There is not in the whole annals of aerostation a more moving catastrophe than that of the unfortunate Comte Zambeccari, who, during an aerial journey on October the 7th, 1804, was cast away on the waves of the Adriatic.
The history of Zambeccari is dramatic throughout. After having been taken by the Turks and thrown into the Bay of Constantinople, from which he with difficulty escaped, he devoted himself to the study and practice of aerial navigation. He fancied he could make use of a lamp supplied with spirits of wine, the flame of which he could direct at will, in the hope of thus being able to steer the balloon in whatever direction he chose. One day his balloon damaged itself against a tree at Boulogne, and the spirits of wine set his clothes on fire. The flames with which the aeronaut was covered only served to increase the ascending power of the balloon, and the frightened spectators, among whom were Zambeccari’s young wife and children, saw him carried up into the clouds out of sight. He succeeded, however, in extinguishing the fire which surrounded him.
In 1804, he organised a series of experiments at Milan, for which he received, in advance, the sum of 8,000 crowns; but the experiments failed, in consequence of the inclemency of the weather, the treachery of his assistants, and the malice of his rivals.
At length, on the 7th of October, after a fall of rain which lasted forty-eight hours, and which had delayed the announced ascent, he resolved, whatever might happen, to carry it out, though all the chances were against him. Eight young men whom he had instructed, and who had promised him their assistance in filling the balloon, failed him at the critical moment. Still, however, he continued his labours, with the help of two companions, Andreoli and Grassetti. Wearied with his long-continued efforts, dis-appointed and hungry, he took his place in the car.
The two companions whom we have named went with him. They rose gently at first, and hovered over the town of Bologna. Zambeccari says, “The lamp, which was intended to increase our ascending force, became useless. We could not observe the state of the barometer by the feeble light of a lantern. The insupportable cold that prevailed in the high region to which we had ascended, the weariness and hunger arising from my having neglected to take nourishment for twenty-four hours, the vexation that embittered my spirit—all these combined produced in me a total prostration, and I fell upon the floor of the gallery in a profound sleep that was like death. ‘The same misfortune overtook my companion Grassetti. Andreoli was the only one who remained awake and able for duty—no doubt because he had taken plenty of food and a large quantity of rum. Still he suffered from the cold, which was excessive, and his endeavours to wake me were for a long time vain. Finally, however, he succeeded in getting me to my feet, but my ideas were confused, and I demanded of him, like one newly awaking from a dream, ‘What is the news? Where are we? What time is it? How is the wind?’
“It was two o’clock. The compass had been broken, and was useless; the wax light in the lantern would not burn in such a rarefied atmosphere. We descended gently across a thick layer of whitish clouds, and when we had got below them, Andreoli heard a sound, muffled and almost inaudible, which he immediately recognised as the breaking of waves in the distance. Instantly he announced to me this new and fearful danger. I listened, and had not long to wait before I was convinced that he was speaking the truth. It was necessary to have light to examine the state of the barometer, and thus ascertain what was our elevation above the sea level, and to take our measures in consequence. Andreoli broke five phosphoric matches, without getting a spark of fire. Nevertheless, we succeeded, after very great difficulty, by the help of the flint and steel, in lighting the lantern. It was now three o’clock in the morning—we had started at midnight. The sound of the waves, tossing with wild uproar, became louder and louder, and I suddenly saw the surface of the sea violently agitated just below us. I immediately seized a large sack of sand, but had not time to throw it over before we were all in the water, gallery and all. In the first moment of fright, we threw into the sea everything that would lighten the balloon—our ballast, all our instruments, a portion of our clothing, our money, and the oars. As, in spite of all this, the balloon did not rise, we threw over our lamp also. After having torn and cut away everything that did not appear to us to be of indispensable necessity, the balloon, thus very much lightened, rose all at once, but with such rapidity and to such a prodigious elevation, that we had difficulty in hearing each other, even when shouting at the top of our voices. I was ill, and vomited severely. Grassetti was bleeding at the nose; we were both breathing short and hard, and felt oppression on the chest. As we were thrown upon our backs at the moment when the balloon took such a sudden start out of the water and bore us with such swiftness to those high regions, the cold seized us suddenly, and we found ourselves covered all at once with a coating of ice. I could not account for the reason why the moon, which was in its last quarter, appeared on a parallel line with us, and looked red as blood.
“After having traversed these regions for half an hour, at an immeasurable elevation, the balloon slowly began to descend, and at last we fell again into the sea, at about four in the morning I cannot determine at what distance we were from land when we fell the second time. The night was very dark, the sea rolling heavily, and we were in no condition to make observations. But it must have been in the middle of the Adriatic that we fell. Although we descended gently, the gallery was sunk, and we were often entirely covered with water. The balloon being now more than half empty, in consequence of the vicissitudes through, which we had passed, gave a purchase to the wind, which pressed against it as against a sail, so that by means of it we were dragged and beaten about at the mercy of the storm and the waves. At daybreak we looked out and found ourselves opposite Pesaro, four miles from the shore. We were comforting ourselves with the prospect of a safe landing, when a wind from the land drove us with violence away over the open sea. It was now full day, but all we could see were the sea, the sky, and the death that threatened us. Certainly some boats happened to come within sight; but no sooner did they see the balloon floating and striping upon the water than they made all sail to get away from it. No hope was then left to us but the very small one of making the coasts of Dalmatia, which were opposite, but at a great distance from us. Without the slightest doubt we should have been drowned if heaven had not mercifully directed towards us a navigator who, better informed than those we had seen before, recognised our machine to be a balloon and quickly sent his long-boat to our rescue. The sailors threw us a stout cable, which we attached to the gallery, and by means of which they rescued us when fainting with exposure. The balloon thus lightened, immediately rose into the air, in spite of all the efforts of the sailors who wished to capture it. The long boat received a severe shock from its escape, as the rope was still attached to it, and the sailors hastened to cut themselves free. At once the balloon mounted with incredible rapidity, and was lost in the clouds, where it disappeared for ever from our view. It was eight in the morning when we got on board. Grassetti was so ill that he hardly showed any signs of life. His hands were sadly mutilated. Cold, hunger, and the dreadful anxiety had completely prostrated me. The brave captain of the vessel did everything in his power to restore us. He conducted us safely to Ferrara, whence we were carried to Pola, where we were received with the greatest kindness, and where I was compelled to have my fingers amputated.”
“On the 22nd October, 1797,” says the astronomer Lalande, “at twenty-eight minutes past five, Citizen Garnerin rose in a balloon from the park of Monceau. Silence reigned in the assembly, anxiety and fear being painted on the visages of all. When he had ascended upwards of 2,000 feet, he cut the cord that connected his parachute and car with the balloon. The latter exploded, and Garnerin descended in his parachute very rapidly. He made a dreadful lurch in the air, that forced a sudden cry of fear from the whole multitude, and made a number of women faint. Meanwhile Citizen Garnerin descended into the plain of Monceau; he mounted his horse upon the spot, and rode back to the park, attended by an immense multitude, who gave vent to their admiration for the skill and talent of the young aeronaut. Garnerin was the first to undertake this most daring and dangerous venture. He had conceived the idea of this feat while lying a prisoner of state in Buda, Hungary.” Lalande adds that he went and announced his success at the Institute National, which was assembled at the time, and which listened to him with the greatest interest.
Robertson conducted an experiment of descending by means of a parachute at Vienna, in 1804, in which he received all the glory, without partaking of any of the danger. He made the public preparations for an ascent in the balloon, his pupil, Michaud, however, took his place in the car, and made the ascent.
Robertson says that on this occasion he yielded to the entreaties of a young man who was his pupil, and had begged to be allowed to make his debut before such a great multitude. In this case a slight improvement was made in the parachute. The car was surrounded by a cloth of silk, which, when the aeronaut cut himself away from the balloon, spread itself out in such a way as to form a second parachute.
Robertson made all the preparations, and Michaud had no more to do than place himself in the car. Loud applause arose on all sides. Michaud had ascended 900 feet above the earth when the signal for his cutting himself clear of the balloon was given, by the firing of a cannon. He at once cut the two strings, and the balloon soared away into the upper regions, whilst he was left for one terrible moment to fate. The fall was at first rapid, but the two parachutes soon opened themselves simultaneously, and presented a majestic appearance. In a few seconds the aeronaut had traversed the space that intervened between him and the assembly, and found himself safely landed on the ground, at a short distance from the place whence he had set out, while the whole air was rent with shouts of applause. This experiment was deemed a most extraordinary one. Compliments were showered upon Robertson from all sides, and the court presented him with rich presents.
Balloons have always formed a prominent feature at the fetes of Paris, for the celebration of the chief events of the Revolution, the Consulate, and the Empire—the first of these epochs being that in which these aerial vessels were held in highest esteem.
Jacques Garnerin had played a brilliant role as aeronaut under the Directory, the Consulate, and the Empire; and it was he who after the coronation of the Emperor Napoleon I., was charged with the raising of a monster balloon, which was arranged to ascend, with the accompaniment of fireworks, on the evening of the 16th of December, 1804.
An uncommon incident connected with this event serves to show us the spirit of fatalism with which the character of Napoleon I. was infected. “The Man of Destiny” believed in the destiny of man; he had faith in his star alone; and from the height of his greatness the new ruler, consecrated emperor and king by the Pope, beheld a presage of misfortune in a chance circumstance, insignificant to all but himself, in the experiment of which we are about to recount the history.
The fete given by the city of Paris to their majesties embraced the whole town, from the Champs Elysees to the Barriere du Trone, on the square of the Hotel de Ville. Upon the river throughout its length between the Isle of St. Louis and the bridge of Notre Dame, an immense display of fireworks was to take place. The scene to be represented was the passage of Mont St. Bernard. Garnerin was stationed with his balloon in front of the gate of the church of Notre Dame. At eleven o’clock in the evening, at the moment when the first discharge of fireworks made the air luminous with a hundred thousand stars, Garnerin threw off his immense balloon. The chief feature of it was the device of a crown, designed in coloured lanterns arranged round the globe. It rose splendidly, and with the most perfect success.
On the following morning the inhabitants of Rome were astounded to behold advancing toward them from the horizon a luminous globe, which threatened to descend upon their city. The excitement was intense. The balloon passed the cupola of St. Peter’s and the Vatican; then descending, it touched the ground, but rose again, and finally it sank into the wafers of Lake Bracciano.
It was drawn from the water, and the following inscription, emblazoned in letters of gold upon its vast circumference, was printed, published, and read throughout the whole of Italy—“Paris, 25eme Primaire, an XIII., couronnement de l’empereur Napoleon, 1er par S.S. Pie VII.”
In touching the earth, the balloon happened to strike against the tomb of the Emperor Nero, and, owing to the concussion, a portion of the crown was left upon this ancient monument. The Italian journals, which were not so strictly under the supervision of the government as were the journals of France, gave the full particulars of these minor events; and certain of them, connecting the names of Nero and Napoleon, indulged in malicious remarks at the expense of the French emperor. These facts came to the ear of the great general, who manifested much indignation, dismissed the innocent Garnerin from his post, and appointed Madame Blanchard to the supervision of all the balloon ascents which took place at the public fetes.
The balloon was preserved in the vaults of the Vatican in Rome, accompanied with an inscription narrating its travels and wonderful descent—minus the circumstance of the tomb. It was removed, as might be supposed, in 1814. From this time the ascents of balloons took place for the most part only on the occasions of coronations and other great public fetes.
It is probable that at the origin of navigation, man, before he had invented oars and sails, made use of trunks of trees upon which he trusted himself, leaving the rest to the winds and the currents of the water, whether these were known or unknown. There is some analogy between such rude rafts, the first discovered means of navigation on water, and balloons, the first discovered means of navigation in air. But unquestionably the advantage is with the latter. No means have yet been found of directly steering balloons, but by allowing the gas to escape the aeronaut can descend at will, and by lightening his car of part of the ballast he carries he can ascend as readily. It must also be remembered that the currents of air vary in their directions, according to their elevation, and were the aeronaut perfectly acquainted with aerial currents, he might, by raising or lowering himself, find a wind blowing in the direction in which he wished to proceed, and the last problem of aerostation would be solved. That any such knowledge can ever be acquired it is impossible to say; but this much may with safety be advanced, that distant journeys may frequently be taken with balloons for useful purposes.
One of the most remarkable excursions of this kind was that superintended by Green, in 1836, from London to Germany. This journey, 1,200 miles in length, is the longest that has been yet accomplished. Green set out from London on the 7th of November, 1836, accompanied by two friends—Monk-Mason, the historian of the journey, and a gentleman named Molland. Not knowing to what quarter of the globe he might be blown, Green provided himself with passports to all the states of Europe, and with a quantity of provisions sufficient to last him for some time, should he be driven by the wind over the sea. Shortly after mid-day the balloon rose with great grandeur, and, urged by a light breeze, floated to the south-east, over the plains of Kent. At four o’clock the voyagers sighted the sea.
“It was forty-eight minutes past four,” says Monk-Mason, “that we first saw the line of waves breaking on the shores beneath us. It would have been impossible to have remained unmoved by the grandeur of the spectacle that spread out before us. Behind us were the coasts of England, with their white cliffs half lost in the coming darkness. Beneath us on both sides the ocean spread out far end wide to where the darkness closed in the scene. Opposite us a barrier of thick clouds like a wall, surmounted all along its line with projections like so many towers, bastions, and battlements, rose up from the sea as if to stop our advance. A few minutes afterwards we were in the midst of this cloudy barrier, surrounded with darkness, which the vapours of the night increased. We heard no sound. The noise of the waves breaking on the shores of England had ceased, and our position had for some time cut us off from all the sounds of earth.”
In an hour the Straits of Dover were cleared, the lights of Calais shone out toward the voyagers, and the sound of the town drums rose up toward them. “Darkness was now complete,” continues the writer, “and it was only by the lights, sometimes isolated, sometimes seen in masses, and showing themselves far down on the earth beneath us, that we could form a guess of the countries we traversed, or of the towns and villages which appeared before us every moment. The whole surface of the earth for many leagues round showed nothing but scattered lights, and the face of the earth seemed to rival the vault of heaven with starry fires. Every moment in the earlier part of the night before men had betaken themselves to repose, clusters of lights appeared indicating large centres of population.
“Those on the horizon gave us the notion of a distant conflagration. In proportion as we approached them, these masses of lights appeared to increase, and to cover a greater space, until, when right over them, they seemed to divide themselves into different parts, to stretch out in long streets, and to shine in starry quadrangles round the squares, so that we could see the exact plan of each city, given as on a small map. It would be difficult to give an idea of what sort of effect such a scene in such circumstances produces. To find oneself transported in the darkness of night, in the midst of vast solitudes of air, unknown, unperceived, in secret and in silence, exploring territories, traversing kingdoms, watching towns which come into view, and pass out of it before one can examine them in detail—these circumstances are enough in themselves to render sublime a science which, independent of these adjuncts, would be so interesting. If you add to this the uncertainty which, increasing as we went on into the night, began to assail us respecting our voyage, our ignorance of where we were, and what were the objects we were attempting to discover, you may form some idea of our singular position.”
About midnight, the travellers found themselves above Liege. Situated in the midst of a thickly-peopled country, full of foundries, smelting works, and forges, this town was quite a blaze of light. The gas-lamps with which this town is so well lighted, clearly marked out for our travellers the main streets, the squares, and the public buildings. But after midnight, at which time the lamps in continental towns are mostly put out, the whole of the under world disappeared from the view of the aeronauts.
“After the turn of the night,” says Mason, “the moon did not show itself, and the heavens, always more sombre when regarded from great altitudes, seemed to us to intensify the natural darkness. On the other hand, by a singular contrast, the stars shone out with unusual brilliancy, and seemed like living sparks sown upon the ebony vault that surrounded us. In fact, nothing could exceed the intensity of the night which prevailed during this part of our voyage. A black profound abyss surrounded us on all sides, and, as we attempted to penetrate into the mysterious deeps, it was with difficulty we could beat back the idea and the apprehension that we were making a passage through an immense mass of black marble, in which we were enclosed, and which, solid to within a few inches of us, appeared to open up at our approach.”
Until three o’clock the voyagers were in this state. The height of the balloon, as calculated by the barometer, was 2,000 feet. They had not then anything to fear from a disastrous encounter, when all at once a sudden explosion was heard, the silk of the balloon quivered, the car received a violent shock, and seemed to be shot suddenly into the gloomy abyss. A second explosion and a third succeeded, accompanied each time by this fearful shock to the car. The travellers soon found out that, owing to the great altitude, the gas had expanded, and the rope which surrounded it, saturated with water, and frozen with the intense cold, had yielded to the pressure, in jerks which caused the report and the shock.
“From time to time,” continues Mason, “vast masses of clouds covered the lower regions of the atmosphere, and spread a thick, whitish veil over the earth, intercepting our view, and leaving us for some time uncertain if this was not a continuation of the same plains covered with snow which we had already noticed. From these masses of vapour, there seemed more than once during the night to come a sound as of a great fall of water, or the contending waves of the sea; and it required all the force of our reason, joined to our knowledge—such as it was—of the direction of our route, to repress the idea that we were approaching the sea, and that, driven by the wind, we had, been carried along the coasts of the North Sea or the Baltic. As the day advanced these apprehensions disappeared. In place of the unbroken surface of the sea, we gradually made out the varied features of a cultivated country, in the midst of which flowed a majestic river, which lost itself, at both extremities, in the mist that still lay on the horizon.”
This river was the Rhine, and as the neighbourhood seemed suitable for a descent, and as the travellers did not wish to be carried too far into the heart of Europe, they allowed a portion of the gas to escape, came gradually down, and dropped their anchor.
It was then half-past seven in the morning. It was only then that the inhabitants, who had hitherto held themselves aloof, watching the movements of the strangers from under the brushwood, began to assemble from all sides. A few words in German spoken from the balloon dissipated their fears, and, recovering from their mistrust, they hastened immediately to lend assistance to the aeronauts The latter were now informed that the place they had selected for their descent was in the Duchy of Nassau. The town of Wiberg, where Blanchard had descended, after his ascent at Frankfort in 1785 was, by a singular chance, only two leagues distant. The three aeronauts received a most flattering reception, and, in memory of the event, they placed the flag which they had borne in their car during their adventurous excursion in the ducal palace, side by side with that of Blanchard.
“Thus,” says Mason, “terminated an expedition which, whether we regard the extent of the journey, the length of time occupied in it, or the results which were the objects of the experiment, may justly be considered as one of the most interesting and most important ever undertaken. The best answer which one could give to those who would be disposed to criticise the employment of the peculiar means which we made use of, or to doubt their efficiency, would be to state that, after having traversed without hindrance, without either danger or difficulty, so large a portion of the European continent, we arrived at our destination still in possession of as much force as, had we wished it, might have carried us round the whole world.”
Not a few of our readers will remember the ascent of Nadar’s colossal balloon from Paris, on Sunday, the 18th of October, 1863. This balloon was remarkable as having attached to it a regular two-story house for a car. Its ascent was witnessed by nearly half a million of persons. The balloon, after passing over the eastern part of France, Belgium, and Holland, suffered a disastrous descent in Hanover the day after it started on its perilous journey. It was a fool-hardy enterprise to construct such a gigantic and unmanageable balloon, presenting such an immense surface to the atmosphere, and being so susceptible to adverse aerial currents as to become the helpless prey of the elements; and it was still more fool-hardy to place the lives of its passengers at the mercy of such terrible and ungovernable forces. A large section of the public laboured under the delusion that Nadar’s balloon was one capable of being steered. In reality, however, the ‘Geant’ was unquestionably the most rebellious and unruly specimen of its class that has been made since the days of Montgolfier. The object in view when this formidable monster was designed and constructed was to create the means to collect sufficient funds to form a “Free Association for Aerial Navigation by means of MACHINES HEAVIER THAN AIR,” and for the construction of machines on this principle. The receipts from the exhibition of the “Geant” were intended to form the first capital of the association. The hopes, however, of the promoters have not been realised in this respect; for while the expenses of the construction of the balloon have amounted, directly and indirectly, to the sum of L8,300, its two ascents in Paris and its exhibition in London produced only L3,300.
Space forbids us to enter at length on the various stages of the idea of aerial navigation by means of an apparatus heavier than the atmosphere. The idea is not, however, by any means so absurd as it appears at first sight. Those who, like Arago, declare that the word “impossible” does not exist, except in the higher mathematics, and those who look hopefully to the future instead of resting content with the past, will join in applauding the spirit which dictated the manifesto of aerial locomotion to the founder of the association which we are about to describe. M. Babinet, speaking on this subject before the French Polytechnic Association, said: “It is absurd to talk of guiding balloons. How will you set about it? How is it possible that a balloon—say, for instance, like the Flesselles, whose diameter measures 120 feet—can resist and manoeuvre against opposing winds or currents of air? It would require a power equal to 400 horses for the sails of a ship to struggle on equal terms with the wind. Suppose an impossibility, namely, that a balloon could carry with it a force equal to 400 horse-power; this result would be of little use, for under the immense weight the fragile covering of the balloon would instantly collapse. If all the horses of a regiment were harnessed to the car of a balloon by means of a long rope, the result would be that the balloon would fly into shivers, being too fragile to withstand these two opposing forces. Man must seek to raise himself in the air by another mode of operation altogether, if he wish to guide himself at the same time. Some time ago I bought a play thing, very much in vogue at that time, called a Stropheor. This toy was composed of a small rotating screw propeller, which revolved on its own support when the piece of string wound round it was pulled sharply. The screw was rather heavy, weighing nearly a quarter of a pound, and the wings were of tin, very broad and thick. This machine, however, was rather too eccentric for parlour use, for its flight was so violent that it was continually breaking the pier glass, if there was one in the room; and, failing this, it next attacked the windows. The ascending force of this machine is so great that I have seen one of them fly over Antwerp Cathedral, which is one of the highest edifices in the world. The air from underneath the machine is exhausted by the action of the screw, which, passing under the wings, causes a vacuum, while the air above it replenishes and fills this void, and under the influence of these two causes the apparatus mounts from the earth. But the problem is not solved by means of this plaything, whose motive power is exterior to it. Messrs. Nadar, Ponton, D’Amecourt, and De la Landelle teach us better than this, although the wings of their different models are entirely unworthy of men who desire to demonstrate a truth to short-lived mortals. We have only arrived as yet at the infancy of the process, but we have made a good beginning, for, having once proved that a machine capable of raising itself in the air, wholly unaided from without, can be made, we have overcome with this apparently small result the whole difficulty. The principle of propulsion by means of a screw is by no means a novelty. It was first utilised in windmills, whose sails are nothing more nor less than an immense screw which is turned by the action of the wind on its surface. In the case of turbine water-wheels, where perhaps 970 cubic feet of water are utilised by means of a mechanism not larger than a hat, we see another illustration of it, with this difference, that water takes the place of wind as the motive power.
“The aerial screw is beset with great difficulties, but if we can succeed through its agency in raising even the smallest weight, we may be confident of being able to raise a heavier one, for a large machine is always more powerful in proportion to its size than a small one.
“Mlle. Garnerin once made a bet that she would guide herself in her descent from a considerable altitude towards a fixed spot on the earth at some distance, with no other help than the parachute; and she was really able to guide herself to within a few feet of the specified spot, by simply altering the inclination of the parachute.
“From observations in mountainous districts, where large birds of prey may be seen to the best advantage hovering with outstretched wings, I have come to the conclusion that they first of all attain the requisite height and then, extending their wings in the form of a parachute, let themselves glide gradually towards the desired spot. Marshal Niel confirms this opinion by his experience in the mountains of Algeria. It is, therefore, clear from these examples that we should possess the power of transporting ourselves from place to place if we could only discover a means of raising a weight perpendicularly in the air, which would then act as a capital of power, only requiring to be expended at will.”
From the foregoing remarks we may gather an idea of the importance which may be attached to aerial locomotion notwithstanding the successive failures of all those who have hitherto taken up the subject. We come now to the description of the memorable ascent of the ‘Geant.’
We learn from the very interesting account of the ‘Geant,’ published at the time, all the mishaps and adventures it outlived from the time of the first stitch in its covering to its final inflation with gas. We must, however, be content to take up the narrative at the point at which the ‘Geant,’ with thirteen passengers on board, had, in obedience to the order to “let go,” been released from the bonds which held it to the earth. The narrative is, as our readers will perceive, written in somewhat exaggerated language:—
“The ‘Geant’ gave an almost imperceptible shake on finding itself free, and then commenced to rise. The ascent was slow and gradual at first—the monster seemed to be feeling its way. An immense shout rose with it from the assembled multitude. We ascended grandly, whilst the deafening clamour of two hundred thousand voices seemed to increase. We leant over the edge of the car, and gazed at the thousands of faces which were turned towards us from every point of the vast plain, in every conceivable angle of which we were the common apex. We still ascended. The summits of the double row of trees which surround the Champ de Mars were already under us. We reached the level of the cupola of the Military School. The tremendous uproar still reached us. We glided over Paris in an easterly direction, at the height of about six hundred feet. Every one took up the best possible position on the six light cane stools, and on the two long bunks at either end of the car, and contemplated the marvellous panorama spread out under us, of which we never grew weary.
“There is never any dizziness in a balloon, as is often erroneously supposed, for in it you are the only point in space without any possibility of comparison with another, and therefore the means of becoming giddy are not at hand.”
A very experienced aeronaut, who numbers his ascents by hundreds, has assured me that he never knew of a single case of dizziness.
“The earth seems to unfold itself to our view like an immense and variegated map, the predominant colour of which is green in all its shades and tints. The irregular division of the country into fields made it resemble a patchwork counterpane. The size of the houses, churches, fortresses, was so considerably diminished as to make them resemble nothing so much as those playthings manufactured at Carlsruhe. This was the effect produced by a microscopic train, which whistled very faintly to attract our attention, and which seemed to creep along at a snail’s pace, though doubtless going at the rate of thirty miles an hour, and was enveloped in a minute cloud of smoke. What a lasting impression this microscopic neatness makes on us! What is that white puff I see down there? the smoke of a cigar? No: it is a cloud of mist. It must be a perfect plain that we are looking at, for we cannot distinguish between the different altitudes of a bramble-bush and an oak a hundred years old!
“It is one of the delights of an aeronaut to gaze on the familiar scenes of earth from the immense height of the car of a balloon! What earthly pleasure can compare with this! Free, calm, silent, roving through this immense and hospitable space, where no human form can harm me, I despise every evil power; I can feel the pleasure of existence for the first time, for I am in full possession, as on no other occasion, of perfect health of mind and body. The aeronauts of the ‘Geant’ will scarcely condescend to pity those miserable mortals whom they can only faintly recognise by their gigantic works, which appear to them not more dignified than ant-hills!
“The sun had already set behind the purple horizon in our rear. The atmosphere was still quite clear round the ‘Geant,’ although there was a thick haze underneath, through which we could occasionally see lights glimmering from the earth. We had attained a sufficient altitude to be only just able to hear noises from villages that we left beneath us, and were beginning to enjoy the delicious calm and repose peculiar to aerial ascents.
“There is, however, a talk about dinner, or rather supper, and night is now fast approaching. Every one eats with the best possible appetite. Hams, fowls and dessert only appear to disappear with an equal promptitude, and we quench our thirst with bordeaux and champagne. I remind our companions of the pigeons we brought with us, and which are hanging in a cage outside the railing. I knew there was no danger of their flying away, so fearlessly opened the cage. The three or four birds I had put in the car seemed struck with terror. They flew awkwardly towards the centre of our party, tumbling among the plates and dishes and under our feet. It was not a case of hunger with them, and I ought to have remembered that their feeding time was long since past. I replaced them in their cage.
“Meanwhile, the sun has left us for some time. Our longing gaze followed it behind the dark clouds in the horizon, whose edges it tipped with a glorious purple. Its last rays shone on us, and then came a bluish-grey twilight. Suddenly we are enveloped in a dense fog. We look around, above us. Everything has disappeared in the mist. The balloon itself is no longer visible. We can see nothing except the ropes which suspend us, and these are only visible for a few feet above our heads, when they lose themselves in the fog. We are alone with our wickerwork house in an unfathomable vault.
“We still ascend, however, through the compact and terrible fog, which is so solid-looking as to seem capable of being carved into forms with a knife. As we were without a moon, and had no light at all, in fact, we were unable to distinguish nicely the different shades of colour in these thick clouds. Now and then, when the clouds seemed to be lighter, they had a bluish tinge; but the thicker ones were dirty and muddy-looking. Dante must have seen some like these.
“Water trickled down our faces, hands, and clothes, and the ropes and sides of our car.
“The water did not fall in rain-drops or in flakes, as it sometimes does in the tropics; but we were as completely saturated by this heavy, penetrating mist as if we had been under a waterfall. We still continued to traverse these rainy regions. The thick fog which the balloon dislodged in forcing a passage closed immediately after it. At one moment I thought I felt something press against my cheek, which could only be compared to the points of a thousand needles, or to floating particles of ice. We were all of us too much absorbed with our situation to think of the hour or of the height to which we had attained. Suddenly the Prince of Wittgenstein, who was standing at my left hand, cried out under his breath—
“‘Look at the balloon, sir! look at the balloon!’
“I raised my eyes, in company with several others, and shall never forget the magnificent sight which awaited them. I saw the balloon, for which I had been searching in vain a few minutes before. It had undergone a transformation. It looked now as if coated with silver, and floating in a pale phosphorescent glimmer. All the ropes and cords seemed to be of new, bright, and liquid silver, like mercury, caused by the mist which had rested on them becoming suddenly congealed. Two luminous arcs intervened between us, in a sea of mother-of-pearl and opal, the lower one being the colour of red ochre and the upper one orange. Both of them, blinding in their brilliancy, seemed about to embrace one another.
“‘How far are they off?’ thought I to myself. ‘Can I touch them with my hand, or are they separated from me by an immense space?’ We are not capable of forming ideas of perspective, floating as we are in the midst of such a glimmering splendour.
“Above and around us are nothing but thick fogs and enormous black clouds, whose ragged edges and backs are relieved by a pale silver coating. They undulate ceaselessly to and fro, and either usurp quietly the place of others, or disappear only to be superseded by more formidable ones. But the last ray of reflected light has died out, and we plunge into this chaos of dreadful forms. Monsters seem to wish to approach us, and to envelop us in their dark embraces. One of them, on my right hand, looks like a deformed human arm in a menacing attitude, writhing its jagged top like a blind serpent feeling its way. The vague monster has disappeared; but the momentary splendour being followed by the original gloom, we plunge once more into a darkness that can be felt.
“The water which had collected on the balloon during its ascent now began to take effect, and caused it to descend with such rapidity into the dark abyss that the ballast, which was immediately thrown overboard, was overtaken in its descent and fell on our heads again.
“I hear exclamations and voices near me. My companions are evidently agitated, and with good reason, too; for the lights which we could see a long way below us approach with terrible rapidity. We reached the earth rather quicker than we left it.
“Suddenly we feel a dreadful shock, followed by ominous crackings. The car has grounded. The ‘Geant’ has made its descent. But in what part of the habitable globe, and under what zone? At Meaux!”
To employ an expression of M. Nadar’s it seems that these gentlemen never before experienced such a “knock-down blow.”
After all these preparations, all this trouble, all the energy employed in the undertaking—sufficient, indeed, wherewith to attempt to cross the Atlantic—to “descend at Meaux!”
The ‘Geant,’ however, had its revenge. Its second ascent gave it this revenge. We shall be as brief as possible in relating this voyage; but the details are all so very interesting that we regret extremely our being unable to give more than extracts from the narrative.
Our travellers committed themselves again to the mercy of the air. The Emperor, following the example of a former King of France, took considerable interest in the construction of this aerial monster, and wished the aeronaut “Bon voyage” at starting. The passengers endeavoured to pass the night as comfortably as possible, having first instituted a four hours’ watch, as on board ship.
The aerial vessel glided rapidly through the air. “We repeatedly,” said Nadar, “passed over some manufacturing centre, whose lights were not yet extinguished. I either hailed them with my speaking-trumpet or rang our two bells. Sometimes we received a reply from below, in the shape of a shout, for, although we still had no moon, the night was occasionally clear enough for people to distinguish us; and sometimes we heard a peal of laughter from out of the atmosphere in which we were travelling. It was another party of aeronauts in a smaller balloon, who left at the same time as we did, and who would persist in keeping the ‘Geant’ company. We are passing over a small town; we hear the usual shouting and the report of a gun. Our first thoughts are—Was it loaded with shot or ball? The inhuman brute who fired will say, ‘Certainly not;’ but as balloons have often been damaged in this way, we may be confident there was more than powder in this one. It would be satisfactory, at any rate, if the name of the person could be ascertained who favoured us with this welcome. But it is rather late to make inquiries on this subject. It was between a quarter and half-past nine o’clock when this occurred. ‘The sea!’ cried Jules; ‘look at the revolving lights of the lighthouses. There: one has just disappeared: it will flash out again in a moment!’ But what is this? Before us, as far as our eyes can reach, we distinguish faint lights, which in this case are neither lamps nor torches. As we continue to draw nearer we get a better view of these numerous, violent, and smoking furnaces. Loud and ringing sounds strike on our ear at the same time. Am I right in my conjectures? Is this not that splendid country I love more than ever now? It must be Erquelines! And the dignified Custom-house official, had it been possible, would have added thereto ‘Belgium!’
“We still continue to pass over fires, forges, tall chimneys, and coal mines at frequent intervals. Not long after we distinguish a large town on our right hand, which, by its size and brilliant lighting by gas, we recognise as Brussels. There could be no mistake, for close by, more modest in size and appearance, we see Catholic Malines. We have left it behind us.
“Onward! Onward! Behind us the fires fade gradually away, and disappear one after another. Before us nothing at present visible. We seemed to drift on for about one hundred or one hundred and fifty yards more. We cannot distinguish a single point in front of us on which to fix our gaze. But we still continue our course in silence.
“This mournful darkness, this endless shroud, in which we can discover neither rent nor spangle, still continues. Where are we? Over what strange country, possessing neither cities, towns, nor villages, are we hovering in the tomb-like silence of this interminable darkness? We seem, indeed, to have been carried by a puff of wind towards the west.
“But something seems to approach us. What are those pale rays of light which we can faintly see a long, long way before us—rays pale and soft, quite unlike those flaming fires we have left behind us? Surely these do not denote the presence of human activity! As we continue to advance, these pale flakes of light—resembling nothing so much in appearance as molten lead—which at first were scanty and isolated, gradually expand, and leave only narrow strips of darkness to divide them into fantastic shapes. By their help we discovered we were passing over the immense marshes of Holland, which extended to and lost themselves in the hazy horizon. On our right hand we hear a deep moan, still distant, but rapidly approaching every moment. It is undoubtedly the rushing of the wind. A fresh breeze for five minutes would bring us to the sea.
“We experienced another shock not less formidable than the first. The ‘Geant’ is trembling from its effects. The cable of our first anchor has just broken like a piece of thread. We could not hope for a better result. The violence of the wind which is carrying us along seems to be redoubled. A bump: another and another—then shock after shock.
“‘The second dead men!’
“Our swift pace was shock after shock.
“‘The anchor is lost,’ cries Jules; ‘we are all dead men!
“This truth is too palpable to all of us to require expressing in so many words, for we are just commencing that furious, tearing course called ‘trailing.’
“Our swift pace was considerably accelerated by the lower part of the balloon, which—limp, empty, and forming nearly a third of the whole—had been set free at the first shock, and flapped against the distended part, acting as a sail. The shocks continued to multiply so fast that it was impossible to count them. The car continued to rebound from these shocks to the height of five, ten, sometimes thirty, forty, and even fifty feet, for all the world like an India-rubber ball from the hands of an indefatigable player. Unfortunately, all our human freight, terror stricken and without advice, had crowded into one side of the car; and as this happened to be the side on which we invariably bumped, we experienced all the worst effects of the joltings.
“What a dizzy whirl! What a succession of breathless shocks! What a strain on both muscles and nerves! By the least negligence or slip, or by the loss of presence of mind for one moment, we should have been thrown out and dashed to atoms.
“Every collision tries our muscles and strains our wrists or our shoulders; and every rebound dashes us one against the other, constituting each individual a tormentor and victim at the same time. Our flight is so rapid that we can only distinguish an occasional glimpse of anything. Far, far in the distance we distinguish an isolated tree. We approach it like lightning, and we break it as though it were a straw.
“Two terrified horses, with manes and tails erect, endeavour to fly from us. But we consume distances; we leave them behind immediately. We skip over a flock of affrighted sheep in one of our bounds. But now comes the real danger.
“At this moment, when we were perfectly benumbed with fear, and had lost all power of articulation, we saw a locomotive, drawing two carriages, running along an embankment at right angles to our course. A few more revolutions of the wheels, and it will be all over with us, for we seem to be fated to meet with geometrical precision at one spot!
“What will happen?
“Travelling at our present hurricane pace, we shall undoubtedly lift up and overturn the machine and what it is drawing. But shall we not be crushed ourselves? A few paces still intervene between us and our foe, and we give vent to a shout of terror.
“It is heard, and the locomotive answers it by a whistle, then slackens its pace, and after seeming to hesitate an instant backs quickly and only just in time to give us a free passage, whilst the driver, waving his cap, salutes us with—
“‘Look out for the wires!’
“The caution was well timed, for we had not noticed the four telegraph wires which we rapidly approached. We energetically ducked our heads on seeing them, but fortunately we escaped any more damage than having two or three of our ropes cut. These we continued to drag after us like the tail of a ragged comet, having the telegraph-wires and the posts which lately supported them attached to us.”
After having been dragged thus for some time at the mercy of a hurricane which they ought to have been able to avoid, these aerial navigators at last got entangled in the outskirts of a wood near Rethem, in Hanover. A few broken arms and legs paid for their temerity in meddling with this monster, and one and all of the passengers have reason to be thankful that it will be unnecessary for us to proclaim their virtues and their fate in our next chapter.