Sunday, July 11th.—A decided south wind! Would it last this time, or would it again prove a delusion?

Andrée and his companions consulted for some time the various instruments from each post of observation. The atmospheric conditions seemed favourable.

Together with Andrée, we went to the top of the shed to examine carefully the work that had been done, and to arrange about the preparations for starting. The wind was very violent. The wooden structure trembled under our feet; I feared sometimes that it would be blown down, and the balloon destroyed. But this apparently light structure was really very solidly built, of which fact it had furnished excellent proofs. Moreover, it was sheltered by a hill 329 feet high.

After having enumerated the various operations to be performed, Andrée returned to his observations for a few minutes. The result was favourable. The direction of the wind seemed quite settled; but he did not give the order to start. This time he dared not take the sole responsibility of this decision, so he consulted his fellow-travellers. It was a very delicate question for the members staying behind, Svedenborg and myself, to decide; the decision rested rather with those directly interested. Strindberg and Fraenkel wished to start at once, and besides, what were we waiting for? Time was passing, the season was advancing; therefore, the sooner, the better.

Andrée did not express his opinion; it was not necessary, we guessed it. He was burning to set out for the conquest of the Pole; and he only said, “The departure is decided upon.”

We returned on board the Svensksund, where the sailors in uniform, and in the presence of the officers, were attending a short religious service, after having been reviewed as usual on Sunday.

As soon as the decision was known, Captain Ehrensvärd gave orders for the whole crew to resume their working clothes immediately.

Two Norwegian sailing vessels, returning from the north, entered the bay, and made ready to cast anchor opposite the shed. Signals were exchanged, to ask them to take up a different position, so as to leave a free passage for the Andrée balloon, which would start in a few hours.

The workers are ready, and are being taken ashore by the boats.

The carpenters and a detachment of sailors go quickly up into the shed, and demolish the northern portion with surprising rapidity.

It is 11 o’clock in the morning. Andrée is standing before the shed, observing everything. His orders follow one another, brief and rapid; his voice resounds, rendered still stronger by a speaking trumpet. Nothing is heard but the crackling of the wood as it is broken away, and the wooden beams as they come crashing to the ground. A detachment of men clear away the rubbish as it falls.

On the south side, at the top of the shed, sailors are stretching the canvas between the masts, thus increasing by 13 feet the height of the roof.

Everywhere is feverish activity; the preparations go on rapidly.

We now turn our attention to the balloon, which slowly rises, as the bags of ballast are slowly let down from mesh to mesh until they stop at the hoop.

The wind becomes more and more violent. Puffs reach the balloon, which sways greatly from side to side; the equatorial straps support it well, and restrain its movements.

The cords are then arranged which work the valves and the rending flap. These delicate parts require constant inspection during these last operations, in order to prevent their working badly. Stadling hangs over the circle, on to a horizontal rope, a series of baskets in which were the carrier pigeons. This preliminary part of the preparations being concluded, the ballast bags are withdrawn until the balloon is properly balanced. The hoop remains firmly held to the ground by three cables long enough to enable it to rise sufficiently high for the car to be fixed in position. The rest of the ballast bags are collected into three groups, hung to the hoop by three ropes.

The car, which, with all its contents, weighs nearly 1,102 lbs., is brought under. It is slipped into its place, and quickly fastened to the hoop by the six cables supporting it.

Andrée walks round the balloon and round the shed, giving a last glance at every detail, satisfying himself that everything is ready and in good working order.

The solemn hour has arrived.

Strindberg, who has always been a great friend of mine, as we have a mutual sympathy with one another, begs me to send his fiancée proofs of the last photographs that I shall succeed in developing, and which would interest her. He shows great emotion while speaking to me; it is not fear of the perils that he is about to face, but other sentiments that are agitating him at this moment. It is easy for me to guess what they are.

When will he see again that charming Swedish girl, whose photograph which he has so often shown me, and carries next his heart?

How many days, how many months, will she be anxiously waiting, and receiving no news?

What anxiety, what suspense, await that poor young girl?

But what joy will follow the glorious return of her beloved! What firm bonds of affection will bind them together after this long, hard separation!

Oh! how I wish them this happiness with all my heart!

Greatly affected myself, I shake convulsively the hand of my friend, who is leaving all that he holds dearest in the world for the glorious accomplishment of a scientific enterprise, and with a final clasp I promise him once again that his wish will be a sacred duty to me!

He gives me a last letter for his fiancée; then, controlling the emotion which was overcoming him, he rejoins Andrée and Fraenkel, who are also taking leave of their friends.

Andrée is thanking all the members of the expedition for the help they have rendered him in his enterprise. He gives the captain several telegrams written in haste at the last minute; one, addressed to the King of Sweden, is worded thus:—

Another telegram, addressed to the Aftonbladet, Stockholm, said:—

The last farewells are brief and touching; few words are exchanged, but hearty handclasps between those whose hearts are in sympathy say more than words.

Suddenly Andrée snatches himself away from the embraces of his friends, and takes his place on the wicker bridge of the car, from whence he calls in a firm voice:—

“Strindberg,—Fraenkel,—let us go!”

His two companions at once take their places beside him. They are all three armed with a knife for cutting the ropes supporting the groups of ballast bags.

This being done, Captain Ehrensvärd and Lieutenants Norselius and Celsing give their sailors orders which are at once put into execution.

The equatorial straps fall at one stroke.

The balloon, freed from this restraint, moves slightly; it quits the state of torpor in which it seemed to be plunged; it now seems to have come to life, and, notwithstanding its shelter, it rolls greatly on its lower moorings, from which it tries to free itself.

We wait a few seconds, in order to seize a moment of calm, before the order is given to start.

Three of the most adroit sailors, armed with knives, hold themselves in readiness, at a given signal, to cut the three cables by which alone the balloon is now held captive.

The entire crew of the Svensksund are present, and also the crews of the three Norwegian whaling vessels anchored in Virgo Bay.

There is profound silence at this minute; we only hear the whistling of the wind through the woodwork of the shed, and the flapping of the canvas, which hangs over the upper part of the south side.

Amongst the cordage of the car are seen the three heroes, standing admirably cool and calm.

Andrée is always calm, cold, and impassible. Not a trace of emotion is visible on his countenance; nothing but an expression of firm resolution and an indomitable will.

He is just the man for such an enterprise; and he is well seconded by his two companions.

At length the decisive moment arrives.

“One! Two! Cut!” cries Andrée in Swedish.

The three sailors obey the order simultaneously, and in one second the aerial ship, free and unfettered, rises majestically into space, saluted with our heartiest cheers.

We rush to the doors to get out of the shed. I have the chance of getting out first through a secret opening I have made in the woodwork, so as to be able to rush to my photographic apparatus and have time to take a few snapshots at this stupendous moment.

Being encumbered with the heavy cordage that it takes with it, the balloon does not rise to a height of 328 feet.

It is dragged by the wind.

Behind the mountain that is sheltering us stormy winds are raging, and a current of air sweeps down from the summit and attacks the balloon, which for a moment descends rapidly towards the sea. This incident, which we had foreseen before the departure, but the natural cause of which struck few of the spectators at the moment, produces great excitement amongst some of us. The sailors rush to the boats to be ready to lend assistance to the explorers, whom they expect to see engulfed in the waves. Their alarm was of short duration; the descending movement soon becomes slower, and the car just touches the water and ascends again immediately.

Unfortunately, the lower parts of the guide-ropes, which were made so as to become detached if they should be caught in the ground, have remained on the shore. At the start the ropes were caught in some rocks on the shore, and the screws for separating the parts worked. But Andrée is well provided against this loss, so that this accident is not likely to have serious consequences.

At the edge of the water, on the beach studded with rocks and large stones, we all stand, breathlessly watching the various phases, rapidly following one upon another, of the commencement of this stirring and unprecedented aerial journey.

The balloon, which has now righted itself at about 164 feet above the sea, is rapidly speeding away; the guide-ropes glide over the water, making a very perceptible wake, which is visible from its starting point, like the track made by a ship. The state of affairs seems to us on the shore to be the best that could be hoped for. We exchange last signals of farewell with our friends; hats and handkerchiefs are waved frantically.

Soon we can no longer distinguish the aeronauts; but we can see that they are arranging their sails, as these latter are displayed in succession on their bamboo mast; then we observe a change of direction. The balloon is now travelling straight to the north; it goes along swiftly, notwithstanding the resistance that must be offered by the dragging ropes; we estimate its speed at from 18 to 22 miles an hour. If it keeps up this initial speed and the same direction, it will reach the Pole in less than two days.

The aerial globe seems now no bigger than an egg. On the horizon an obstacle appears in the route; this is the continuation of a chain of mountains about 328 feet high right in the path of the balloon, which seems very close to the obstacle, and some of the sailors round me, who have never before seen a balloon start on its trip, seem in great terror; they think the balloon will be hopelessly wrecked. I reassure them, telling them that the balloon is still far away from the hills, which will be easily surmounted, without there even being any necessity to throw out ballast.

The balloon travels on, maintained at the same altitude by the guide-ropes. In the neighbourhood of the hills there is an upward current of air; the balloon will follow this; it would only risk striking against the obstacle if the movement were downwards, which is not the case. Moreover, the guide-ropes first rest upon the rocks and thus lighten the balloon, which gradually rises.

We see it clear the top of the hill, and stand out clearly for a few minutes against the blue sky, and then slowly disappear from our view behind the hill.

Scattered along the shore, we stand motionless, with hearts full, and anxious eyes, gazing at the silent horizon.

For one moment then, between two hills, we perceive a grey speck over the sea, very, very far away, and then it finally disappears.

The way to the Pole is clear, no more obstacles to encounter; the sea, the ice-field, and the Unknown!

We look at one another for a moment, stupefied. Instinctively we draw together without saying a word. There is nothing, nothing whatever in the distance to tell us where our friends are; they are now shrouded in mystery.

“Farewell! Farewell! Our most fervent prayers go with you. May God help you! Honour and glory to your names!”

Alexis Machuron.