who, in the summer
of 1819, ascending at night with fireworks from the Tivoli Gardens,
Paris, managed to set fire to her balloon and lost her life in her
terrific fall. Half a dozen years later a Mr., as also Mrs., Graham
figure before the public in some bold spectacular ascents.

But the fame of any aeronaut of that date must inevitably pale before
the dawning light shed by two stars of the first magnitude that were
arising in two opposite parts of the world--Mr. John Wise in America,
and Mr. Charles Green in our own country. The latter of these, who has
been well styled the "Father of English Aeronautics," now entered on a
long and honoured career of so great importance and success that we must
reserve for him a separate and special chapter.



CHAPTER VI. CHARLES GREEN AND THE NASSAU BALLOON.


The balloon, which had gradually been dropping out of favour, had now
been virtually laid aside, and, to all appearance, might have continued
so, when, as if by chance concurrence of events, there arrived both the
hour and the man to restore it to the world, and to invest it with a new
practicability and importance. The coronation of George the Fourth
was at hand, and this became a befitting occasion for the rare genius
mentioned at the end of the last chapter, and now in his thirty-sixth
year, to put in practice a new method of balloon management and
inflation, the entire credit of which must be accorded to him alone.

From its very introduction and inception the gas balloon, an expensive
and fragile structure in itself, had proved at all times exceedingly
costly in actual use. Indeed, we find that at the date at which we have
now arrived the estimate for filling a balloon of 70,000 cubic feet--no
extraordinary capacity--with hydrogen gas was about L250. When, then,
to this great outlay was added the difficulty and delay of producing
a sufficient supply by what was at best a clumsy process, as also the
positive failure and consequent disappointment which not infrequently
ensued, it is easy to understand how through many years balloon ascents,
no longer a novelty, had begun to be regarded with distrust, and the
profession of a balloonist was doomed to become unremunerative. A
simpler and cheaper mode of inflation was not only a desideratum, but an
absolute necessity. The full truth of this may be gathered from the fact
that we find there were not seldom instances where two or three days of
continuous and anxious labour were expended in generating and passing
hydrogen into a balloon, through the fabric of which the subtle gas
would escape almost as fast as it was produced.

It was at this juncture, then, that Charles Green conceived the happy
idea of substituting for hydrogen gas the ordinary household gas, which
at this time was to be found ready to hand and in sufficient quantity in
all towns of any consequence; and by the day of the coronation all was
in readiness for a public exhibition of this method of inflation, which
was carried out with complete success, though not altogether without
unrehearsed and amusing incident, as must be told.

The day, July 18, was one of summer heat, and Green at the conclusion
of his preparations, fatigued with anxious labour and oppressed by the
crowding of the populace, took refuge within the car of his balloon,
which was by that time already inflated, and only awaiting the gun
signal that was to announce the moment for its departure. To allow of
his gaining the refreshment of somewhat purer air he begged his
friends who were holding the car of his balloon in restraint to keep it
suspended at a few feet from the earth, while he rested himself within,
and, this being done, it would appear that he fell into a doze, from
which he did not awake till he found that the balloon, which had slipped
from his friends' hold, was already high above the crowd and requiring
his prompt attention. This was, however, by no means an untoward
accident, and Green's triumph was complete. By this one venture alone
the success of the new method was entirely assured. The cost of the
inflation had been reduced ten-fold, the labour and uncertainty a
hundred-fold, and, over and above all, the confidence of the public was
restored. It is little wonder, then, that in the years that now follow
we find the balloon returning to all the favour it had enjoyed in its
palmiest days. But Green proved himself something more than a practical
balloonist of the first rank. He brought to the aid of his profession
ideas which were matured by due thought and scientifically sound. It is
true he still clung for a while to the antiquated notion that mechanical
means could, with advantage, be used to cause a balloon to ascend or
descend, or to alter its direction in a tranquil atmosphere. But he
saw clearly that the true method of navigating a balloon should be by a
study of upper currents, and this he was able to put to practical proof
on a memorable occasion, and in a striking manner, as we shall presently
relate.

He learned the lesson early in his career while acquiring facts and
experience, unassisted, in a number of solitary voyages made from
different parts of the country. Among these he is careful to record an
occasion when, making a day-light ascent from Boston, Lincolnshire,
he maintained a lofty course, which promised to take him direct to
Grantham; but, presently descending to a lower level, and his balloon
diverging at an angle of some 45 degrees, he now headed for Newark. This
experience he stored away.

A month later we find him making a night voyage from Vauxhall Gardens,
destined to be the scene of many memorable ascents in the near future;
and on this occasion he gave proof of his capability as a close and
intelligent observer. It was a July night, near 11 p.m., moonless and
cloudy, yet the earth was visible, and under these circumstances
his simple narrative becomes of scientific value. He accurately
distinguished the reflective properties of the face of the diversified
country he traversed. Over Battersea and Wandsworth--this was in
1826--there were white sheets spread over the land, which proved to be
corn crops ready for the sickle. Where crops were not the ground was
darker, with, here and there, objects absolutely black--in other words,
trees and houses. Then he mentions the river in a memorandum, which
reads strangely to the aeronaut who has made the same night voyage in
these latter days. The stream was crossed in places with rows of lamps
apparently resting on the water. These were the lighted bridges;
but, here and there, were dark planks, and these too were bridges--at
Battersea and Putney--but without a light upon them!

In these and many other simple, but graphic, narratives Green draws
his own pictures of Nature in her quieter moods. But he was not without
early experience of her horse play, a highly instructive record of which
should not be omitted here, and which, as coming from so careful and
conscientious an observer, is best gathered from his own words. The
ascent was from Newbury, and it can have been no mean feat to fill,
under ordinary circumstances, a balloon carrying two passengers and a
considerable weight of ballast at the small gas-holder which served the
town eighty-five years ago. But the circumstances were not ordinary, for
the wind was extremely squally; a tremendous hail and thunderstorm blew
up, and a hurricane swept the balloon with such force that two tons
weight of iron and a hundred men scarce sufficed to hold it in check.

Green on this occasion had indeed a companion, whose usefulness however
at a pinch may be doubted when we learn that he was both deaf and dumb.
The rest of the narrative runs thus: "Between 4 and 5 p.m. the clouds
dispersed, but the wind continued to rage with unabated fury the whole
of the evening. At 6 p.m. I stepped into the car with Mr. Simmons and
gave the word 'Away!' The moment the machine was disencumbered of its
weights it was torn by the violence of the wind from the assistants,
bounded off with the velocity of lightning in a southeasterly direction,
and in a very short space of time attained an elevation of two miles. At
this altitude we perceived two immense bodies of clouds operated on by
contrary currents of air until at length they became united, and at that
moment my ears were assailed by the most awful and longest continued
peal of thunder I have ever heard. These clouds were a full mile beneath
us, but perceiving other strata floating at the same elevation at which
we were sailing, which from their appearance I judged to be highly
charged with electricity, I considered it prudent to discharge twenty
pounds of ballast, and we rose half a mile above our former elevation,
where I considered we were perfectly safe and beyond their influence.
I observed, amongst other phenomena, that at every discharge of thunder
all the detached pillars of clouds within the distance of a mile around
became attracted and appeared to concentrate their force towards the
first body of clouds alluded to, leaving the atmosphere clear and calm
beneath and around us.

"With very trifling variations we continued the same course until 7.15
p.m., when we descended to within 500 feet of the earth; but, perceiving
from the disturbed surface of the rivers and lakes that a strong wind
existed near the earth, we again ascended and continued our course till
7.30 p.m., when a final descent was safely effected in a meadow field in
the parish of Crawley in Surrey, situated between Guildford and Horsham,
and fifty-eight miles from Newbury. This stormy voyage was performed in
one hour and a half."

It was after Green had followed his profession for fifteen years that he
was called upon to undertake the management of an aerial venture, which,
all things considered, has never been surpassed in genuine enterprise
and daring. The conception of the project was due to Mr. Robert Hollond,
and it took shape in this way. This gentleman, fresh from Cambridge,
possessed of all the ardour of early manhood, as also of adequate means,
had begun to devote himself with the true zeal of the enthusiast to
the pursuit of ballooning, finding due opportunity for this in his
friendship with Mr. Green, who enjoyed the management of the fine
balloon made for ascents at the then popular Vauxhall Gardens. In the
autumn of 1836 the proprietors of this balloon, contemplating making an
exhibition of an ascent from Paris, and requiring their somewhat fragile
property to be conveyed to that city, Mr. Hollond boldly came forward
and offered to transfer it thither, and, as nearly as this might be
possible, by passage through the sky. The proposal was accepted, and Mr.
Holland, in conjunction with Green, set about the needful preparations.
These, as will appear, were on an extraordinary scale, and no blame is
to be imputed on that account, as a little consideration will show. For
the venture proposed was not to be that of merely crossing the Channel,
which, as we have seen, had been successfully effected no less than
fifty years before. The voyage in contemplation was to be from London;
it was, moreover, to be pursued through a long, moonless winter's
night, and under conditions of which no living aeronaut had had actual
experience.

Calculation, based on a sufficient knowledge of fast upper currents,
told that their course, ere finished, might be one of almost indefinite
length, and it is not too much to say that no one, with the knowledge
of that day, could predict within a thousand miles where the dawn of
the next day might find them. The equipment, therefore, was commensurate
with the possible task before them. To begin with, they limited their
number to three in all--Mr. Hollond, as chief and keeper of the log; Mr.
Green, as aeronaut; and an enthusiastic colleague, Mr. Monck Mason,
as the chronicler of the party. Next, they provided themselves with
passports to all parts of the Continent; and then came the fitting out
and victualling of the aerial craft itself, calculated to carry some
90,000 cubic feet of gas, and a counterpoise of a ton of ballast, which
took the form partly of actual provisions in large quantity, partly of
gear and apparatus, and for the rest of sand and also lime, of which
more anon. Across the middle of the car was fixed a bench to serve as
table, and also as a stage for the winding in and out of an enormous
trail rope a thousand feet long, designed by Mr. Green to meet the
special emergencies of the voyage. At the bottom of the car was spread
a large cushion to serve the purposes of rest. When all was in readiness
unfitness of weather baulked the travellers for some days, but Monday,
the 7th of November, was judged a favourable day, so that the inflation
was rapidly proceeded with, and at 1.30 p.m. the "Monstre Balloon,"
as it was entitled in the "Ingoldsby Legends," left the earth on her
eventful and ever memorable voyage. The weather was fine and promising,
and, rising with a moderate breeze from the N.W., they began to traverse
the northern parts of Kent, while light, drifting upper clouds gave
indication of other possible currents. Mr. Hollond was precise in the
determination of times and of all readings and we learn that at exactly
2.48 p.m. they were crossing the Medway, six miles west of Rochester,
while at 4.5 p.m. the lofty towers of Canterbury were well in view,
two miles to the east, and here a little function was well carried
out. Green had twice ascended from this city under patronage of the
authorities, and the idea occurred to the party that it would be a
graceful compliment to drop a message to the Mayor as they passed. A
suitable note, therefore, quickly written, was dismissed in a parachute,
and it may be mentioned that this, as also a similar missive addressed
later to the Mayor of Dover, were duly received and acknowledged.

At a quarter past four they sighted the sea, and here, the air beginning
to grow chill, the balloon dropped earthward, and for some miles they
skimmed the ground, disturbing the partridges, scattering the rooks, and
keeping up a running conversation the while with labourers and passers
below. In this there was exercise of perfectly proper aerial seamanship,
such as moreover presently led to an exhibition of true science. To save
ballast is, with a balloon, to prolong life, and this may often best be
done by flying low, which doubtless was Green's present intention. But
soon his trained eye saw that the ground current which now carried them
was leading them astray. They were trending to the northward, and so far
out of their course that they would soon make the North Foreland, and
so be carried out over the North Sea far from their desired direction.
Thereupon Green attempted to put in practice his theory, already spoken
of, of steering by upper currents, and the event proved his judgment
peculiarly correct. "Nothing," wrote Mr. Monck Mason, "could exceed
the beauty of the manoeuvre, to which the balloon at once responded,
regaining her due course, and, in a matter of a few minutes only,
bearing the voyagers almost vertically over the castle of Dover in the
exact line for crossing the straits between that town and Calais."

So far all was well, and success had been extraordinary; but from this
moment they became faced with new conditions, and with the grave trouble
of uncertainty. Light was failing, the sea was before them, and--what
else thenceforth? 4.48 p.m. was recorded as the moment when the first
line of breaking waves was seen directly below them, and then the
English coast line began rapidly to fade out from their view. But,
ahead, the obscurity was yet more intense, for clouds, banked up like
a solid wall, crowned along its frowning heights, with "parapets and
turrets and batteries and bastions," and, plunging into this opposing
barrier, they were quickly buried in blackness, losing at the same time
over the sea all sound from earth soever. So for a short hour's space,
when the sound of waves once again broke in upon them, and immediately
afterwards emerging from the dense cloud (a sea-fog merely) they found
themselves immediately over the brilliantly lighted town of Calais.
Seeing this, the travellers attempted to signal by igniting and lowering
a Bengal Light, which was directly followed by the beating of drums from
below.

It adds a touch of reality, as well as cheerfulness, to the narrative
to read that at this period of their long journey the travellers apply
themselves to a fair, square meal, the first for twelve hours, despite
the day's excitement and toil. We have an entry among the stores of the
balloon of wine bottles and spirit flasks, but there is no mention of
these being requisitioned at this period. The demand seems rather to
have been for coffee--coffee hot; and this by a novel device was soon
prepared. It goes without saying that a fire or flame of any kind,
except with special precautions, is inadmissable in a balloon; but a
cooking heat, sufficient for the present purpose, was supplied from the
store of lime, a portion of which, being placed in a suitably contrived
vessel and slaked quickly, procured the desired beverage.

This meal now indulged in seems to have been heartily and happily
enjoyed; and from this point, for a while, the narrative becomes that of
enthusiastic and delighted travellers. In the gloom below, for leagues
around, they regarded the scattered fires of a watchful population, with
here and there the lights of larger towns, and the contemplation begot
romantic reveries. "Were they not amid the vast solitudes of the skies,
in the dead of night, unknown and unnoticed, secretly and silently
reviewing kingdoms, exploring territories, and surveying cities all
clothed in the dark mantle of mystery?" Presently they identified the
blazing city of Liege, with the lurid lights of extensive outlying iron
works, and this was the last visible sign they caught of earth that
night; save, at least, when occasional glimpses of lightning momentarily
and dimly outlined the world in the abyss below.

Ere long, they met with their first discomfort, which they seem to
have regarded as a most serious one, namely, the accidental dropping
overboard of their cherished coffee-boiling apparatus. With its loss
their store of lime became useless, save as ballast, and for this it
was forthwith utilised until nothing remained but the empty lime barrel
itself, which, being regarded as an objectionable encumbrance, it was
desirable to get rid of, were it not for the risk involved in rudely
dropping it to earth. But the difficulty was met. They possessed a
suitable small parachute, and, attached to this, the barrel was allowed
to float earthward.

As hours advanced, the blackness of night increased, and their
impressions appear somewhat strange to anyone familiar with ordinary
night travel in the sky. Mr. Monck Mason compares their progress through
the darkness to "cleaving their way through an interminable mass of
black marble." Then, presently, an unaccountable object puzzles and
absorbs the attention of all the party for a long period. They were
gazing open-mouthed at a long narrow avenue of feeble light, which,
though apparently belonging to earth, was too long and regular for a
river, and too broad for a canal or road, and it was only after many
futile imaginings that they discovered they were simply looking at a
stay rope of the balloon hanging far out over the side.

Somewhat later still, there was a more serious claim upon the
imagination. It was half-past three in the morning, and the balloon,
which, to escape from too low an altitude, had been liberally lightened,
had now at high speed mounted to a vast height. And then, amid the black
darkness and dead silence of that appalling region, suddenly overhead
came the sound of an explosion, followed by the violent rustling of the
silk, while the car jerked violently, as though suddenly detached from
its hold. This was the idea, leading to the belief that the balloon had
suddenly exploded, and that they were falling headlong to earth.
Their suspense, however, cannot have been long, and the incident was
intelligible enough, being due to the sudden yielding of stiffened net
and silk under rapid expansion caused by their speedy and lofty ascent.

The chief incidents of the night were now over, until the dawn arrived
and began to reveal a strange land, with large tracts of snow, giving
place, as the light strengthened, to vast forests. To their minds these
suggested the plains of Poland, if not the steppes of Russia, and,
fearing that the country further forward might prove more inhospitable,
they decided to come to earth as speedily as possible. This, in spite
of difficult landing, they effected about the hour that the waking
population were moving abroad, and then, and not till then, they learned
the land of their haven--the heart of the German forests. Five hundred
miles had been covered in eighteen hours from start to finish!



CHAPTER VII. CHARLES GREEN--FURTHER ADVENTURES.


All history is liable to repeat itself, and that of aeronautics forms
no exception to the rule. The second year after the invention of the
balloon the famous M. Blanchard, ascending from Frankfort, landed near
Weilburg, and, in commemoration of the event, the flag he bore was
deposited among the archives in the ducal palace of that town. Fifty-one
years passed by when, outside the same city, a yet more famous balloon
effected its landing, and with due ceremony its flag is presently laid
beside that of Blanchard in the same ducal palace. The balloon of the
"Immortal Three," whose splendid voyage has just been recounted,
will ever be known by the title of the Great Nassau Balloon, but the
neighbourhood of its landing was that of the town of Weilburg, in the
Duchy of Nassau, whither the party betook themselves, and where, during
many days, they were entertained with extravagant hospitality and honour
until business recalled Mr. Hollond home.

Green had now made upwards of two hundred ascents, and, though he lived
to make a thousand, it was impossible that he could ever eclipse
this last record. It is true that the same Nassau balloon, under his
guidance, made many other most memorable voyages, some of which it will
be necessary to dwell on. But, to preserve a better chronology, we must
first, without further digression, approach an event which fills a dark
page in our annals; and, in so doing, we have to transfer our attention
from the balloon itself to its accessory, the parachute.

Twenty-three years before our present date, that is to say in 1814,
Mr. Cocking delivered his views as to the proper form of the parachute
before the Society of Arts, who, as a mark of approval, awarded him a
medal. This parachute, however, having never taken practical shape, and
only existing, figuratively speaking, in the clouds, seemed unlikely to
find its way there in reality until the success of the Nassau adventure
stirred its inventor to strenuous efforts to give it an actual trial.
Thus it came about that he obtained Mr. Green's co-operation in the
attempt he now undertook, and, though this ended disastrously, for Mr.
Cocking, the great professional aeronaut can in no way soever be blamed
for the tragic event.

The date of the trial was in July, 1837. Mr. Cocking's parachute was
totally different in principle from that form which, as we have
seen, had met with a fair measure of success at the hands of early
experimenters; and on the eve of its trial it was strongly denounced
and condemned in the London Press by the critic whom we have recently so
freely quoted, Mr. Monck Mason.

This able reasoner and aeronaut pointed out that the contrivance about
to be tested aimed at obviating two principal drawbacks which the
parachute had up to that time presented, namely (1) the length of time
which elapses before it becomes sufficiently expanded, and (2) the
oscillatory movement which accompanies the descent. In this new
endeavour the inventor caused his machine to be fixed rigidly open, and
to assume the shape of an inverted cone. In other words, instead of its
being like an umbrella opened, it rather resembled an umbrella blown
inside out. Taking, then, the shape and dimensions of Mr. Cocking's
structure as a basis for mathematical calculation, as also its weight,
which for required strength he put at 500 lbs. Mr. Monck Mason estimated
that the adventurer and his machine must attain in falling a velocity of
some twelve miles an hour. In fact, his positive prediction was that one
of two events must inevitably take place. "Either the parachute would
come to the ground with a force incompatible with the safety of the
individual, or should it be attempted to make it sufficiently light to
resist this conclusion, it must give way beneath the forces which will
develop in the descent."

This emphatic word of warning was neglected, and the result of the
terrible experiment can best be gathered from two principal sources.
First, that of a special reporter writing from terra-firma, and,
secondly, that of Mr. Green himself, who gives his own observations
as made from the balloon in which he took the unfortunate man and his
invention into the sky.

The journalist, who first speaks of the enormous concourse that gathered
to see the ascent, not only within Vauxhall Gardens, but on every
vantage ground without, proceeds to tell of his interview with Mr.
Cocking himself, who, when questioned as to the danger involved,
remarked that none existed for him, and that the greatest peril, if
any, would attend the balloon when suddenly relieved of his weight. The
proprietors of the Gardens, as the hour approached, did their best to
dissuade the over-confident inventor, offering, themselves, to take the
consequences of any public disappointment. This was again without
avail, and so, towards 6 p.m., Mr. Green, accompanied by Mr. Spencer,
a solicitor of whom this history will have more to tell, entered the
balloon, which was then let up about 40 feet that the parachute might be
affixed below. A little later, Mr. Cocking, casting aside his heavy coat
and tossing off a glass of wine, entered his car and, amid deafening
acclamations, with the band playing the National Anthem, the balloon and
aeronauts above, and he himself in his parachute swinging below, mounted
into the heavens, passing presently, in the gathering dusk, out of view
of the Gardens.

The sequel should be gathered from Mr. Green's own narrative. Previous
to starting, 650 lbs. of ballast had to be discarded to gain buoyancy
sufficient to raise the massive machine. This, together with another 100
lbs., which was also required to be ejected owing to the cooling of the
air, was passed out through a canvas tube leading downwards through a
hole in the parachute, an ingenious contrivance which would prevent
the sand thrown out from the balloon falling on the slender structure
itself. On quitting the earth, however, this latter set up such violent
oscillations that the canvas tube was torn away, and then it became the
troublesome task of the aeronauts to make up their ballast into little
parcels, and, as occasion required, to throw these into space clear of
the swinging parachute below.

Despite all efforts, however, it was soon evident that the cumbersome
nature of the huge parachute would prevent its being carried up quite
so high as the inventor desired. Mr. Cocking had stipulated for an
elevation of 7,000 feet, and, as things were, only 5,000 feet could be
reached, at any rate, before darkness set in. This fact was communicated
to Mr. Cocking, who promptly intimated his intention of leaving, only
requesting to know whereabouts he was, to which query Mr. Spencer
replied that they were on a level with Greenwich. The brief colloquy
that ensued is thus given by Mr. Green:--

"I asked him if he felt quite comfortable, and if the practical trial
bore out his calculation. Mr. Cocking replied, 'Yes, I never felt more
comfortable or more delighted in my life,' presently adding, 'Well, now
I think I shall leave you.' I answered, 'I wish you a very "Good Night!"
and a safe descent if you are determined to make it and not use the
tackle' (a contrivance for enabling him to retreat up into the balloon
if he desired). Mr. Cocking's only reply was, 'Good-night, Spencer;
Good-night, Green!' Mr. Cocking then pulled the rope that was to
liberate himself, but too feebly, and a moment afterwards more
violently, and in an instant the balloon shot upwards with the velocity
of a sky rocket. The effect upon us at this moment was almost beyond
description. The immense machine which suspended us between heaven and
earth, whilst it appeared to be forced upwards with terrific violence
and rapidity through unknown and untravelled regions amidst the howlings
of a fearful hurricane, rolled about as though revelling in a freedom
for which it had long struggled, but of which until that moment it had
been kept in utter ignorance. It, at length, as if somewhat fatigued by
its exertions, gradually assumed the motions of a snake working its way
with extraordinary speed towards a given object. During this frightful
operation the gas was rushing in torrents from the upper and lower
valve, but more particularly from the latter, as the density of the
atmosphere through which we were forcing our progress pressed so
heavily on the valve at the top of the balloon as to admit of but a
comparatively small escape by this aperture. At this juncture, had it
not been for the application to our mouths of two pipes leading into an
air bag, with which we had furnished ourselves previous to starting,
we must within a minute have been suffocated, and so, but by different
means, have shared the melancholy fate of our friend. This bag was
formed of silk, sufficiently capacious to contain 100 gallons of
atmospheric air. Prior to our ascent, the bag was inflated with the
assistance of a pair of bellows with fifty gallons of air, so allowing
for any expansion which might be produced in the upper regions. Into the
end of this bag were introduced two flexible tubes, and the moment we
felt ourselves to be going up in the manner just described, Mr. Spencer,
as well as myself, placed either of them in our mouths. By this simple
contrivance we preserved ourselves from instantaneous suffocation, a
result which must have ensued from the apparently endless volume of
gas with which the car was enveloped. The gas, notwithstanding all our
precautions, from the violence of its operation on the human frame,
almost immediately deprived us of sight, and we were both, as far as our
visionary powers were concerned, in a state of total darkness for four
or five minutes."

Messrs. Green and Spencer eventually reached earth in safety near
Maidstone, knowing nothing of the fate of their late companion. But of
this we are sufficiently informed through a Mr. R. Underwood, who was on
horseback near Blackheath and watching the aeronauts at the moment when
the parachute was separated from the balloon. He noticed that the former
descended with the utmost rapidity, at the same time swaying fearfully
from side to side, until the basket and its occupant, actually parting
from the parachute, fell together to earth through several hundred feet
and were dashed to pieces.

It would appear that the liberation of the parachute from below the
balloon had been carried out without hitch; indeed, all so far had
worked well, and the wind at the time was but a gentle breeze. The
misadventure, therefore, must be entirely attributed to the faulty
manner in which the parachute was constructed. There could, of course,
be only one issue to the sheer drop from such a height, which became the
unfortunate Mr. Cocking's fate, but the very interesting question will
have to be discussed as to the chances in favour of the aeronaut who,
within his wicker car, while still duly attached to the balloon, may
meet with a precipitate descent.

We may here fitly mention an early perilous experience of Mr. Green, due
simply to the malice of someone never discovered. It appears that while
Green's balloon, previous to an ascent, was on the ground, the cords
attaching the car had been partly severed in such a way as to escape
detection. So that as soon as the balloon rose the car commenced
breaking away, and its occupants, Mr. Green and Mr. Griffiths, had to
clutch at the ring, to which with difficulty they continued to cling.
Meanwhile, the car remaining suspended by one cord only, the balloon was
caused to hang awry, with the result that its upper netting began
giving way, allowing the balloon proper gradually to escape through the
bursting meshes, thus threatening the distracted voyagers with terrible
disaster. The disaster, in fact, actually came to pass ere the party
completed their descent, "the balloon, rushing through the opening
in the net-work with a tremendous explosion, and the two passengers
clinging to the rest of the gear, falling through a height said to be
near a hundred feet. Both, though only with much time and difficulty,
recovered from the shock."

In 1840, three years after the tragic adventure connected with Mr.
Cocking's parachute trial, we find Charles Green giving his views as to
the practicability of carrying out a ballooning enterprise which should
far excel all others that had hitherto been attempted. This was nothing
less than the crossing of the Atlantic from America to England. There is
no shadow of doubt that the adventurous aeronaut was wholly in earnest
in the readiness he expressed to embark on the undertaking should
adequate funds be forthcoming; and he discusses the possibilities
with singular clearness and candour. He maintains that the actual
difficulties resolve themselves into two only: first, the maintenance of
the balloon in the sky for the requisite period of time; and, secondly,
the adequate control of its direction in space. With respect to the
first difficulty, he points out the fact to which we have already
referred, namely, that it is impossible to avoid the fluctuations of
level in a balloon's course, "by which it constantly becomes alternately
subjected to escape of gas by expansion, and consequent loss of ballast,
to furnish an equivalent diminution of weight." Taking his own balloon
of 80,000 cubic feet by way of example, he shows that this, fully
inflated on the earth, would lose 8,000 cubic feet of gas by expansion
in ascending only 3,000 feet. Moreover, the approach of night or passage
through cloud or falling rain would occasion chilling of the gas or
accumulation of moisture on the silk, in either case necessitating the
loss of ballast, the store of which is always the true measure of the
balloon's life.

To combat the above difficulty Green sanguinely relies on his favourite
device of a trail or guide rope, whose function, being that of relieving
the balloon of a material weight as it approaches the earth, could, he
supposed, be made to act yet more efficiently when over the sea in the
following manner. Its length, suspended from the ring, being not less
than 2,000 feet, it should have attached at its lower end at certain
intervals a number of small, stout waterproof canvas bags, the apertures
of which should be contrived to admit water, but to oppose its return.
Between these bags were to be conical floats, to support any length of
the rope that might descend on the sea. Now, should the balloon commence
descending, it would simply deposit a certain portion of rope on the
water until it regained equilibrium at no great decrease of altitude,
and would thus continue its course until alteration of conditions should
cause it to recommence rising, when the weight of water now collected in
the bags would play its part in preventing the balloon from soaring up
into space. With such a contrivance Green allowed himself to imagine
that he could keep a properly made balloon at practically the same
altitude for a period of three months if required.

The difficulty of maintaining a due course was next discussed, and
somewhat speedily disposed of. Here Green relied on the results of his
own observation, gathered during 275 ascents, and stated his conviction
that there prevails a uniformity of upper wind currents that would
enable him to carry out his bold projects successfully. His contention
is best given in his own words:

"Under whatever circumstances," he says, "I made my ascent, however
contrary the direction of the winds below, I uniformly found that at a
certain elevation, varying occasionally, but always within 10,000 feet
of the earth, a current from the west or rather from the north of west,
invariably travailed, nor do I recollect a single instance in which a
different result ensued." Green's complete scheme is now sufficiently
evident. He was to cross the Atlantic practically by the sole assistance
of upper currents and his guide rope, but on this latter expedient,
should adverse conditions prevail, he yet further relied, for he
conceived that the rope could have attached to its floating end a
water drag, which would hold the balloon in check until favouring gales
returned.

Funds, apparently, were not forthcoming to allow of Mr. Green's putting
his bold method to the test; but we find him still adhering with so
much zeal to his project that, five years later, he made, though again
unsuccessfully, a second proposal to cross the Atlantic by balloon. He
still continued to make many and most enterprising ascents, and one of a
specially sensational nature must be briefly mentioned before we pass on
to regard the exploits of other aeronauts.

It was in 1841 on the occasion of a fete at Cremorne House, when Mr.
Green, using his famous Nassau balloon, ascended with a Mr. Macdonnell.
The wind was blowing with such extreme violence that Rainham, in Essex,
about twenty miles distant, was reached in little more than a quarter of
an hour, and here, on nearing the earth, the grapnel, finding good hold,
gave a wrench to the balloon that broke the ring and jerked the car
completely upside down, the aeronauts only escaping precipitation by
holding hard to the ropes. A terrific steeplechase ensued, in which the
travellers were dragged through stout fencing and other obstacles till
the balloon, fairly emptied of gas, finally came to rest, but not until
some severe injuries had been received.



CHAPTER VIII. JOHN WISE--THE AMERICAN AERONAUT.


By this period the domination of the air was being pursued in a fresh
part of the world. England and her Continental neighbours had vied with
each in adding to the roll of conquests, and it could hardly other be
supposed that America would stand by without taking part in the campaign
which was now being revived with so much fresh energy in the skies.

The American champion who stepped forward was Mr. John Wise, of
Lancaster, Pa., whose career, commencing in the year 1835, we must now
for a while follow. Few attempts at ballooning of any kind had up to
that time been made in all America. There is a record that in December,
1783, Messrs. Rittenhouse and Hopkins, Members of the Philosophical
Academy of Philadelphia, instituted experiments with an aerial machine
consisting of a cage to which forty-seven small balloons were harnessed.
In this strange craft a carpenter, by name Wilcox, was induced to
ascend, which, it is said, he did successfully, remaining in the air for
ten minutes, when, finding himself near a river, he sought to come to
earth again by opening several of his balloons. This brought about an
awkward descent, attended, however, by no more serious accident than a
dislocated wrist. Mr. Wise, on the other hand, states that Blanchard had
won the distinction of making the first ascent in the New World in 1793
in Philadelphia on which occasion Washington was a spectator; and a few
years afterwards other Frenchmen gave exhibitions, which, however, led
to no real development of the new art on this, the further side of the
Atlantic. Thus the endeavours we are about to describe were those of an
independent and, at the same time, highly, practical experimentalist,
and on this account have a special value of their own.

The records that Wise has left of his investigations begin at the
earliest stage, and possess the charm of an obvious and somewhat quaint
reality. They commence with certain crude calculations which would seem
to place no limit to the capabilities of a balloon. Thus, he points out
that one of "the very moderate size of 400 feet diameter" would convey
13,000 men. "No wonder, then," he continues, "the citizens of London
became alarmed during the French War, when they mistook the appearance
of a vast flock of birds coming towards the Metropolis for Napoleon's
army apparently coming down upon them with this new contrivance."

Proceeding to practical measures, Wise's first care was to procure some
proper material of which to build an experimental balloon of sufficient
size to lift and convey himself alone. For this he chose ordinary
long-cloth, rendered gas-tight by coats of suitable varnish, the
preparation of which became with him, as, indeed, it remains to this
day, a problem of chief importance and difficulty. Perhaps it hardly
needs pointing out that the varnish of a balloon must not only
be sufficiently elastic not to crack or scale off with folding or
unavoidable rough usage, but it must also be of a nature to resist the
common tendency of such substances to become adherent or "tacky." Wise
determined on bird lime thinned with linseed oil and ordinary driers.
With this preparation he coated his material several times both before
and after the making up, and having procured a net, of which he speaks
with pride, and a primitive sort of car, of which he bitterly complains,
he thought himself sufficiently equipped to embark on an actual ascent,
which he found a task of much greater practical difficulty than the mere
manufacture of his air ship. For the inflation by hydrogen of so small
a balloon as his was he made more than ample provision in procuring
no less than fifteen casks of 130 gallons capacity each. He also duly
secured a suitable filling ground at the corner of Ninth and Green
Streets, Philadelphia, but he made a miscalculation as to the time the
inflation would demand, and this led to unforeseen complications, for
as yet he knew not the way of a crowd which comes to witness a balloon
ascent.

Having all things in readiness, and prudently waiting for fair weather,
he embarked on his grand experiment on the 2nd of May, 1835, announcing
4 p.m. as the hour of departure. But by that time the inflation, having
only proceeded for three hours, the balloon was but half full, and then
the populace began to behave as in such circumstances they always will.
They were incredulous, and presently grew troublesome. In vain the
harnessing of the car was proceeded with as though all were well. For
all was not well, and when the aeronaut stepped into his car with only
fifteen pounds of sand and a few instruments he must have done so with
much misgiving. Still, he had friends around who might have been useful
had they been less eager to help. But these simply crowded round him,
giving him no elbow room, nor opportunity for trying the "lift" of his
all-too-empty globe. Moreover, some would endeavour to throw the machine
upward, while others as strenuously strove to keep it down, and at last
the former party prevailed, and the balloon, being fairly cast into the
air, grazed a neighbouring chimney and then plunged into an adjacent
plot, not, however, before the distracted traveller had flung away
all his little stock of sand. There now was brief opportunity for free
action, and to the first bystander who came running up Wise gave
the task of holding the car in check. To the next he handed out his
instruments, his coat, and also his boots, hoping thus to get away; but
his chance had not yet come, for once again the crowd swarmed round him,
keeping him prisoner with good-natured but mistaken interference, and
drowning his voice with excited shouting. Somehow, by word and gesture,
he gave his persecutors to understand that he wished to speak, and then
he begged them only to give him a chance, whereupon the crowd fell
back, forming a ring, and leaving only one man holding the car. It was
a moment of suspense, for Wise calculated that he had only parted with
some eighteen pounds since his first ineffectual start from the filling
ground; but it was enough, and in another moment he was sailing up
clear above the crowd. So great, as has been already shewn, is often
the effect of parting with the last few pounds of dead weight in a
well-balanced balloon.

Such was the first "send off" of the future great balloonist, destined
to become the pioneer in aeronautics on the far side of the Atlantic.
The balloon ascended to upwards of a mile, floating gradually away, but
at its highest point it reached a conflict of currents, causing eddies
from which Wise escaped by a slight decrease of weight, effected by
merely cutting away the wreaths of flowers that were tied about his car.
A further small substitute for ballast he extemporised in the metal tube
inserted in the neck of his fabric, and this he cast out when over the
breadth of the Delaware, and he describes it as falling with a rustling
sound, and striking the water with a splash plainly heard at more than
a mile in the sky. After an hour and a quarter the balloon spontaneously
and steadily settled to earth.

An ascent carried out later in the same summer led to a mishap, which
taught the young aeronaut an all-important lesson. Using the same
balloon and the same mode of inflation, he got safely and satisfactorily
away from his station in the town of Lebanon, Pa., and soon found
himself over a toll gate in the open country, where the gate keeper in
banter called up to him for his due. To this summons Wise, with heedless
alacrity, responded in a manner which might well have cost him dear. He
threw out a bag of sand to represent his toll, and, though he estimated
this at only six pounds, it so greatly accelerated his ascent that he
shortly found himself at a greater altitude than he ever after attained.
He passed through mist into upper sunshine, where he experienced extreme
cold and ear-ache, at which time, seeking the natural escape from such
trouble, he found to his dismay that the valve rope was out of reach.
Thus he was compelled to allow the balloon to ascend yet higher, at its
own will; and then a terrible event happened.

By mischance the neck of his balloon, which should have been open, was
out of reach and folded inwards in such a way as to prevent the free
escape of the gas, which, at this great altitude, struggled for egress
with a loud humming noise, giving him apprehensions of an accident which
very shortly occurred, namely, the bursting of the lower part of his
balloon with a loud report. It happened, however, that no extreme loss
of gas ensued, and he commenced descending with a speed which, though
considerable, was not very excessive. Still, he was eager to alight in
safety, until a chance occurrence made him a second time that afternoon
guilty of an act of boyish impetuosity. A party of volunteers firing
a salute in his honour as he neared the ground, he instantly flung out
papers, ballast, anything he could lay his hands on, and once again
soared to a great height with his damaged balloon. He could then do no
more, and presently subsiding to earth again, he acquired the welcome
knowledge that even in such precarious circumstances a balloon may make
a long fall with safety to its freight.

Mr. Wise's zeal and indomitable spirit of enterprise led to speedy
developments of the art which he had espoused; the road to success being
frequently pointed out by failure or mishap. He quickly discarded the
linen balloon for one of silk on which he tried a new varnish composed
of linseed oil and india-rubber, and, dressing several gores with this,
he rolled them up and left them through a night in a drying loft, with
the result that the next day they were disintegrated and on the point
of bursting into flame by spontaneous combustion. Fresh silk and
other varnish were then tried, but with indifferent success. Next he
endeavoured to dispense with sewing, and united the gores of yet another
balloon by the mere adhesiveness of the varnish and application of a hot
iron. This led to a gaping seam developing at the moment of an ascent,
and then there followed a hasty and hazardous descent on a house-top and
an exciting rescue by a gentleman who appeared opportunely at a third
storey window. Further, another balloon had been destroyed, and Wise
badly burned, at a descent, owing to a naked light having been brought
near the escaping gas. It is then without wonder that we find him
after this temporarily bankrupt, and resorting to his skill in
instrument-making to recover his fortunes. Only, however, for a few
months, after which he is before the public once more as a professional
aeronaut. He now adopts coal gas for inflation, and incidents of an
impressive nature crowd into his career, forcing important facts upon
him. The special characteristics of his own country present peculiar
difficulties; broad rivers and vast forests become serious obstacles.
He is caught in the embrace of a whirlwind; he narrowly escapes falling
into a forest fire; he is precipitated, but harmlessly, into a pine
wood. Among other experiments, he makes a small copy of Mr. Cocking's
parachute, and drops it to earth with a cat as passenger, proving
thereby that that unfortunate gentleman's principle was really less in
fault than the actual slenderness of the material used in his machine.

We now approach one of Wise's boldest, and at the same time most
valuable, experiments. It was the summer of 1839, and once again the old
trouble of spontaneous combustion had destroyed a silk balloon which
was to have ascended at Easton, Pa. Undeterred, however, Wise resolutely
advertised a fresh attempt, and, with only a clear month before the
engagement, determined on hastily rigging up a cambric muslin balloon,
soaking it in linseed oil and essaying the best exhibition that
this improvised experiment could afford. It was intended to become
a memorable one, inasmuch as, should he meet with no hindrance, his
determination was nothing less than that of bursting this balloon at a
great height, having firmly convinced himself that the machine in these
circumstances would form itself into a natural parachute, and bring
him to earth with every chance in favour of safety. In his own words,
"Scientific calculations were on his side with a certainty as great and
principles as comprehensive as that a pocket-handkerchief will not fall
as rapidly to the ground when thrown out of a third storey window as
will a brick."

His balloon was specially contrived for the experiment in hand, having
cords sewn to the upper parts of its seams, and then led down through
the neck, where they were secured within reach, their office being that
of rending the whole head of the balloon should this be desired. On this
occasion a cat and a dog were taken up, one of these being let fall from
a height of 2,000 feet in a Cocking's parachute, and landing in safety,
the other being similarly dismissed at an altitude of 4,000 feet in an
oiled silk balloon made in the form of a collapsed balloon, which,
after falling a little distance, expanded sufficiently to allow of its
descending with a safe though somewhat vibratory motion. Its behaviour,
at any rate, fully determined Wise on carrying out his own experiment.

Being constructed entirely for the main object in view, the balloon had
no true opening in the neck beyond an orifice of about an inch, and by
the time a height of 13,000 feet had been reached the gas was streaming
violently through this small hole, the entire globe being expanded
nearly to bursting point, and the cords designed for rending the balloon
very tense. At this critical period Wise owns to having experienced
considerable nervous excitement, and observing far down a thunderstorm
in progress he began to waver in his mind, and inclined towards
relieving the balloon of its strain, and so abandoning his experiment,
at least for the present. He remembers pulling out his watch to make a
note of the hour, and, while thus occupied, the straining cords, growing
tenser every moment, suddenly took charge of the experiment and burst
the balloon of their own accord. The gas now rushed from the huge rent
above tumultuously and in some ten seconds had entirely escaped, causing
the balloon to descend rapidly, until the lower part of the muslin,
doubling in upwards, formed a species of parachute after the manner
intended. The balloon now came down with zig-zag descent, and finally
the car, striking the earth obliquely, tossed its occupant out into
a field unharmed. Shortly after this Wise experimented with further
success with an exploded balloon.

It is not a little remarkable that this pioneer of aeronautics in
American--a contemporary of Charles Green in England, but working and
investigating single-handed on perfectly independent lines--should
have arrived at the same conclusions as did Green himself as to the
possibility, which, in his opinion, amounted to a certainty, of being
able to cross the Atlantic by balloon if only adequate funds were
forth-coming. So intent was he on his bold scheme that, in the summer of
1843, he handed to the Lancaster Intelligencer a proclamation, which he
desired might be conveyed to all publishers of newspapers on the globe.
It contained, among other clauses, the following:--

"Having from a long experience in aeronautics been convinced that a
constant and regular current of air is blowing at all times from west to
east, with a velocity of from twenty to forty and even sixty miles per
hour, according to its height from the earth, and having discovered a
composition which renders silk or muslin impervious to hydrogen gas, so
that a balloon may be kept afloat for many weeks, I feel confident with
these advantages that a trip across the Atlantic will not be attended
with as much real danger as by the common mode of transition. The
balloon is to be 100 feet in diameter, giving it a net ascending power
of 25,000 lbs." It was further stated that the crew would consist of
three persons, including a sea navigator, and a scientific landsman.
The specifications for the transatlantic vessel were also to include a
seaworthy boat in place of the ordinary car. The sum requisite for this
enterprise was, at the time, not realised; but it should be mentioned
that several years later a sufficient sum of money was actually
subscribed. In the summer of 1873 the proprietors of the New York Daily
Graphic provided for the construction of a balloon of no less than
400,000 cubic feet capacity, and calculated to lift 14,000 lbs. It was,
however, made of bad material; and, becoming torn in inflation, Wise
condemned and declined to use it. A few months later, when it had been
repaired, one Donaldson and two other adventurers, attempting a voyage
with this ill-formed monster, ascended from New York, and were
fortunate in coming down safely, though not without peril, somewhere in
Connecticut.

Failing in his grand endeavour, Wise continued to follow the career of a
professional aeronaut for some years longer, of which he has left a full
record, terminating with the spring of 1848. His ascents were always
marked by carefulness of detail, and a coolness and courage in trying
circumstances that secured him uniform success and universal regard. He
was, moreover, always a close and intelligent observer, and many of his
memoranda are of scientific value.

His description of an encounter with a storm-cloud in the June of 1843
has an interest of its own, and may not be considered overdrawn. It was
an ascent from Carlisle, Pa., to celebrate the anniversary of Bunker's
Hill, and Wise was anxious to gratify the large concourse of people
assembled, and thus was tempted, soon after leaving the ground, to dive
up into a huge black cloud of peculiarly forbidding aspect. This cloud
appeared to remain stationary while he swept beneath it, and, having
reached its central position, he observed that its under surface was
concave towards the earth, and at that moment he became swept upwards in
a vortex that set his balloon spinning and swinging violently, while he
himself was afflicted with violent nausea and a feeling of suffocation.
The cold experienced now became intense, and the cordage became glazed
with ice, yet this had no effect in checking the upward whirling of the
balloon. Sunshine was beyond the upper limits of the cloud; but this was
no sooner reached than the balloon, escaping from the uprush, plunged
down several hundred feet, only to be whirled up again, and this
reciprocal motion was repeated eight or ten times during an interval of
twenty minutes, in all of which time no expenditure of gas or discharge
of ballast enabled the aeronaut to regain any control over his vessel.

Statements concerning a thunderstorm witnessed at short range by Wise
will compare with other accounts. The thunder "rattled" without any
reverberations, and when the storm was passing, and some dense clouds
moving in the upper currents, the "surface of the lower stratum swelled
up suddenly like a boiling cauldron, which was immediately followed by
the most brilliant ebullition of sparkling coruscations." Green, in his
stormy ascent from Newbury, England, witnessed a thunderstorm below
him, as will be remembered, while an upper cloud stratum lay at his
own level. It was then that Green observed that "at every discharge of
thunder all the detached pillars of clouds within the distance of a mile
around became attracted."

The author will have occasion, in due place, to give personal
experiences of an encounter with a thunderstorm which will compare with
the foregoing description.



CHAPTER IX. EARLY METHODS AND IDEAS.


Before proceeding to introduce the chief actors and their achievements
in the period next before us, it will be instructive to glance at some
of the principal ideas and methods in favour with aeronauts up to the
date now reached. It will be seen that Wise in America, contrary to the
practice of Green in our own country, had a strong attachment to the
antique mode of inflation with hydrogen prepared by the vitriolic
process; and his balloons were specially made and varnished for the use
of this gas. The advantage which he thus bought at the expense of much
trouble and the providing of cumbersome equipment was obvious enough,
and may be well expressed by a formula which holds good to-day, namely,
that whereas 1,000 cubic feet of hydrogen is capable of lifting 7 lbs.,
the same quantity of coal gas of ordinary quality will raise but 35 lbs.
The lighter gas came into all Wise's calculations for bolder schemes.
Thus, when he discusses the possibility of using a metal balloon, his
figures work out as follows: If a balloon of 200 feet diameter were
constructed out of copper, weighing one pound to the square foot;
if, moreover, some six tons were allowed for the weight of car and
fastenings, an available lifting power would remain capable of raising
45 tons to an altitude of two miles. This calculation may appear
somewhat startling, yet it is not only substantially correct, but Wise
entertained no doubt as to the practicability of such a machine. For its
inflation he suggests inserting a muslin balloon filled with air within
the copper globe, and then passing hydrogen gas between the muslin and
copper surfaces, which would exclude the inner balloon as the copper one
filled up.

His method of preparing hydrogen was practically that still adopted
in the field, and seems in his hands to have been seldom attended with
difficulty. With eight common 130-gallon rum puncheons he could reckon
on evolving 5,000 cubic feet of gas in an hour, using his elements
in the following proportions: water, 560 lbs.; sulphuric acid (sp. g.
1.85), 144 lbs.; iron turnings, 125 lbs. The gas, as given off, was
cooled and purified by being passed through a head of water kept cool
and containing lime in solution. Contrasted with this, we find it
estimated, according to the practice of this time, that a ton of good
bituminous coal should yield 10,000 cubic feet of carburetted hydrogen
fit for lighting purposes, and a further quantity which, though useless
as an illuminant, is still of excellent quality for the aeronaut.

It would even seem from a statement of Mr. Monck Mason that the value of
coke in his day largely compensated for the cost of producing coal gas,
so that in a large number of Green's ascents no charge whatever was made
for gas by the companies that supplied him.

Some, at least, of the methods formerly recommended for the management
of free balloons must in these days be modified. Green, as we have seen,
was in favour of a trail rope of inordinate length, which he recommended
both as an aid to steering and for a saving of ballast. In special
circumstances, and more particularly over the sea, this may be reckoned
a serviceable adjunct, but over land its use, in this country at
least, would be open to serious objection. The writer has seen the
consternation, not to say havoc, that a trail rope may occasion when
crossing a town, or even private grounds, and the actual damage done
to a garden of hops, or to telegraph or telephone wires, may be very
serious indeed. Moreover, the statement made by some early practitioners
that a trail rope will not catch so as to hold fast in a wood or the
like, is not to be relied on, for an instance could be mentioned coming
under the writer's knowledge where such a rope was the source of so much
trouble in a high wind that it had to be cut away.

The trouble arose in this way. The rope dragged harmlessly enough along
the open ground. It would, likewise, negotiate exceedingly well a single
tree or a whole plantation, catching and releasing itself with only such
moderate tugs at the car as were not disturbing; but, presently, its
end, which had been caught and again released by one tree, swung free
in air through a considerable gap to another tree, where, striking a
horizontal bough, it coiled itself several times around, and thus held
the balloon fast, which now, with the strength of the wind, was borne
to the earth again and again, rebounding high in air after each impact,
until freedom was gained only by the sacrifice of a portion of the rope.

Wise recommends a pendant line of 600 or 800 feet, capable of bearing a
strain of 100 lbs., and with characteristic ingenuity suggests a special
use which can be made of it, namely, that of having light ribbons tied
on at every hundred feet, by means of which the drifts of lower currents
may be detected. In this suggestion there is, indeed, a great deal of
sound sense; for there is, as will be shown hereafter, very much value
to be attached to a knowledge of those air rivers that are flowing,
often wholly unsuspected, at various heights. Small parachutes, crumpled
paper, and other such-like bodies as are commonly thrown out and relied
on to declare the lower drifts, are not wholly trustworthy, for this
reason--that air-streams are often very slender, mere filaments, as
they are sometimes called, and these, though setting in some definite
direction, and capable of entrapping and wafting away some small body
which may come within their influence, may not affect the travel of so
big an object as a balloon, which can only partake of some more general
air movement.

Wise, by his expedient of tying ribbons at different points to his trail
rope, would obtain much more correct and constant information respecting
those general streams through which the pendant rope was moving. A
similar expedient adopted by the same ingenious aeronaut is worthy
of imitation, namely, that of tying ribbons on to a rod projecting
laterally from the car. These form a handy and constant telltale as to
the flight of the balloon, for should they be fluttering upwards the sky
sailor at once knows that his craft is descending, and that he must act
accordingly.

The material, pure silk, which was universally adopted up to and after
the period we are now regarding, is not on every account to be reckoned
the most desirable. In the first place, its cost alone is prohibitive,
and next, although lighter than any kind of linen, strength for
strength, it requires a greater weight of varnish, which, moreover,
it does not take so kindly as does fabric made of vegetable tissue.
Further, paradoxical as it may appear, its great strength is not entirely
an advantage. There are occasions which must come into the experience of
every zealous aeronaut when his balloon has descended in a rough wind,
and in awkward country. This may, indeed, happen even when the ascent
has been made in calm. Squalls of wind may spring up at short notice, or
after traversing only two or three counties a strong gale may be found
on the earth, though such was absent in the starting ground. This is
more particularly the case when the landing chances to be on high ground
in the neighbourhood of the sea. In these circumstances, the careful
balloonist, who will generally be forewarned by the ruffle on any water
he may pass, or by the drift of smoke, the tossing of trees, or by their
very rustling or "singing" wafted upwards to him, will, if possible,
seek for his landing place the lee of a wood or some other sheltered
spot. But, even with all his care, he will sometimes find himself, on
reaching earth, being dragged violently across country on a mad course
which the anchor cannot check. Now, the country through which he is
making an unwilling steeplechase may be difficult, or even dangerous.
Rivers, railway cuttings, or other undesirable obstacles may lie ahead,
or, worse yet, such a death trap as in such circumstances almost any
part of Derbyshire affords, with its stone walls, its precipitous
cliffs, and deep rocky dells. To be dragged at the speed of an express
train through territory of this description will presently mean damage
to something, perhaps to telegraph poles, to roofs, or crops, and if
not, then to the balloon itself. Something appertaining to it must be
victimised, and it is in all ways best that this should be the fabric of
the balloon itself. If made of some form, or at least some proportion
of linen, this will probably rend ere long, and, allowing the gas
to escape, will soon bring itself to rest. On the other hand, if the
balloon proper is a silk one, with sound net and in good condition, it
is probable that something else will give way first, and that something
may prove to be the hapless passenger or passengers.

And here be it laid down as one first and all-important principle, that
in any such awkward predicament as that just described, if there be more
than one passenger aboard, let none attempt to get out. In the first
place, he may very probably break a limb in so doing, inasmuch as the
tangle of the ropes will not allow of his getting cut readily; or,
when actually on the ground, he may be caught and impaled by the anchor
charging and leaping behind. But, worse than all, he may, in any case,
jeopardise the lives of his companions, who stand in need of all the
available weight and help that the car contains up to the moment Of
coming to final rest.

We have already touched on the early notions as to the means of steering
a balloon. Oars had been tested without satisfactory result, and the
conception of a rotary screw found favour among theorists at this time,
the principle being actually tried with success in working models,
which, by mechanical means, could be made to flit about in the still
air of the lecture room; but the only feasible method advocated was that
already alluded to, which depended on the undesirable action of a trail
rope dragging over the ground or through water. The idea was, of course,
perfectly practical, and was simply analogous to the method adopted
by sailors, who, when floating with the stream but without wind, are
desirous of gaining "steerage way." While simply drifting with the
flood, they are unable to guide their vessel in any way, and this, in
practice, is commonly effected by simply propelling the vessel faster
than the stream, in which case the rudder at once becomes available. But
the same result is equally well obtained by slowing the vessel, and this
is easily accomplished by a cable, with a small anchor or other weight
attached, dragging below the vessel. This cable is essentially the same
as the guide-rope of the older aeronauts.

It is when we come to consider the impressions and sensations described
by sky voyagers of bygone times that we find them curiously at variance
with our own. As an instance, we may state that the earth, as seen from
a highflying balloon, used to be almost always described as appearing
concave, or like a huge basin, and ingenious attempts were made to prove
mathematically that this must be so. The laws of refraction are brought
in to prove the fact; or, again, the case is stated thus: Supposing the
extreme horizon to be seen when the balloon is little more than a mile
high, the range of view on all sides will then be, roughly, some eighty
miles. If, then, a line were drawn from the aerial observer to this
remote distance, that line would be almost horizontal; so nearly so that
he cannot persuade himself that his horizon is otherwise than still on
a level with his eye; yet the earth below him lies, as it seems, at the
bottom of a huge gulf. Thus the whole visible earth appears as a vast
bowl or basin. This is extremely ingenious reasoning, and not to be
disregarded; but the fact remains that in the experience of the writer
and of many others whom he has consulted, there is no such optical
illusion as I have just discussed, and to their vision it is impossible
to regard the earth as anything but uniformly flat.

Another impression invariably insisted on by early balloonists is that
the earth, on quitting it, appears to drop away into an abyss, leaving
the voyagers motionless, and this illusion must, indeed, be probably
universal. It is the same illusion as the apparent gliding backwards of
objects to a traveller in a railway carriage; only in this latter case
the rattling and shaking of the carriage helps the mind to grasp the
real fact that the motion belongs to the train itself; whereas it is
otherwise with a balloon, whose motion is so perfectly smooth as to be
quite imperceptible.

Old ideas, formed upon insufficient observations, even if erroneous,
were slow to die. Thus it used to be stated that an upper cloud floor
adapted itself to the contour of the land over which it rested, giving
what Mr. Monck Mason has called a "phrenological estimate" of the
character of the earth below; the clouds, "even when under the influence
of rapid motion, seeming to accommodate themselves to all variations of
form in the surface of the subjacent soil, rising with its prominences
and sinking with its depressions." Probably few aeronauts of the present
time will accept the statement.

It used commonly to be asserted, and is so often to this day, that a
feeling as of sea-sickness is experienced in balloon travel, and the
notion has undoubtedly arisen from the circumstances attending an ascent
in a captive balloon. It were well, now that ballooning bids fair to
become popular, to disabuse the public mind of such a wholly false idea.
The truth is that a balloon let up with a lengthy rope and held captive
will, with a fitful breeze, pitch and sway in a manner which may induce
all the unpleasant feelings attending a rough passage at sea. It may
do worse, and even be borne to earth with a puff of wind which may
come unexpectedly, and considerably unsettle the nerves of any holiday
passenger. I could tell of a "captive" that had been behaving itself
creditably on a not very settled day suddenly swooping over a roadway
and down into public gardens, where it lay incontinently along the
ground, and then, before the astonished passengers could attempt to
alight, it was seized with another mood, and, mounting once again
majestically skyward, submitted to be hauled down with all becoming
grace and ease. It is owing to their vagaries and want of manageability
that, as will be shown, "captives" are of uncertain use in war. On the
other hand, a free balloon is exempt from such disadvantages, and at
moderate heights not the smallest feeling of nausea is ever experienced.
The only unpleasant sensation, and that not of any gravity, ever
complained of, is a peculiar tension in the ears experienced in a
rapid ascent, or more often, perhaps, in a descent. The cause, which is
trivial and easily removed, should be properly understood, and cannot be
given in clearer language than that used by Professor Tyndall:--"Behind
the tympanic membrane exists a cavity--the drum of the ear--in part
crossed by a series of bones, and in part occupied by air. This cavity
communicates with the mouth by means of a duct called the Eustachian
tube. This tube is generally closed, the air space behind the tympanic
membrane being thus cut off from the external air. If, under these
circumstances, the external air becomes denser, it will press the
tympanic membrane inwards; if, on the other hand, the air on the other
side becomes rarer, while the Eustachian tube becomes closed, the
membrane will be pressed outwards. Pain is felt in both cases, and
partial deafness is experienced.... By the act of swallowing the
Eustachian tube is opened, and thus equilibrium is established between
the external and internal pressure."

Founded on physical facts more or less correct in themselves, come a
number of tales of olden days, which are at least more marvellous than
credible, the following serving as an example. The scientific truth
underlying the story is the well-known expedient of placing a shrivelled
apple under the receiver of an air pump. As the air becomes rarefied the
apple swells, smooths itself out, and presently becomes round and rosy
as it was in the summer time. It is recorded that on one occasion a
man of mature years made an ascent, accompanied by his son, and, after
reaching some height, the youth remarked on how young his father
was looking. They still continued to ascend, and the same remark was
repeated more than once. And at last, having now reached attenuated
regions, the son cried in astonishment, "Why, dad, you ought to be at
school!" The cause of this remark was that in the rarefied air all the
wrinkles had come out of the old man's face, and his cheeks were as
chubby as his son's.

This discussion of old ideas should not be closed without mention of a
plausible plea for the balloon made by Wise and others on the score of
its value to health. Lofty ascents have proved a strain on even robust
constitutions--the heart may begin to suffer, or ills akin to mountain
sickness may intervene before a height equal to that of our loftiest
mountain is reached. But many have spoken of an exhilaration of spirits
not inferior to that of the mountaineer, which is experienced,
and without fatigue, in sky voyages reasonably indulged in--of a
light-heartedness, a glow of health, a sharpened appetite, and the keen
enjoyment of mere existence. Nay, it has been seriously affirmed that
"more good may be got by the invalid in an hour or two while two miles
up on a fine summer's day than is to be gained in an entire voyage from
New York to Madeira by sea."



CHAPTER X. THE COMMENCEMENT OF A NEW ERA.


Resuming the roll of progressive aeronauts in England whose labours
were devoted to the practical conquest of the air, and whose methods and
mechanical achievements mark the road of advance by which the
successes of to-day have been obtained, there stand out prominently two
individuals, of whom one has already received mention in these pages.

The period of a single life is seldom sufficient to allow within its
span the full development of any new departure in art or science, and it
cannot, therefore, be wondered at if Charles Green, though reviving and
re-modelling the art of ballooning in our own country, even after an
exceptionally long and successful career, left that pursuit to which he
had given new birth virtually still in its infancy.

The year following that in which Green conducted the famous Nassau
voyage we find him experimenting in the same balloon with his chosen
friend and colleague, Edward Spencer, solicitor, of Barnsbury, who, only
nine years later, compiles memoranda of thirty-four ascents, made under
every variety of circumstance, many being of a highly enterprising
nature. We find him writing enthusiastically of the raptures he
experienced when sailing over London in night hours, of lofty ascents
and extremely low temperatures, of speeding twenty-eight miles in twenty
minutes, of grapnel ropes breaking, and of a cross-country race of four
miles through woods and hedges. Such was Mr. Spencer the elder, and if
further evidence were needed of his practical acquaintance with, as well
as personal devotion to, his adopted profession of aeronautics, we have
it in the store of working calculations and other minutiae of the craft,
most carefully compiled in manuscript by his own hand; these memoranda
being to this day constantly consulted by his grandsons, the present
eminent aeronauts, Messrs. Spencer Brothers, as supplying a manual of
reliable data for the execution of much of the most important parts of
their work.

In the terrific ordeal and risk entailed by the daring and fatal
parachute descent of Cocking, Green required an assistant of exceptional
nerve and reliability, and, as has been recorded, his choice at once
fell on Edward Spencer. In this choice it has already been shown that
he was well justified, and in the trying circumstances that ensued Green
frankly owns that it was his competent companion who was the first to
recover himself. A few years later, when a distinguished company, among
whom were Albert Smith and Shirley Brooks, made a memorable ascent from
Cremorne, Edward Spencer is one of the select party.

Some account of this voyage should be given, and it need not be said
that no more graphic account is to be found than that given by the
facile pen of Albert Smith himself. His personal narrative also forms
an instructive contrast to another which he had occasion to give to
the world shortly afterwards, and which shall be duly noticed. The
enthusiastic writer first describes, with apparent pride, the company
that ascended with him. Besides Mr. Shirley Brooks, there were Messrs.
Davidson, of the Garrick Club; Mr. John Lee, well known in theatrical
circles; Mr. P. Thompson, of Guy's Hospital, and others--ten in all,
including Charles Green as skipper, and Edward Spencer, who, sitting
in the rigging, was entrusted with the all-important management of the
valve rope.

"The first sensation experienced," Albert Smith continues, "was not
that we were rising, but that the balloon remained fixed, whilst all the
world below was rapidly falling away; while the cheers with which they
greeted our departure grew fainter, and the cheerers themselves began
to look like the inmates of many sixpenny Noah's Arks grouped upon
a billiard table.... Our hats would have held millions.... And most
strange is the roar of the city as it comes surging into the welkin
as though the whole metropolis cheered you with one voice.... Yet
none beyond the ordinary passengers are to be seen. The noise is as
inexplicable as the murmur in the air at hot summer noontide."

The significance of this last remark will be insisted on when the writer
has to tell his own experiences aloft over London, as also a note to
the effect that there were seen "large enclosed fields and gardens
and pleasure grounds where none were supposed to exist by ordinary
passengers." Another interesting note, having reference to a once
familiar feature on the river, now disappearing, related to the paddle
boats of those days, the steamers making a very beautiful effect,
"leaving two long wings of foam behind them similar to the train of a
table rocket." Highly suggestive, too, of the experiences of railway
travellers in the year 1847 is the account of the alighting, which, by
the way, was obviously of no very rude nature. "Every time," says the
writer, "the grapnel catches in the ground the balloon is pulled up
suddenly with a shock that would soon send anybody from his seat, a jerk
like that which occurs when fresh carriages are brought up to a railway
train." But the concluding paragraph in this rosy narrative affords
another and a very notable contrast to the story which that same writer
had occasion to put on record before that same year had passed.

"We counsel everybody to go up in a balloon... In spite of the apparent
frightful fragility of cane and network nothing can in reality be more
secure... The stories of pressure on the ears, intense cold, and the
danger of coming down are all fictions.... Indeed, we almost wanted
a few perils to give a little excitement to the trip, and have some
notion, if possible, of going up the next time at midnight with
fireworks in a thunderstorm, throwing away all the ballast, fastening
down the valve, and seeing where the wind will send us."

The fireworks, the thunderstorm, and the throwing away of ballast, all
came off on the 15th of the following October, when Albert Smith made
his second ascent, this time from Vauxhall Gardens, under the guidance
of Mr. Gypson, and accompanied by two fellow-passengers. Fireworks,
which were to be displayed when aloft, were suspended on a framework
forty feet below the car. Lightning was also playing around as they cast
off. The description which Albert Smith gives of London by night as seen
from an estimated elevation of 4,000 feet, should be compared with other
descriptions that will be given in these pages:--

"In the obscurity all traces of houses and enclosures are lost sight
of. I can compare it to nothing else than floating over dark blue and
boundless sea spangled with hundreds of thousands of stars. These stars
were the lamps. We could see them stretching over the river at the
bridges, edging its banks, forming squares and long parallel lines of
light in the streets and solitary parks. Further and further apart until
they were altogether lost in the suburbs. The effect was bewildering."

At 7,000 feet, one of the passengers, sitting in the ring, remarked that
the balloon was getting very tense, and the order was given to "ease
her" by opening the top valve. The valve line was accordingly pulled,
"and immediately afterwards we heard a noise similar to the escape
of steam in a locomotive, and the lower part of the balloon collapsed
rapidly, and appeared to fly up into the upper portion. At the same
instant the balloon began to fall with appalling velocity, the immense
mass of loose silk surging and rustling frightfully over our heads....
retreating up away from us more and more into the head of the balloon.
The suggestion was made to throw everything over that might lighten the
balloon. I had two sandbags in my lap, which were cast away directly....
There were several large bags of ballast, and some bottles of wine, and
these were instantly thrown away, but no effect was perceptible. The
wind still appeared to be rushing up past us at a fearful rate, and,
to add to the horror, we came among the still expiring discharge of
the fireworks which floated in the air, so that little bits of exploded
cases and touch-paper, still incandescent, attached themselves to the
cordage of the balloon and were blown into sparks.... I presume we
must have been upwards of a mile from the earth.... How long we were
descending I have not the slightest idea, but two minutes must have
been the outside.... We now saw the houses, the roofs of which appeared
advancing to meet us, and the next instant, as we dashed by their
summits, the words, 'Hold hard!' burst simultaneously from all the
party.... We were all directly thrown out of the car along the ground,
and, incomprehensible as it now appears to me, nobody was seriously
hurt."

But "not so incomprehensible, after all," will be the verdict of all
who compare the above narrative with the ascents given in a foregoing
account of how Wise had fared more than once when his balloon had burst.
For, as will be readily guessed, the balloon had in this case also
burst, owing to the release of the upper valve being delayed too long,
and the balloon had in the natural way transformed itself into a true
parachute. Moreover, the fall, which, by Albert Smith's own showing,
was that of about a mile in two minutes, was not more excessive than one
which will presently be recorded of Mr. Glaisher, who escaped with no
material injury beyond a few bruises.

One fact has till now been omitted with regard to the above sensational
voyage, namely, the name of the passenger who, sitting in the ring,
was the first to point out the imminent danger of the balloon. This
individual was none other than Mr. Henry Coxwell, the second, indeed, of
the two who were mentioned in the opening paragraph of this chapter as
marking the road of progress which it is the scope of these pages to
trace, and to whom we must now formally introduce our readers.

This justly famous sky pilot, whose practical acquaintance with
ballooning extends over more than forty years, was the son of a naval
officer residing near Chatham, and in his autobiography he describes
enthusiastically how, a lad of nine years old, he watched through a sea
telescope a balloon, piloted by Charles Green, ascend from Rochester
and, crossing the Thames, disappear in distance over the Essex flats. He
goes on to describe how the incident started him in those early days on
boyish endeavours to construct fire balloons and paper parachutes. Some
years later his home, on the death of his father, being transferred to
Eltham, he came within frequent view of such balloons as, starting from
the neighbourhood of London, will through the summer drift with the
prevailing winds over that part of Kent. And it was here that, ere long,
he came in at the death of another balloon of which Green was in charge.

And from this time onwards the schoolboy with the strange hobby was
constantly able to witness the flights and even the inflations of those
ships of the air, which, his family associations notwithstanding took
precedence of all boyish diversions.

His elder brother, now a naval officer, entirely failed to divert his
aspirations into other channels, and it was when the boy had completed
sixteen summers that an aeronautic enterprise attracted not only his
own, but public attention also. It was the building of a mammoth balloon
at Vauxhall under the superintendence of Mr. Green. The launching of
this huge craft when completed was regarded as so great an occasion that
the young Coxwell, who had by this time obtained a commercial opening
abroad, was allowed, at his earnest entreaty, to stay till the event
had come off, and fifty years after the hardened sky sailor is found
describing with a boyish enthusiasm how thirty-six policemen were needed
round that balloon; how enormous weights were attached to the cordage,
only to be lifted feet above the ground; while the police were compelled
to pass their staves through the meshes to prevent the cords cutting
their hands. At this ascent Mr. Hollond was a passenger, and by the
middle of the following November all Europe was ringing with the great
Nassau venture.

Commercial business did not suit the young Coxwell, and at the age
of one-and-twenty we find him trying his hand at the profession of
surgeon-dentist, not, however, with any prospect of its keeping him from
the longing of his soul, which grew stronger and stronger upon him. It
was not till the summer of 1844 that Mr. Hampton, giving an exhibition
from the White Conduit Gardens, Pentonville, offered the young man, then
twenty-five years old, his first ascent.

In after years Coxwell referred to his first sensations in
characteristic language, contrasting them with the experiences of the
mountaineer. "In Alpine travels," he says, "the process is so slow, and
contact with the crust of the earth so palpable, that the traveller
is gradually prepared for each successive phase of view as it presents
itself. But in the balloon survey, cities, villages, and vast tracts for
observation spring almost magically before the eye, and change in
aspect and size so pleasingly that bewilderment first and then unbounded
admiration is sure to follow."

The ice was now fairly broken, and, not suffering professional duties
to be any hindrance, Coxwell began to make a series of ascents under the
leadership of two rival balloonists, Gale and Gypson. One voyage made
with the latter he describes as leading to the most perilous descent in
the annals of aerostation. This was the occasion, given above, on which
Albert Smith was a passenger, and which that talented writer describes
in his own fashion. He does not, however, add the fact, worthy of being
chronicled, that exactly a week after the appalling adventure Gypson
and Coxwell, accompanied by a Captain whose name does not transpire,
and loaded with twice the previous weight of fireworks, made a perfectly
successful night ascent and descent in the same balloon.

It is very shortly after this that we find Coxwell seduced into
undertaking for its owners the actual management of a balloon, the
property of Gale, and now to be known as the "Sylph." With this craft he
practically began his career as a professional balloonist, and after
a few preliminary ascents made in England, was told off to carry on
engagements in Belgium.

A long series of ascents was now made on the Continent, and in the
troubled state of affairs some stirring scenes were visited, not without
some real adventure. One occasion attended with imminent risk occurred
at Berlin in 1851. Coxwell relates that a Prussian labourer whom he
had dismissed for bad conduct, and who almost too manifestly harboured
revenge, nevertheless begged hard for a re-engagement, which, as the
man was a handy fellow, Coxwell at length assented to. He took up three
passengers beside himself, and at an elevation of some 3,000 feet found
it necessary to open the valve, when, on pulling the cord, one of the
top shutters broke and remained open, leaving a free aperture of 26
inches by 12 inches, and occasioning such a copious discharge of gas
that nothing short of a providential landing could save disaster. But
the providential landing came, the party falling into the embrace of a
fruit tree in an orchard. It transpired afterwards that the labourer had
been seen to tamper with the valve, the connecting lines of which he had
partially severed.

Returning to England in 1852 Coxwell, through the accidents inseparable
from his profession, found himself virtually in possession of the field.
Green, now advanced in years, was retiring from the public life in which
he had won so much fame and honour. Gale was dead, killed in an
ascent at Bordeaux. Only one aspirant contested the place of public
aeronaut--one Goulston, who had been Gale's patron. Before many months,
however, he too met with a balloonist's death, being dashed against some
stone walls when ascending near Manchester.

It will not be difficult to form an estimate of how entirely the
popularity of the balloon was now reestablished in England, from the
mere fact that before the expiration of the year Coxwell had been called
upon to make thirty-six voyages. Some of these were from Glasgow,
and here a certain coincidence took place which is too curious to be
omitted. A descent effected near Milngavie took place in the same field
in which Sadler, twenty-nine years before, had also descended, and the
same man who caught the rope of Mr. Sadler's balloon performed the same
service once again for a fresh visitor from the skies.

The following autumn Coxwell, in fulfilling one out of many engagements,
found himself in a dilemma which bore resemblance in a slight degree to
a far more serious predicament in which the writer became involved, and
which must be told in due place. The preparations for the ascent, which
was from the Mile End Road, had been hurried, and after finally getting
away at a late hour in the evening, it was found that the valve line
had got caught in a fold of the silk, and could not be operated. In
consequence, the balloon was, of necessity, left to take its own chance
through the night, and, after rising to a considerable height, it slowly
lost buoyancy during the chilly hours, and, gradually settling, came
to earth near Basingstoke, where the voyager, failing to get help or
shelter, made his bed within his own car, lying in an open field, as
other aeronauts have had to do in like circumstances.

Coxwell tells of a striking phenomenon seen during that voyage. "A
splendid meteor was below the car, and apparently about 600 feet
distant. It was blue and yellow, moving rapidly in a N.E. direction, and
became extinguished without noise or sparks."



CHAPTER XI. THE BALLOON IN THE SERVICE OF SCIENCE.


At this point we must, for a brief while, drop the history of the famous
aeronaut whose early career we have been briefly sketching in the last
chapter, and turn our attention to a new feature of English ballooning.
We have, at last, to record some genuinely scientific ascents, which our
country now, all too tardily, instituted. It was the British Association
that took the initiative, and the two men they chose for their purpose
were both exceptionally qualified for the task they had in hand. The
practical balloonist was none other than the veteran Charles Green, now
in his sixty-seventh year, but destined yet to enjoy nearly twenty years
more of life. The scientific expert was Mr. John Welsh, well fitted
for the projected work by long training at Kew Observatory. The balloon
which they used is itself worthy of mention, being the great Nassau
Balloon of olden fame.

Welsh was quick to realise more clearly than any former experimentalist
that on account of the absence of breeze in a free balloon, as also on
account of great solar radiation, the indications of thermometers would,
without special precautions, be falsified. He therefore invented a
form of aspirating thermometer, the earliest to be met with, and far
in advance of any that were subsequently used by other scientists. It
consisted of a polished tube, in which thermometers were enclosed, and
through which a stream of air was forced by bellows.

The difficulty of obtaining really accurate readings where thermometers
are being quickly transported through varying temperatures is generally
not duly appreciated. In the case of instruments carried m a balloon it
should be remembered that the balloon itself conveys, clinging about it,
no inconsiderable quantity of air, brought from other levels, while the
temperature of its own mass will be liable to affect any thermometer
in close neighbourhood. Moreover, any ordinary form of thermometer
is necessarily sluggish in action, as may be readily noticed. If, for
example, one be carried from a warm room to a cold passage, or vice
versa it will be seen that the column moves very deliberately, and quite
a long interval will elapse before it reaches its final position, the
cause being that the entire instrument, with any stand or mounting that
it may have, will have to adapt itself to the change of temperature
before a true record will be obtained. This difficulty applies
unavoidably to all thermometers in some degree, and the skill of
instrument makers has been taxed to reduce the errors to a minimum. It
is necessary, in any case, that a constant stream of surrounding
air should play upon the instrument, and though this is most readily
effected when instruments are carried aloft by kites, yet even thus it
is thought that an interval of some minutes has to elapse before any
form of thermometer will faithfully record any definite change of
temperature. It is on this account that some allowance must be made
for observations which will, in due place, be recorded of scientific
explorers; the point to be borne in mind being that, as was mentioned in
a former chapter, such observations will have to be regarded as giving
readings which are somewhat too high in ascents and too low in descents.
Two forms of thermometers at extremely simple construction, yet
possessed of great sensibility, will be discussed in later chapters.

The thermometers that Welsh used were undoubtedly far superior to any
that were devised before his time and it is much to be regretted that
they were allowed to fall into disuse. Perhaps the most important
stricture on the observations that will have to be recorded is that the
observers were not provided with a base station, on which account the
value of results was impaired. It was not realised that it was necessary
to make observations on the ground to compare with those that were being
made at high altitudes.

Welsh made, in all, four ascents in the summer and autumn of 1852 and
in his report he is careful to give the highest praise to his colleague,
Green, whose control over his balloon he describes as "so complete
that none who accompanied him can be otherwise than relieved from all
apprehension, and free to devote attention calmly to the work before
him."

The first ascent was made at 3.49 p.m. on August the 17th, under a south
wind and with clouds covering some three-quarters of the sky. Welsh's
first remark significant, and will be appreciated by anyone who has
attempted observational work in a balloon. He states naively that "a
short time was lost at first in an attempt to put the instruments into
more convenient order, and also from the novelty of the situation." Then
he mentions an observation which, in the experience of the writer, is a
common one. The lowest clouds, which were about 2,500 feet high and not
near the balloon, were passed without being noticed; other clouds were
passed at different heights; and, finally, a few star-shaped crystals of
snow; but the sun shone almost constantly. Little variation occurred in
the direction of travel, which averaged thirty-eight miles an hour, and
the descent took place at 5.20 p.m. at Swavesey, near Cambridge.

The second ascent took place at 4.43 p.m. on August 26th, under a gentle
east wind and a partially obscured sky. The clouds were again passed
without being perceived. This was at the height of 3,000 feet, beyond
which was very clear sky of deep blue. The air currents up to the limits
of 12,000 feet set from varying directions. The descent occurred near
Chesham at 7.45 p.m.

The third ascent, at 2.35 p.m. on October the 21st was made into a sky
covered with dense cloud masses lying within 3,000 and 3,700 feet.
The sun was then seen shining through cirrus far up. The shadow of the
balloon was also seen on the cloud, fringed with a glory, and about
this time there was seen "stretching for a considerable length in a
serpentine course, over the surface of the cloud, a well-defined belt,
having the appearance of a broad road."

Being now at 12,000 feet, Green thought it prudent to reconnoitre his
position, and, finding they were near the sea, descended at 4.20 p.m.
at Rayleigh, in Essex. Some important notes on the polarisation of the
clouds were made.

The fourth and final voyage was made in a fast wind averaging fifty
knots from the north-east. Thin scud was met 

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