If desire is sometimes the mother of invention, doubtless the wish to “mix with the clouds,” or “as smoke arise,” suggested to man his first means of aërial locomotion. Indeed this is openly avowed by Joseph Montgolfier. “Smoke rises in the chimney; why not encage this smoke, and have an available force.” But before describing his fundamental experiments of 1783, let us notice the less conspicuous ones, though not less philosophical, of his immediate predecessors in the development of aëronautic science.
It has been seen, that many years before 1783, inventors had clearly conceived the true principle of the balloon, and would be glad to avail themselves of an element of sufficiently low specific gravity for aërial flotation. The desired opportunity came when, in 1766, Henry Cavendish published his experiments, proving that hydrogen is many times lighter than air. Immediately after this, Dr. Black, the famous chemist and natural philosopher of Edinburgh, conceived the idea that a thin light vessel filled with hydrogen should be able to float and rise in the atmosphere, ideas that he conveyed to his friends and expressed in his lectures a year or two after the appearance of Cavendish’s publication. But he contented himself with merely pointing the way to an obviously practicable invention, leaving, as a university professor should, the development of the scientific idea to inventors and constructive engineers.
Intermediate between Dr. Black, the pure scientist, and the Montgolfier brothers manufacturers, came Tiberius Cavallo, an Italian philosopher living in England, who made the first small hydrogen balloons. In a note presented to the Royal Society of London, June 20, 1782, he relates experiments that seem to entitle him to all the credit of inventing the balloon except success on a practical scale. He made hydrogen soap bubbles which rose beautifully in the air, an experiment that has been repeated throughout the world in every chemical laboratory since his day. He made a variety of gum bubbles and varnish bubbles inflated with hydrogen; but curiously enough these failed to rise, though it is known that such bubbles can be made to float handsomely.[5] He inflated carefully prepared gold-beater skin and failed, though gold-beater skin balloons, both large and small, are now a marketable commodity. Finally he constructed paper balloons which he tried to float by use of hydrogen, but without success, though a year later the Montgolfier brothers easily made paper bags arise with hot air, and Professor Charles ascended in a large silk balloon inflated with hydrogen.
The cause of Cavallo’s interesting failures reveals itself in his own account of one of his pioneer experiments. In his History and Practice of Aërostation, he relates that he constructed, of fine Chinese paper, a cylindrical balloon having short conical ends and a calculated buoyancy of twenty-five grains, when properly inflated with hydrogen. This bag, carefully deflated of air by compression between the hands, he suspended above a large bottle connected with it by a glass tube, and supplied with materials for generating hydrogen; in this case a mixture of dilute sulphuric acid and iron filings. When the hydrogen was evolving quite rapidly, he expected to see the paper sac expand and fill out with proportionate speed; but to his surprise it remained perfectly flat, while the room filled with the strong and disagreeable odor of the “inflaminable air.” He then realized that the carefully made sac of paper, which could be so easily inflated with air, was very permeable to hydrogen, allowing it to escape instantly, as through porous cloth, or netting.
Cavallo desisted when the goal was within reach. His plans were practicable, but he abandoned them too readily. Why did he not varnish his balloon when it leaked? He could thus so easily have inaugurated the art of aërial navigation. But after salting the bird’s tail he let it escape.
Various accounts have been given of the steps by which the Montgolfiers were led to their invention of the balloon. They are said to have studied and discussed projects for aërial locomotion a decade before hitting upon their first successful device; at one time filling a paper bag with smoke ineffectually; again with steam, and again trying, but in vain, to employ hydrogen. The following apparently reliable account is given by a friend of the Montgolfiers, Baron Gernando, in his biographical notice of Joseph Montgolfier, having obtained the story from the inventor himself.
Joseph Montgolfier found himself at Abignon, and it was at the time when the combined armies held the siege of Gibraltar. Alone, in the chimney corner, dreaming, as usual, he was contemplating a sort of cut that represented the work of the siege; he grew impatient observing that one could not reach the body of the place either by land or sea. “But could not one arrive there through the air? Smoke rises in the chimney; why not store this smoke in such a manner as to form an available force?” His mind calculated instantly the weight of a given surface of paper, or taffeta; he constructed without delay his little balloon, and saw it rise from the floor, to the great surprise of his hostess, and with a peculiar joy. He wrote on the spot, to his brother then at Annonay: “Prepare immediately a supply of taffeta and cordage, and you shall see the most astonishing thing in the world.”
A quainter story is told by Brisson in his Dictionary of Physics. He says: “I can only repeat what the citizen Montgolfier himself told me, when he came to Paris to announce his discovery; that the citizeness Montgolfier having placed a skirt on an open-wicker basket, such as women use to dry linen, the skirt was lifted to the ceiling. It is from this fact that the citizens Montgolfier started.”
Whatever the preliminaries, the Montgolfier brothers finally made the experiment of holding a paper bag over a fire fed with wet straw and wool. It is doubtful whether they purposed to fill it with smoke, or with hot air or an electrical cloud. They knew that a cloud of some kind rises from such a fire, and they wanted to harness it. Their first balloon took fire and went up as smoke. But they were rich paper manufacturers, and soon had another balloon of 700 cubic feet capacity. This rose from the fire to a height of 1,000 feet, carrying no fuel with it. Thus two practical[6] men had made fire lift a paper sac; let the Academy explain how. The baby Aërostation was born.
How fortuitous the primal steps of science! Galvanism from the twitch of a frog’s leg; aërostation from the puff of a petticoat! There had been no year in thirty centuries when people could not easily have built a hot-air balloon. All the materials were available; only a little thought was wanting. A simple sketch sent to a Roman tailor, or tent-maker, could have furnished a woven bag competent to lift passengers from the heart of the Coliseum, to the wonder and delight of a hundred thousand spectators. Yet the genius that could design the Coliseum, or cover its vast enclosure with canvas, failed to think of the magic bag that would have enhanced so much the ingenious shows of a show-loving people. That device was an inspiration destined to a common Frenchman at no uncommon period of science. The hydrogen balloon arrived in the natural and logical order of scientific progression; but the hot-air bag might have presented itself at any time since the birth of weaving. It was a happy thought, like the ophthalmoscope, or jack-knife—quaint modern creations of constant use or comfort to mankind.
The public inauguration of aëronautics occurred on June 5, 1783, at Annonay, the home of the Montgolfier family, 36 miles from Lyons. The states of Vivarais being assembled at that place, were invited to witness the ascension. The Deputies and many spectators found in the public square an enormous bag which, with its frame, weighed 300 pounds, and would inflate to a ball 35 feet in diameter. When told that this huge mass would rise to the clouds they were astonished and incredulous. The Montgolfiers, however, lit a fire beneath and let the bag speak for itself. It gradually distended, assuming a beautiful form, and struggling to free itself from the men who were holding it. At a given signal it was released; it ascended rapidly, and in ten minutes attained a height of 6,000 feet. It drifted a mile and a half and sank gently to the ground.
When the French Academy learned of this event they desired to have an ascension in Paris, and at once started a public subscription to defray the expense of constructing and inflating a balloon. They placed the work in charge of the physicist Charles, after inviting the Montgolfiers to Paris, and finding they could not come immediately. Charles proved more than a substitute; he became a fertile inventor and a rival in the new field. Aided by the skill of the Robert brothers, he made a silk globe varnished with dissolved rubber, and filled it with hydrogen, which is many times lighter than hot air. The operation of filling occupied three days, consuming 500 pounds of sulphuric acid and half a ton of iron. The globe was 13 feet in diameter, and designated a “balloon,” or big ball. This had next to be moved from the place of filling, in the Place des Victoires, to the Champ de Mars, two miles distant, in order to have space enough to accommodate the increasing crowd of spectators. Accordingly, on the 26th it was conveyed thither, in the dead of night, preceded by lighted torches, surrounded by a cortege, and escorted by foot and horse guards. Impressive and weird, indeed, was this nocturnal caravan of troops and towering globe advancing slowly through the dark and silent streets. The astonished cab drivers knelt humbly, hat in hand, while the procession passed.
The ascent of this, the first hydrogen balloon, was a popular and a memorable event. The field was lined with troops. The curious spectators had thronged every thoroughfare and darkened every housetop. It was an all day festival, inaugurating a peculiarly French science, with French animation. The booming of cannon announced to all Paris the impending flight of the balloon. At five o’clock, in the presence of 50,000 spectators, and in a shower of rain, the balloon rose more than half a mile and entered the clouds. The people overwhelmed with surprise and enthusiasm, stood gazing upward, despite the rain, observing every maneuver till the vessel had ascended and faded from view.
The landing of this little balloon did not leave it in a condition to exhibit proudly to future generations. After drifting three quarters of an hour, it fell in a field near Gonesse, a village fifteen miles from the place of ascension, apparently ruptured from overdistention. The villagers flocked about it with curiosity and trepidation, ignorant of its nature, whether of bird kind or monster; and doubtful of its origin, whether natural or satanic. They fell upon it with flails and pitchforks. When struck it smelt strongly of sulphur, indicating a diabolic source. They finally hitched it to the tail of a horse which galloping away in terror, badly damaged it. Whether this destruction was wrought through fear or rustic hilarity, it induced the government of France to issue a notice to the public explaining the innocuous nature of a simple balloon.
In the meantime Joseph Montgolfier, having reached Paris, had constructed a waterproof linen balloon 46 feet in diameter and ornamented in oil colors, which was to be publicly launched at Versailles. On September 19, 1783, the king and queen, the court and a vast throng of people of every rank and age, assembled to witness the ascension. Montgolfier explained to them every detail, and finally lit the fire, about one o’clock. The great bag gradually expanded, rounding out in eleven minutes to a beautiful globular form, tugging upward with a force of seven hundred pounds. Beneath was suspended a wicker cage containing the first aërial passengers—a sheep, a rooster and a duck. The vessel rose majestically above the applauding multitude to a height of fourteen hundred feet, and drifted some two miles in eight minutes, descending gradually in the wood at Vaucresson. The animals were tipped out on landing; but, when found by two game-keepers, they were none the worse for their strange journey. The sheep was grazing and the cock crowing, says one report, while another relates that the sheep had trampled on the rooster and lamed him.
Stephen Montgolfier now wishing to send up human passengers, made a balloon of 100,000 cubic feet capacity. It was shaped like a full lemon pointing upward, with a cylindrical neck below, 16 feet in diameter. Around this neck was a wicker balcony three feet wide, to carry the aëronauts, bundles of straw for fuel, pails of water and sponges to extinguish incipient conflagrations, here and there in the balloon, during a journey. Through stokeholes in the side of the neck sheaves of straw could be forked to the grate suspended centrally below by radial chains. During inflation the base of the balloon rested on a platform, and its top was supported by a rope stretched between two poles. The vessel when completed, in a garden of the Faubourg St. Antoine, was 85 feet high by 48 feet across, and weighed 1,600 pounds. About its zone, painted in oil, were elegant decorations; portraits, cyphers of the king’s name, fleur-de-lis, with fancy borders below and above; while higher still, on the arching dome of the bag, were all the signs of the celestial zodiac.
The handsome vessel was now ready; but what daring captain should navigate her? King Louis proposed two prisoners who were under sentence of death, and had to be killed somehow. But the brave Pilâtre de Rozier protested indignantly: “Eh quoi! de vils criminels auraient les premiers la gloire de senlever dans les airs! Non, non, cela ne sera point.” He stirred up the city, and finally prevailed, through the entreaties of the Marquis d’Arlandes, who secured from the king permission to accompany his friend.
After some days of preliminary practice in maneuvering the tethered balloon, these gentlemen were ready for an aërial voyage. On November 21, 1783, the balloon was inflated in the garden of La Muette palace, and stocked with enough straw for an hour’s journey. When all was ready Pilâtre de Rozier and the Marquis d’Arlandes stepped with eager courage into the gallery taking opposite sides to ensure proper balance. At two o’clock they rose splendidly, amid the acclamations of a vast throng of spectators, and at the height of 280 feet, removing their hats, saluted the surprised multitude. Encountering a south blowing wind, they drifted five miles in some twenty minutes, and landed safely in a field. The apparatus was soon assembled on a cart and returned to the Faubourg St. Antoine, where it was originally constructed. The details of this first human voyage in a balloon are very interesting and well told in a letter written by the Marquis d’Arlande to a member of the French Academy.
“At this time M. Pilâtre said: ‘You do nothing, and we shall not mount.’ ‘Pardon me,’ I replied. I threw a truss of straw upon the fire, stirring it a little at the same time, and then quickly turned my face back again; but I could no longer see La Muette. Astonished, I gave a look to the direction of the river.... M. Pilâtre then said, ‘See, there is the river, and observe that we descend.’ ‘Well, then, my friend, let us increase the fire;’ and we worked away. But instead of crossing the river, as our direction seemed to indicate, which carried us over the house of the Invalides, we passed along the island of Cygnes, reëntered over the principal bed of the river, and advanced up it as far as the gate de la Conference. I said to my intrepid companion: ‘See, there is the river &c.’ I stirred the fire, and took with the fork a truss of straw, which from being too tight, did not take fire very easily. I lifted it and shook it in the middle of the flame. The next moment I felt as if I were lifted up from under the arms, and said to my companion, ‘Now we mount, &c.’ At the same time I heard a noise toward the top of the machine, as if it were going to burst; I looked, but did not see anything. However, as I was looking up, I felt a shock, which was the only one I experienced. The direction of the motion was from the upper part downwards. I said then: ‘What are you doing? Are you dancing?’ ‘I don’t stir,’ said he. ‘So much the better,’ I replied, ‘it is then a new current, which, I hope, will push us over the river.’ In fact, I turned myself in order to see where we were, and I found myself between l’École Militaire and les Invalides, beyond which place we had already gone about 2,500 feet. M. Pilâtre said at the same time: ‘We are on the plain.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘and we advance.’ ‘Work on,’ said he. I then heard another noise in the machine, which appeared to be the effect of a rope breaking. This fresh admonition made me examine attentively the interior of our habitation. I saw that the part of the machine which was turned toward the south was full of round holes, many of which were of a considerable size. I then said: ‘We must descend,’ and at the same time I took the sponge and easily extinguished the fire, which was round some holes that I could reach; but leaning on the lower part of the linen, to observe whether it adhered firmly to the surrounding circle, I found that the linen was easily separated from it, on which I repeated that it was necessary to descend. My companion said: ‘We are over Paris.’ ‘Never mind that,’ said I, ‘but look if there appears any danger for you on your side—are you safe?’ He said: ‘Yes.’ I examined my side, and found that there was no danger to apprehend. Farther, I wetted with a sponge those cords which were within my reach. They all resisted, except two, which gave way. I then said: ‘We may pass over Paris.’ In doing this, we approached the tops of houses very sensibly; we increased the fire, and rose with the greatest ease. I looked below me, and perfectly discovered the Mission Étranger. It seemed as if we were going toward Saint-Sulpice, which I could perceive through the aperture of our machine. On rising a current of air made us leave this direction, and carried us toward the south. I saw on my left a sort of forest, which I took to be the Luxembourg; we passed over the Boulevard, and then I said: ‘Let us now descend.’ The fire was nearly extinguished; but the intrepid M. Pilâtre, who never loses his presence of mind, and who went forward, imagining that we were going against the mills that are between Petite Gentilly and the Boulevard, admonished me. I threw a bundle of straw on the fire, and shaking it in order to inflame it more easily, we rose, and a new current carried us a little toward our left. M. Rozier said again: ‘Take care of the mills’; but as I was looking through the aperture of the machine, I could observe more accurately that we could not meet with them, and said: ‘We are there.’ The moment after, I observed that we went over a piece of water, which I took for the river, but after landing, I recollected that it was the piece of water, &c. The moment we touched the ground, I raised myself up to the gallery and perceived the upper part of the machine to press very gently on my head, I pushed it back, and jumped out of the gallery, and on turning toward the machine, expected to find it distended, but was surprised to find it perfectly emptied and quite flattened, &c.”
While the foregoing experiment was in progress, plans were matured for the construction of a hydrogen balloon large enough to support two passengers and remain aloft many hours, without the need of carrying dangerous fuel. This type of balloon, called a Charlière, after its inventor, was destined largely to supersede the hot-air type, known as the Montgolfière, and indeed, to replace it entirely for free voyages of considerable endurance and for most power voyages. The construction after the plan of Professor Charles was delegated to two very intelligent mechanics, the Robert brothers who also had succeeded in dissolving caoutchouc, and thus producing a very superior balloon varnish. The project was first announced in the Journal de Paris of the 19th of November 1783. As usual in those days of public enthusiasm, a subscription was opened to defray the expenses of the experiment, estimated to cost about ten thousand francs.
This balloon was a truly scientific creation, which advanced aërostation from tottering infancy almost to full prime. The bag was a sphere 27½ feet in diameter made of gores of varnished silk. A net covered the upper half and was fastened to a horizontal hoop girding the middle of the globe, and called the “equator.” From the equator depended ropes which supported, just below the spherical bag, a wicker boat measuring eight feet by four, covered with painted linen and beautifully ornamented. The balloon had at the bottom a silk neck 7 inches in diameter, to admit the gas during inflation, and at the top, a valve which could be opened by means of a cord in the boat to let out gas during a voyage, so as to lower the balloon, or to relieve excessive pressure. In the boat were carried sand ballast to regulate the height of ascension, a barometer to measure the elevation, anchor and rope for landing, a thermometer, notebook, provisions, and all the paraphernalia of a scientific voyage. Barring the fancy boat, this is almost a description of a good modern balloon.
The inflation and ascension occurred in the Garden of the Tuileries, where the limp bag was initially suspended from a rope stretched between two trees. For three days and nights the hydrogen, drawn from twenty barrels containing iron and dilute sulphuric acid, poured upward through the silken neck into the distending globe, which swelled in volume to 1,400 cubic feet. Finally on a beautiful day, the first of December 1783, the Tuileries and all the neighborhood were crowded with spectators. A numerous guard of soldiers, stationed about the apparatus and grounds, preserved order. The fashion and nobility of Paris were there, in ample splendor, attracted by the novelty and importance of the experiment, and the fame of the inventor. Shortly before two o’clock Professor Charles presented to his friend, Montgolfier, a pilot balloon six feet in diameter, saying, “It is your prerogative to blaze the way through the sky.” The pilot balloon was released, showing to everyone the direction of the aërial currents. Charles and Roberts stepped into the boat, seated themselves, and quickly rose into the sky. The multitude gazed in silent wonder. Presently they observed two pennants waving high above them, though the navigators were scarcely visible; whereupon they burst forth into wild enthusiasm and thunderous applause.
Immediately a cavalcade set out in hot pursuit of the venturesome sailors. It was the first chase after an air ship, and a most vigorous one. The balloon drifting northwestward at a speed of fifteen miles an hour, crossed the Seine, passed over several towns and villages, to the great astonishment of the inhabitants, and landed in a field near Nesle. Here it was securely held by friendly peasants, to await the advent of the official witnesses. Presently these arrived, drew up a certificate of descent and signed it. The Duke de Chartres, and the Duke de Fitz-James, who had followed less swiftly, now rode up and signed the formal document, to the great gratification of the aëronauts. The aërial journey had been a most delightful one, lasting about two hours and covering nearly thirty miles.
After receiving the felicitations of his friends, Charles determined to reascend, in order to obtain further scientific observations. Owing to leakage and loss of buoyancy, he must now leave behind his pleasant companion. He had proposed replacing with earth, or stones, a part of Mr. Robert’s weight, but, finding none at hand, he signaled the peasants to let go, whereupon he rose with unusual speed. The remainder of this first and very remarkable scientific voyage is well told by the navigator himself:
“In twenty minutes I was 1,500 fathoms high; out of sight of all terrestrial objects. I had taken the necessary precautions against the explosion of the globe, and prepared to make the observations which I had promised myself. In order to observe the barometer and thermometer, placed at the end of the car, without altering the center of gravity, I knelt down in the middle, stretching forward my body and one leg, holding my watch in my left hand, and my pen and the string of the valve in my right, waiting for the event. The globe, which, at my setting out, was rather flaccid, swelled insensibly. The air escaped in great quantities at the silken tube. I drew the valve from time to time, to give it two vents; and I continued to ascend, still losing air, which issued out hissing, and became visible, like a warm vapor in a cold atmosphere. The reason of this phenomenon is obvious. On earth, the thermometer was 47°, or 15° above freezing point; after ten minutes’ ascent it was only 21°, or 11° below. The inflammable air had not had time to recover the equilibrium of its temperature. Its elastic equilibrium being quicker than that of the heat, there must escape a greater quantity than that which the external dilatation of the air could determine by its least pressure. For myself, though exposed to the open air, I passed in ten minutes from the warmth of spring to the cold of winter; a sharp dry cold, but not too much to be borne. I declare that, in the first moment, I felt nothing disagreeable in the sudden change. When the barometer ceased to fall, I marked exactly 18 inches 10 lines (20-01 in. English), the mercury suffering no sensible oscillation. From this I deduce a height of 1,524 fathoms (3,100 yards), or thereabouts, till I can be more exact in my calculation. In a few minutes more, my fingers were benumbed by the cold, so that I could not hold my pen. I was now stationary as to the rising and falling, and moved only in an horizontal direction. I rose up in the middle of the car to contemplate the scene around me. At my setting out the sun was set on the valleys; he soon rose for me alone, who was the only luminous body in the horizon, and all the rest of nature in shade; he, however, presently disappeared, and I had the pleasure of seeing him set twice in the same day. I beheld, for a few seconds, the circumambient air and the vapors rising from the valleys and rivers. The clouds seemed to rise from the earth and collect one upon the other, still preserving their usual form, only their color was gray and monotonous from the want of light in the atmosphere. The moon alone enlightened them, and showed me that I was tacking about twice; and I observed certain currents that brought me back again. I had several sensible deviations; and observed, with surprise, the effects of the wind, and saw the streamers of my banners point upwards. This phenomenon was not the effect of the ascent or descent, for then I moved horizontally. At that instant I conceived, perhaps a little too hastily, the idea of being able to steer one’s course. In the midst of my transport I felt a violent pain in my right ear and jaw, which I ascribed to the dilatation of the air, in the cellular construction of those organs, as much as to the cold of the external air. I was in a waistcoat and bareheaded. I immediately put on a woolen cap, yet the pain did not go off but as I gradually descended. For seven or eight minutes I had ceased to ascend; the condensation of the internal inflammable air rather made me descend. I now recollected my promise to return in half an hour, and, pulling the string of the valve, I came down. The globe was now so much emptied, that it appeared only a half globe. I perceived a fine ploughed field near the wood of Tour du Lay, and hastened my descent. When I was between twenty or thirty fathoms from the earth I threw out hastily two or three pounds of ballast, and became for a moment stationary, till I descended gently in the field, about a league from the place whence I set out. The frequent deviations and turnings about make me imagine that the voyage was near three leagues, and I was gone about thirty-three minutes. Such is the certainty of the combinations of our aërostatic machine, that I might have kept in the air at least for twenty-four hours longer.”
Further interesting details of the first balloon experiments at Paris are furnished by Dr. Benjamin Franklin, then American Minister to France, in his letters written to Sir Joseph Banks, President of the Royal Society of London, and presented in Appendix II of this book. These quaint and substantial stories are well worth perusal as the expressions of a great diplomat and philosopher who, in the midst of social and political activities, found time for scientific correspondence with his friends in both hemispheres.
Aërial navigation was now become a practical art which should advance rapidly in popularity, in both Europe and America. Very soon ascensions were made everywhere, for private amusement and for public exhibitions. Not a few were made for scientific, for military and for topographical purposes; thus giving the art a utilitarian as well as a sporting feature. It will be interesting to note some of the more conspicuous ascensions, voyages and improvements made in passive balloons subsequently to the invention of Montgolfières and Charlières.
The largest hot-air balloon ever constructed, La Flesselle, was launched from the suburbs of the city of Lyons on January 19, 1784, just two months after the ascent of the first human passengers. It was also one of the most troublesome to assemble and keep in repair. Day by day, for more than a week, the balloon was inflated for the purpose of attaching the ropes to support the great gallery. But the wind blew dreadfully at times; rain and snow fell on the machine; frost and ice covered the huge bag; many rents ensued, demanding frequent repairs. On one occasion, when fed too freely with flame from straw sprinkled with alcohol, the monstrous ship rose so vigorously as to drag fifty men with it some distance along the ground. Finally on the 19th of January, when the weather moderated, the operators built small fires under the scaffold below the balloon, and thawed away the ice from the drenched and frozen bag. Then they stocked its gallery with straw and pitchforks, with fire extinguishers, and other provisions for the journey. The inflation beginning about noon, occupied but seventeen minutes. The balloon swelled out rapidly, with the roaring flames ascending inside, and at last stood forth huge and majestic before the admiring multitude—a towering thing of magic growth, 100 feet in diameter by 130 feet high.
The ascension of this gigantic vessel was immensely spectacular; but it was also most adventurous and foolhardy. The great bag, which at best was made of poor materials, was in bad repair after its frequent inflations. But of the six passengers in the gallery not one could be induced to remain behind to lessen the risk to the others. Their pilot, M. de Rozier, remonstrated with them; the proprietor M. C. Flesselle wished them to cast lots; but no one would abandon the journey. So, with fear and reluctance, the pilot ordered the mooring ropes to be cut. Just as the ascent began, a seventh passenger, M. Fontaine, sprang into the gallery and sailed aloft with the others. By vigorous stoking the aërial sailors urged their fiery vessel upward three thousand feet, whence, apparently without fear, they waved their hats to the vast throng below.
The spectators were now in a frenzy of excitement. For more than a week they had vacillated between hope and disappointment; but now they saw the huge ship soaring into the sky, perhaps on her way to destruction. They heard the blast of martial music and the booming of mortars. Then the accumulated emotion of the multitude burst forth. Exclamations of joy, shrieks of fear, thunders of applause resounded above the sea of people. Finally the balloon began to burst, a dangerous rent running vertically along her side. The machine descended with great rapidity, to the alarm of everyone. It is reported that not fewer than sixty thousand people ran to the place of landing, with the greatest apprehension for the lives of the travelers. But the adventurous men stepped forth from the gallery, after a fifteen minutes’ voyage, without hurt of any kind, save an insignificant scratch borne by Joseph Montgolfier, who on this occasion made his first and last ascension. This was also the first and last ascension of that gigantic fire balloon; for although it furnished a world of delirious emotion and excitement, the trouble of inflating the vessel was too great to be repeated.
The crossing of the English Channel by balloon had been contemplated many months by various adventurous spirits; and at length, on a fine day, the seventh of January, 1785, this feat was attempted by two intrepid men, the French aëronaut, M. Blanchard, and an American physician, Dr. Jeffries, who had graduated at Harvard in 1763, and was practicing medicine in England. Starting from the perpendicular cliff at Dover Castle, at one o’clock, they sailed in the direction of Calais, having with them only thirty pounds of sand ballast. This was too little for so long a voyage; but it would doubtless carry them a few miles, in the favorable breeze then blowing. To their surprise, the atmosphere seemed to grow lighter as they advanced over the water, letting them sink too freely. As they approached mid-channel they were compelled to discharge all their ballast in order to maintain their level. But the balloon still descended, seemingly attracted by the water. Then they ejected a parcel of books to gain a moment’s relief. When three-fourths across the Channel they sighted the French Coast, which now they yearned to see at closer range; for the balloon was contracting and sinking rapidly. They threw out from the boat everything available, wings, anchors, cords, provisions; yet they saw the vessel persistently approaching the sea. Finally they cast off part of their clothing, fastened themselves to the cords suspended from the balloon-ring, and prepared to cut away the boat. But presently approaching the coast near Calais, they began to rise; then ascended rapidly, soaring in a magnificent arch above the high grounds. At last they descended gradually above the forest of Guines, seized the branches of a tree to stop their flight, and at three o’clock were happily landed. It was a thrilling voyage of two hours, and made a profound impression at the time. As a mark of appreciation the King presented Blanchard a sum of 12,000 francs and a pension of 1,200 francs per year. The people erected a monument on the place of landing to commemorate this extraordinary voyage.
This splendid achievement incited two Frenchmen to attempt a counter voyage which ended disastrously. On June 15, 1785, Pilâtre de Rozier and M. Romain set out from Boulogne on a voyage from France to England, in a compound balloon composed of a hydrogen balloon forty feet in diameter, below which was suspended a fire balloon ten feet in diameter. They hoped by judicious stoking of the lower balloon to obviate the sinking tendency suffered by Blanchard and Jeffries. But the smaller globe proved a fatal auxiliary. Scarcely a quarter of an hour after launching, the whole apparatus was aflame at an altitude of 3,000 feet, and presently fell in charred and hideous fragments upon the seashore. M. Romain still showed some signs of life, but Pilâtre de Rozier was completely dead and all his bones were broken. They were the first martyrs in the cause of the new science. Poor De Rozier knew on starting that his apparatus was in bad condition, but he had received for the purpose a sum of money from a distinguished patron, and therefore felt obliged in honor to attempt the voyage. He was twenty-eight years old and engaged to be married to a young lady in the convent at Boulogne, who eight days after the catastrophe which robbed her of her fiancé, died brokenhearted and in convulsions.