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.



Chapter VIII. Green's Great Journey Across Europe.

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."



Chapter IX. The "Geant" Balloon.

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.



Chapter X. The Necrology of Aeronautic

We will conclude this second part by giving a brief notice of some of those who, in the early days of aerostation, fell martyrs to their devotion to the new cause, and sometimes victims to their own want of foresight and their inexperience.

First among these is Pilatre des Roziers, with whose courage and ingenuity our readers are already familiar. After the passage of Blanchard from England over to France this hero, who was the first to trust himself to the wide space of the sky, resolved to undertake the return voyage from France to England—a more difficult feat, owing to the generally adverse character of the winds and currents. In vain did Roziers' friends attempt to make him understand the perils to which this enterprise must expose him; his only reply was that he had discovered a new balloon which united in itself all the necessary conditions of security, and would permit the voyager to remain an unusually long time in the air. He asked and obtained from government the sum of 40,000 livres, in order to construct his machine. It then became clear what sort of balloon he had contrived. He united in one machine the two modes previously made use of in aerostation. Underneath a balloon filled with hydrogen gas, he suspended a Montgolfiere, or a balloon filled with hot air from a fire. It is difficult to understand what was his precise object in making this combination, for his ideas seem to have been confused upon the subject. It is probable that, by the addition of a Montgolfiere, he wished to free himself from the necessity of having to throw over ballast when he wished to ascend and to let off this gas when he wished to descend. The fire of the Montgolfiere might, he probably supposed, be so regulated as to enable him to rise or fall at will.

This mixed system has been justly blamed. It was simply "putting fire beside powder," said Professor Charles to Roziers; but the latter would not listen, and depended for everything on his own intrepidity and scientific skill of which he had already given so many proofs. There were, perhaps, other reasons for his unyielding obstinacy. The court that had furnished him with the funds for the construction of the balloon pressed him, and he himself was most ambitious to equal the achievement of Blanchard, who was the first to cross the Channel, on the 7th of January, 1785.

The fact was that at this time the prevailing fear in France was, that Great Britain should bear off all the honours and profits of aerostation before any of these had been won by France. It was thus that with an untried machine, and under conditions the most unfavourable for his enterprise, Roziers prepared to risk his life in this undertaking, which was equally dangerous and useless.

The double balloon was alternately inflated and emptied. While under cover it was assailed by the rats that gnawed holes in it, and when brought out of its place it was exposed to the tempests, so that the longer the experiment was delayed, the worse chance there was of getting through it successfully. At length Roziers went to Boulogne, and announced the day of his departure; but, as if by a special Providence, his attempt was delayed by unfavourable weather. For many weeks in succession the little trial balloons thrown up to show the course of the wind were driven back upon the shores of France. During all these trials the impatient Roziers continued to chafe and torment himself.

At last, on the 13th and 14th of June, 1785, the Aero-Montgolfiere remained inflated, waiting a favourable moment for departure. On the 15th at four in the morning, a little pilot balloon that had been thrown up fell back on the spot from which it had been thrown free, thus showing that there was no wind. Seven hours later Roziers, accompanied by his brother Romain, one of the constructors of the balloon, appeared in the gallery. A nobleman present threw a purse of 200 louis into the car, and was preparing to follow it and join in the adventure. Roziers forbade him to enter, gently but firmly.

"The experiment is too unsafe," he said, "for me to expose to danger the life of another."

"Finally," says a narrative of the time, "the Aero-Montgolfiere rose in an imposing manner. The sound of cannon signalised the departure, the voyagers saluted the crowd, who responded with loud shouts. The balloon advanced until it began to traverse the sea, and every one with eyes fixed upon the fragile machine, regarded it with fear. It had traversed upwards of a league of its journey, and had reached the height of 700 feet above sea level, when a wind from the west drove it back toward the shore, after having been twenty-seven minutes in the air.

"At this moment the crowd beneath perceived that the voyagers were showing signs of alarm. They seemed suddenly to lower the grating of the Montgolfiere. But it was too late. A violet flame appeared at the top of the balloon, then spread over the whole globe, and enveloped the Montgolfiere and the voyagers. "The unfortunate men were suddenly precipitated from the clouds to the earth, in front of the Tour de Croy, upwards of a league from Boulogne, and 300 feet from the sea beach.

"The dead body of Roziers was found burnt in the gallery, many of the bones being broken. His brother was still breathing, but he was not able to speak, and in a few minutes he expired."

De Maisonfort, who, against his own will, was left on the earth, was witness of this sad event. He has given the following explanation of it:—

"Some minutes after their departure the voyagers were assailed by contrary winds, which drove them back again upon the land. It is probable that then, in order to descend and seek a more favourable current of air, which would take them out again to sea, Roziers opened the valve of the gas balloon; but the cord attached to this valve was very long, it worked with difficulty, and the friction which it occasioned tore the valve. The stuff of the balloon, which had suffered much from many preliminary attempts, and from other causes, was torn to the extent of several yards, and the valve fell down inside the balloon, which at once emptied itself."

According to this narrative, there was no conflagration of the gas in the middle of the atmosphere, nor is it stated precisely whether the grating of the Montgolfiere was lighted.

Maisonfort ran to the spot when the travellers fell, found them covered with the cloth of the balloon, and occupying the same positions which they had taken up on departing.

By a sad chance, that seems like irony, they were thrown down only a few paces from the monument which marks the spot where Blanchard descended. At the present day Frenchmen going to England via Calais do not fail to visit at the forest of Guines the monument consecrated to the expedition of Blanchard. A few paces from this monument the cicerone will point out with his finger the spot where his rivals expired.

"Such was the end of the first of aeronauts, and the most courageous of men," says a contemporaneous historian. "He died a martyr to honour and to zeal. His kindness, amiability, and modesty endeared him to all who knew him. She who was dearest to him—a young English lady, who boarded at a convent at Boulogne, and whom he had first met only a few days prior to his last ascent—could not support the news of his death. Horrible convulsions seized her and she expired, it is said, eight days after the dreadful catastrophe. Roziers died at the age of twenty-eight and a half years."

Olivari perished at Orleans on the 25th of November, 1802. He had ascended in a Montgolfiere made of paper, strengthened only by some bands of cloth. His car, made of osiers, and loaded with combustible matter, was suspended below the grating; and when at a great elevation it became the prey of the flames. The aeronaut, thus deprived of his support, fell, at the distance of a league from the spot from which he had risen.

Mosment made his last ascent at Lille on the 7th of April, 1806. His balloon was made of silk, and was filled with hydrogen gas. Ten minutes after his departure he threw into the air a parachute with which he had provided himself. It is supposed that the oscillations consequent on the throwing off of the parachute were the cause of they aeronaut's fall. Some pretend that Mosment had foretold his death, and that it was caused by a willful carelessness. However this may be, the balloon continued its flight alone, and the body of the aeronaut was found partly buried in the sand of the fosse which surrounds the town.

Bittorff made a great many successful ascents. He never used any machine but the Montgolfiere. At Manheim, on the 17th of July, the day of his death his balloon, which was of paper, sixteen metres in diameter, and twenty in height, took fire in the air, and the aeronaut was thrown down upon the town. His fall was mortal.

Harris, an old officer of the English navy, together with another English aeronaut, named Graham, had made a great many ascents. He conceived the idea of constructing a balloon upon an original plan; but his alterations do not seem to have been improvements. In May, 1824, he attempted an ascent from London, which had much apparent success, but which terminated fatally. When at a great elevation, it seems, the aeronaut, wishing to descend, opened the valve. It had not been well constructed, and after being opened it would not close again. The consequent loss of gas brought the balloon down with great force. Harris lost his life with the fall; but the young lady who had accompanied him received only a trifling wound.

Sadler, a celebrated English aeronaut, who, in one of his many experiments, had crossed the Irish Channel between Dublin and Holyhead, lost his life miserably near Bolton, on the 28th of September, 1824. Deprived of his ballast, in consequence of his long sojourn in the air, and forced at last to descend, at a late hour, upon a number of high buildings, the wind drove him violently against a chimney. The force of the shock threw him out of his car, and he fell to the earth and died. His prudence and knowledge were unquestionable, and his death is to be ascribed alone to accident. It was an aerial shipwreck.

Cocking had gone up twice in Mr. Green's balloon as a simple amateur. He took it into his head to go up a third time. He wished to attempt a descent in a parachute of his own construction, which he believed was vastly superior to the ordinary one. He altered the form altogether, though that form had been proved to be satisfactory. In place of a concave surface, supporting itself on a volume of air, Cocking used an inverted cone, of an elaborate construction, which, instead of supporting him in the air, only accelerated his fall. Unhappily, Green participated in this experiment. The two made an ascent from Vauxhall, on the 27th of September, 1836, Green having suspended Cocking's wretched contrivance from the car of his balloon. Cocking held on by a rope, and at the height of from 1,000 to 1,200 feet the amateur, with his patent parachute, were thrown off from the balloon. A moment afterwards Green was soaring away safely in his machine, but Cocking was launched into eternity.

"The descent was so rapid," says one who witnessed it, "that the mean rate of the fall was not less than twenty yards a second. In less than a minute and a half the unfortunate aeronaut was thrown to the earth, and killed by the fall."

Madame Blanchard, thinking to improve upon Garnerin, who had decorated the balloon which ascended in celebration of the coronation of Napoleon I. with coloured lights, fixed fireworks instead to hers. A wire rope ten yards long was suspended to her car; at the bottom of this wire rope was suspended a broad disc of wood, around which the fireworks were ranged. These consisted of Bengal and coloured lights. On the 6th of July, 1819, there was a great fete at Tivoli, and a multitude had assembled around the balloon of Madame Blanchard. Cannon gave the signal of departure, and soon the fireworks began to show themselves. The balloon rose splendidly, to the sound of music and the shoutings of the people. A rain of gold and thousands of stars fell from the car as it ascended. A moment of calm succeeded, and then to the eyes of the spectators, still fixed on the balloon, an unexpected light appeared. This light did not come from under the balloon, where the crown of fireworks was already extinguished, but shone in the car itself. It was evident that the lady aeronaut, although now so high above the spectators, was busy about something. The light increased, then disappeared suddenly; then appeared again, and showed itself finally at the summit of the balloon, in the form of an immense jet of gas. The gas with which the balloon was inflated had taken fire, and the terrible glare which the light threw around was perceived from the boulevards, and all the Quartier Montmartre.

It was at this moment—a frightful one for those who perceived what had taken place—that a general sentiment of satisfaction and admiration among the spectators found vent in cries of "Brava! Vive Madame Blanchard!" &c. The people thought the lady was giving them an unexpected treat. Meantime, by the light of the flame, the balloon was seen gradually to descend. It disappeared when it reached the houses, like a passing meteor, or a train of fire which a blast of wind suddenly extinguishes. A number of workmen and other persons, who had perceived that some accident had taken place, ran in the direction in which the balloon appeared to descend. They arrived at a house in the Rue de Provence. On the roof of this house the balloon had fallen, and the unfortunate Madame Blanchard, thrown out of the car by the shock, was killed by her fall to the earth.

This news spread rapidly from Tivoli, where it occasioned a stupefying surprise. It was the first time that a fall of the kind had taken place from the sky at Paris. Fireworks were from this time discontinued, the fete came to an end, and a subscription was rapidly organised, producing some thousands of francs, which shortly afterwards were employed in erecting a monument to the lady, which is now to be seen in the cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise.

Madame Blanchard had wished to surpass the ordinary spectacle of an aerial ascent; she had really prepared a SURPRISE for the spectators. She had prepared and she took with her a small parachute of about two yards in diameter. After the extinction of the crown or star of fireworks, she intended to throw this little parachute loose; and as it was terminated by another supply of fireworks, it was supposed that the effect would be as beautiful as surprising.

The unhappy lady was small in stature, and very light, and unfortunately made use of a very small balloon. That of the 6th of July, 1819, was only seven metres in diameter; and to make it ascend with the weight it carried it had to be filled to the neck with inflammable air. In quitting the earth some of this gas escaped, and rising above the balloon, formed a train like one of powder, which would certainly flash into a blaze the moment it came in contact with the fire. But on this day it was she who with her own hand fired this train. At the moment when, detaching the little parachute from her car, she took the light for the fireworks in her other hand, she crossed this train with the light and set it on fire. Then the brave woman, throwing away the parachute and the match, strove to close the mouth of the balloon, and to stifle the fire. These efforts being unavailing, Madame Blanchard was distinctly seen to sit down in her car and await her fate.

The burning of the hydrogen lasted several minutes, during which time the balloon gradually descended. Had it not been that it struck on the roof of the house Madame Blanchard would have been saved. At the moment of the shock she was heard to cry out, "A moi." These were her last words. The car, going along the roof of the house, was caught by an iron bar and overturned, and the lady was thrown head foremost upon the pavement.

When she reached the ground she immediately expired. Her head and shoulders were slightly burnt, otherwise she exhibited no marks of the fire which had destroyed the balloon.



PART III. Scientific Experiments—Applications of Ballooning.



Chapter I. Experiments of Robertson, Lhoest, Saccarof, &c.

Robertson is regarded by many as a sort of mountebank; yet such men as Arago have put themselves to the trouble of examining the aerostatic feats of this aeronaut, and of examining the results of his observations.

"The savant Robertson," says Arago, "performed at Hamburg on the 18th of July, 1803, with his countryman, Lhoest, the first aeronautic voyage from which science has been able to draw useful deductions. The two aeronauts remained suspended in the air during five hours, and came down near Hanover, twenty-five leagues from the spot from which they set off."

The first time that Robertson appears in the annals of aerostation is in 1802, on the occasion of the sale of the balloon used at the battle of Fleurus, of which mention will be made in the chapter on military aerostation. But three years previously he had been instructed to make a balloon of an original form, which should ascend in honour of the Turkish ambassador at the garden of Tivoli. The fete was completely successful. Turks, Chinese, Persians, and Bedouins will always be welcome, as on this occasion, at Paris, appearing as they do only at rare intervals, and for a short time.

The fete took place on the 2nd of July. Robertson presented himself at the house of Esseid-Ali, to obtain his autograph. The Turkish ambassador willingly granted the request, and wrote his name in letters, each of which was two inches in height, on a sheet of paper. He then offered the aeronaut coffee and comfits, and promised to be present to witness the balloon ascent. His name was painted in large characters on a balloon fifteen feet in diameter, and on the form of which was the figure of a crescent. The experiment delighted the ambassador, and was well received by the public.

Jacques Garnerin, when he came to make his debut as an aeronaut, made an attempt with the parachute, the following August, at the garden of the Hotel de Biron. The ambassador was asked to honour the fete, but he declined, saying that he had "made up his mind that man was not intended for flying—Mahomet had not so willed it."

Of one of Robertson's more interesting ascents he himself has left us the following sketch:—

"I rose in the balloon at nine a.m., accompanied by my fellow-student and countryman, M. Lhoest. We had 140 lbs. of ballast. The barometer marked twenty-eight inches; the thermometer sixteen degrees Reaumur. In spite of some slight wind from the north-west, the balloon mounted so perpendicularly that in all the streets each of the spectators believed we were mounting straight up above his head. In order to quicken our ascent I discharged a parachute made of silk, and weighted in a way to prevent oscillations. The parachute descended at the rate of two feet per second, and its descent was uniform. From the moment when the barometer began to sink we became very careful of our ballast, as we wished to test from experience the different temperatures through which we were about to pass.

"At 10.15, the barometer was at nineteen inches, and the thermometer at three above zero. We now felt all the inconvenience of an extremely rarefied atmosphere coming upon us, and we commenced to arrange some experiments in atmospheric electricity. Our first attempts did not succeed. We threw over part of our ballast, and mounted up till the cold and the rarefaction of the air became very troublesome. During our experiments we experienced an illness throughout our whole system. Buzzing in the cars commenced, and went on increasing. The pain we felt was like that which one feels when he plunges his head in water. Our chests seemed to be dilated, and failed in elasticity. My pulse was quickened, M. Lhoest's became slower; he had, like me, swelled lips and bleeding eyes; the veins seemed to come out more strongly on the hands. The blood ran to the head, and occasioned a feeling as if our hats were too tight. The thermometer continued to descend, and, as we ascended, our illness increased, and we could with difficulty keep awake. Fearing that my travelling companion might go to sleep, I attached a cord to my thigh and to his, and we held the extremities of the cord in our hands. Thus trammelled, we had to commence the experiments which I had proposed to make.

"At this elevation, the glass, the brimstone, and the Spanish wax were not electrified in a manner to show any signs under friction—at least, I obtained no electricity from the conductors or the electrometer.

"I had in my car a voltaic pile, consisting of sixty couples—silver and zinc. It worked very well on the occasion of our departure from the earth, and gave, without the condenser, one degree to the electrometer. At our great elevation, the pile gave only five-sixths of a degree to the same electrometer. The galvanic flame seemed more active at this elevation than on the earth.

"I took two birds with me on coming into the balloon—one of these was now dead, the other appeared stupefied. After having placed it upon the brink of the gondola, I tried to frighten it to make it take to flight. It moved its wings, but did not leave the spot; then I left it to itself, and it fell perpendicularly and with great rapidity. Birds are certainly not able to maintain themselves at such elevations.

"It is notable that the atmosphere, which was of a perfect purity near the earth, was grey and misty above our heads, and the beautiful blue sky seen from the surface did not exist for us, although the weather was calm and serene, and the day the most beautiful that could be. The sun did not seem dazzling to us, and its heat was diminished owing to our elevation.

"At half-past eleven, the balloon was no longer visible from Hamburg. The heavens were so pure beneath us that everything was distinctly seen by us, though very much diminished by distance. At 11.40, the town of Hamburg seemed only a red point in our eyes; the Elbe looked like a straight ribbon. I wished to make use of an opera-glass, but what surprised me was that when I lifted it up it was so cold that I had to wrap my handkerchief around it to enable me to hold it.

"Not being able to support our position any longer, we descended, after having used up much gas and ballast. Our descent caused that degree of terror among the inhabitants which the size of our balloon was calculated to inspire in a country where such machines had never before been seen. We descended above a poor village called Radenburg, a place amid the heaths of Hanover. Our appearance caused great alarm, and even the beasts of the field fled from us.

"While our balloon rapidly approached the earth, we waved our hats and flags, and shouted to the inhabitants, but our voices only increased their terror. The villagers rushed away with cries of terror, leaving their herds, whose bellowings increased the general alarm. When the balloon touched the ground, every man had shut himself up in his own house. Having appealed in vain, and fearing that the villagers might do us some injury, we resolved to re-ascend.

"In making this second ascent, we threw over all our ballast; but in this we were imprudent, for after sailing about at a great height, and having lost much gas, I perceived that our descent would be very rapid, and to provide against accident, I gathered together all the instruments, the bread, the ropes, and even such money as we had with us, and placed them in three sacks, to which I attached a rope of a hundred feet in length. This precaution saved us a shock. The weight, amounting to thirty pounds, reached the ground before us, and the balloon, thus lightened, came softly to the ground between Wichtenbech and Hanover, after having run twenty-five leagues in five and a half hours."

After this ascent Robertson became acquainted with some savants of Hamburg, and amongst others with Professor Pfaff, who was interested in aerial travelling as a means of settling certain meteorological problems. Some days after Robertson's ascent, the professor wrote to him—

"You speak of a certain height at which the hydrogen gas will find itself in equilibrium in the air of the atmosphere. I believe that this height is the extremity of the atmosphere itself; for as the gas has an elasticity much greater than that of the air, it will go on dilating as it mounts into the higher regions of the atmosphere, and its specific weight will diminish as the weight of atmospheric air diminishes; and it will not cease to mount until it rises above the atmosphere itself, if two conditions be completely fulfilled—1, the condition that the gas may be allowed to dilate without leaving the balloon as it rises; 2, the condition that the gas shall not be allowed to mix at all with the atmospheric air."

Another ascent was arranged for the 14th of August, in which Robertson was to be accompanied by the professor, but the latter, yielding to the entreaties of his family, did not go. "I went up with my friend Lhoest," says Robertson, "at forty-two minutes past twelve midday. In a minute or two we rose up between two masses of cloud, which seemed to open up and offer us a passage. The upper surfaces of these clouds are not uniformly level, like the under sides seen from the earth, but they are of a conical or pyramidal shape. These imposing masses seem to precipitate themselves upon the earth, as if to engulf it, but this optical illusion was due to the apparent immobility of the balloon, which at the moment was rising at the rate of about twenty feet per second.

"The fear of losing the view of the Baltic, which we perceived between the clouds at intervals, obliged us to renounce the project of rising as high as on the last occasion. The barometer was at fifteen inches, and the thermometer one degree below zero, when I let off two pigeons.

"One descended in a diagonal direction, its wings half open but not moving, with a swiftness which seemed that of a fall. The other flew for an instant, and then placed itself upon the car, and did not wish to quit us. Acting on the hint of Dr. Reimarus, I tried the same experiment with butterflies, but the air was too much rarefied for them; they attempted in vain to raise themselves by their wings, but they did not forsake the car.

"The wind continuing to carry me towards the sea, I resolved to bring my observations to an end. I effected my descent in a meadow, near the village of Rehorst, in Holstein, after having run sixteen leagues from France in sixty-five minutes."

At the commencement of the year 1804, Laplace, at the Institute, proposed to take advantage of the means offered by aerostation to verify at great heights certain scientific points—as, for example, those which concern magnetism. This proposition was made at a favourable time, and was, so far, carried out in the best possible way. The aeronauts who were appointed to carry out the expedition were Biot and Gay-Lussac, the most enthusiastic aeronauts of the period.

The following is their report:—

"We observed the animals we had with us at all the different heights, and they did not appear to suffer in any manner. For ourselves, we perceived no effect any more then a quickening of the pulse. At 10,000 feet above the ground we set a little green-finch at liberty. He flew out at once, but immediately returning, settled upon our cordage; afterwards, setting out again, he flew to the earth, describing a very tortuous line in his passage. We followed him with our eyes till he was lost in the clouds. A pigeon, which we set free at the same elevation, presented a very curious spectacle. Placed at liberty on the edge of the car, he remained at rest for a number of instants, as if measuring the length of his flight; then he launched himself into space, flying about irregularly, as if to try his wings. Afterwards he began his descent regularly, sweeping round and round in great circles, ever reaching lower, until he also was lost in the clouds."

As to the voyagers themselves, this is how they speak of their situation at the height of 3,000 yards:—

"About this elevation we observed our animals. They did not appear to suffer from the rarity of the air, yet the barometer was at twenty inches eight lines.. We were much surprised that we did not suffer from the cold; on the contrary, the sun warmed us much. We had thrown aside the gloves which had been put on board, and which were of no use to us. Our pulses were very quick; that of M. Gay-Lussac, which is 62 in the minute on ordinary occasions, now gave 80; and mine, which is ordinarily 89, gave 111. This acceleration was felt by both of us in nearly the same proportion. Nevertheless, our respiration was in no way interfered with, we experienced no illness, and our situation seemed to us extremely agreeable."

The following is their report to the Galvanic Society—

"We have known for a long time that no animal can with safety pass into an atmosphere much more dense or much more rare than that to which it has been accustomed. In the first case it suffers from the outer air, which presses upon it severely; in the second case there are liquids or fluids in the animal's body which, being less pressed against than they should be, become dilated, and press against their coverings or channels. In both cases the symptoms are nearly the same—pain, general illness, buzzing in the ears, and even haemorrhage. The experience of the diving-bell has long made us familiar with what aeronauts suffer. Our colleague (Robertson), and his companion, have experienced these effects in great intensity. They had swelled lips, their eyes bled, their veins were dilated, and, what is very remarkable, they both preserved a brown or red tinge which astonished those that had seen them before they made the ascent. This distension of the blood-vessels would necessarily produce an inconvenience and a difficulty in the muscular action."



Chapter II. Ascent of M. Gay-Lussac Alone—Excursions of MM. Barral and Bixio.

Respecting this ascent, Arago states that M. Gay-Lussac has reduced to their proper value the narratives of the physical pains which aeronauts say they suffer in lofty aerial ascents.

M. Gay-Lussac says:—"Having arrived at the most elevated point of my ascent, 21,000 feet above sea level, my respiration was rendered sensibly difficult, but I was far from experiencing any illness of a kind to make me descend. My pulse and my breathing were very quick; breathing very frequently in an extremely dry atmosphere, I should not have been surprised if my throat had been so dry as to make it painful to swallow bread."

After having finished his observations, which referred chiefly to the magnetic needle, with all the tranquillity of a doctor in his study, Gay-Lussac descended to the earth between Rouen and Dieppe, eighty leagues from Paris.

After the names of Robertson, Gay-Lussac, and Biot, science has registered those of Barral and Bixio, two men whose aeronautic achievements have enriched meteorology with more important discoveries, perhaps, than any we have yet mentioned.

These gentlemen had conceived the project of rising by means of a balloon to a great height, in order to study, with the assistance of the very best instruments in use in their day, a multitude of phenomena then imperfectly known. The subjects to which they were specially to direct their attention, were the law of the decrease of temperature in progress upwards, the discovery of whether the chemical composition of the atmosphere is the same throughout all its parts, the comparison of the strength of the solar rays in the higher regions of the atmosphere and on the surface of the earth, the ascertaining whether the light reflected and transmitted by the clouds is or is not polarised, &c.

All the preparations having been made in the garden of the Observatory at Paris, the ascent took place on the 29th of June, 1850, at 10.27 a.m., the balloon being filled with hydrogen gas. The first ascent was a signal failure. It was found that the weather being bad, the envelope of the balloon was torn in several places, and had to be mended in all haste. Immediately preceding the moment of ascent, a torrent of rain fell. But the voyagers were determined to ascend. They placed themselves in the car, and, when thrown off from the fastenings, they rose through the air with the speed of an arrow. The height to which the balloon reached made it suddenly dilate, and the network, which was much too small, was stretched to the utmost. The balloon was forced down upon them by the dilation, and one of them, in the endeavour to work the valve, made a rent in the lower part of the globe, from which the gas escaping almost over the heads of the travellers, nearly choked them. The escape of the gas had the usual result—the balloon descended rapidly, and fell in a vineyard near Lugny, where they were found by the peasants holding on to the trees by their legs and arms, and thus attempting to stop the horizontal advance of the car. They had risen to the height of over 17,000 feet, and they had descended from this height in from four to five minutes.

For all practical purposes, the ascent was a failure, and the aeronauts immediately commenced preparations for a new voyage, which took place a month afterwards. They rose to very great altitudes, but experienced no illness from the rarefied air. M. Bixio did not feel the sharp pains in the ears from which he had suffered on the former occasion. They passed through a mass of cloud 15,000 feet in thickness, and they had not yet passed quite through it, when at the height of over 21,000 feet from the ground, they began to descend, their descent being caused by a rent in the envelope of the balloon, from which the gas escaped. They might, in throwing out the last of their ballast, have, perhaps, prolonged for a little their sojourn in space, but the circumstances in which they were placed did not permit them to make many more scientific observations than those they had made, and thus they were obliged to submit to their fate. When they had reached their greatest height, there seemed to open up in the midst of the vaporous mass a brilliant space, from which they could see the blue of heaven. The polariscope, directed towards this region, showed an internal polarisation, but, when pointed to the side where the mist still prevailed, there was no polarisation.

An optical phenomenon of a remarkable kind was witnessed when the voyagers had attained their highest point. They saw the sun through the upper mists, looking quite white, as if shorn of its strength; and, at the same time, below the horizontal plane, below their horizon, and at an angular distance from the plane equal to that of the sun above it, they saw a second sun, which resembled the reflection of the actual sun in a sheet of water. It is natural to suppose that the second sun was formed by the reflection of the sun's rays upon the horizontal faces of the ice crystals floating in this high cloud.



Chapter III. Ascents of the Mssrs. Welsh, Glaisher and Coxwell.

The most recent balloon ascents in England deserving attention have been undertaken for scientific objects, and in this country, more than in any other, it may be said that the conquest of the air has been made to serve a practical end.

In July, 1852, the Committee of the Kew Observatory resolved to undertake a number of balloon voyages. This resolution was approved of by the British Association for the Advancement of Science, and the necessary instruments for making a number of meteorological observations were prepared. The balloon employed was that of Mr. Green, who was accompanied in his ascents by Mr. Welsh. The greatest height to which Mr. Welsh rose was on the fourth ascent which took place on the 10th of November, 1852. The balloon rose 22,930 feet, and the lowest temperature observed was 26 degrees below zero.

It is to Mr. Glaisher and Mr. Coxwell, however, that the highest honours of scientific aerostation belong. The ascents made by these gentlemen—Mr. Glaisher being the scientific observer, and Mr. Coxwell the practical aeronaut—have become matters of history. Not only did they, in the course of a large number of ascents undertaken under the auspices of the British Association, succeed in gathering much valuable meteorological information, but they reached a greater height than that ever gained on any previous or subsequent occasion, and penetrated into that distant region of the skies in which it has been satisfactorily proved that no life can be long maintained. It was on the 5th of September, 1862, that Mr. Glaisher and Mr. Coxwell made the famous ascent in which they reached the greatest height ever attained by an aeronaut, and were so nearly sacrificed to their unselfish daring. Mr. Glaisher has given an admirable account of this ascent, which took place from Wolverhampton. He says:—"Our ascent had been delayed, owing to the unfavourable state of the weather. It commenced at three minutes past one p.m., the temperature of the air being 59 degrees, and the dew-point 48 degrees. At the height of one mile the temperature was 41 degrees and the dew-point 38 degrees. Shortly after wards clouds were entered of about 1,100 feet in thickness. Upon emerging from them at seventeen minutes past one, I tried to take a view of their surface with the camera, but the balloon was ascending too rapidly and spiraling too quickly to allow me to do so. The height of two miles was reached at twenty-one minutes past one. The temperature of the air had fallen to 32 degrees and the dew-point to 26 degrees. The third mile was passed at twenty-eight minutes past one, with an air temperature of 18 degrees, and a dew-point of 13 degrees. The fourth mile was passed at thirty-nine minutes past one, with an air temperature of 8 degrees, and a dew-point of minus 6 degrees and the fifth mile about ten minutes later, with an air temperature minus 5 degrees, and a dew-point minus 36 degrees.

"Up to this time I had experienced no particular inconvenience. When at the height of 26,000 feet I could not see the fine column of the mercury in the tube; then the fine divisions on the scale of the instrument became invisible. At that time I asked Mr. Coxwell to help me to read the instruments, as I experienced a difficulty in seeing them. In consequence of the rotary motion of the balloon, which had continued without ceasing since the earth was left, the valve line had become twisted, and he had to leave the car, and to mount into the ring above to adjust it. At that time I had no suspicion of other than temporary inconvenience in seeing. Shortly afterwards I laid my arm upon the table, possessed of its full vigour; but directly after, being desirous of using it, I found it powerless. It must have lost its power momentarily. I then tried to move the other arm, but found it powerless also. I next tried to shake myself, and succeeded in shaking my body. I seemed to have no legs. I could only shake my body. I then looked at the barometer, and whilst I was doing so my head fell on my left shoulder. I struggled, and shook my body again, but could not move my arms. I got my head upright, but for an instant only, when it fell on my right shoulder; and then I fell backwards, my back resting against the side of the car, and my head on its edge. In that position my eyes were directed towards Mr. Coxwell in the ring. When I shook my body I seemed to have full power over the muscles of the back, and considerable power over those of the neck, but none over my limbs. As in the case of the arms, all muscular power was lost in an instant from my back and neck. I dimly saw Mr. Coxwell in the ring, and endeavoured to speak, but could not do so; when in an instant intense black darkness came over me, and the optic nerve lost power suddenly. I was still conscious, with as active a brain as whilst writing this. I thought I had been seized with asphyxia, and that I should experience no more, as death would come unless we speedily descended. Other thoughts were actively entering my mind when I suddenly became unconscious, as though going to sleep. I could not tell anything about the sense of hearing: the perfect stillness of the regions six miles from the earth—and at that time we were between six and seven miles high—is such that no sound reaches the ear. My last observation was made at 29,000 feet, about fifty-four minutes past one. I suppose two or three minutes elapsed between my eyes becoming insensible to seeing the fine divisions and fifty-four minutes past one, and that other two or three minutes elapsed before I became unconscious; therefore I think that took place about fifty-six or fifty-seven minutes past one. Whilst powerless I heard the words 'temperature,' and 'observation,' and I knew Mr. Coxwell was in the car, speaking to me, and endeavouring to rouse me; and therefore consciousness and hearing had returned. I then heard him speak more emphatically, but I could not speak or move. Then I heard him say, 'Do try; now do!' Then I saw the instruments dimly, next Mr. Coxwell, and very shortly I saw clearly. I rose in my seat and looked round, as though waking from sleep, and said to Mr. Coxwell, 'I have been insensible.' He said, 'Yes; and I too, very nearly.' I then drew up my legs, which had been extended out before me, and took a pencil in my hand to note my observations. Mr. Coxwell informed me that he had lost the use of his hands, which were black, and I poured brandy over them. I resumed my observations at seven minutes past two. I suppose three or four minutes were occupied from the time of my hearing the words 'temperature' and 'observation,' until I began to observe. If so, then returning consciousness came at four minutes past two, and that gives about seven minutes of total insensibility. Mr. Coxwell told me that in coming from the ring he thought for a moment that I had laid back to rest myself; that he spoke to me without eliciting a reply; that he then noticed that my legs projected, and my arms hung down by my side. That my countenance was serene and placid, without earnestness or anxiety, he had noticed before going into the ring. It then struck him that I was insensible. He wished then to approach me, but could not, and he felt insensibility coming over himself. He became anxious to open the valve, but, in consequence of having lost the use of his hands, he could not; and ultimately he did so by seizing the cord with his teeth and dipping his head two or three times. No inconvenience followed our insensibility. When we dropped it was in a country where no accommodation of any kind could be obtained, so that we had to walk between seven and eight miles. At the time of ceasing our observations the ascent was at the rate of 1,000 feet per minute, and on resuming observations the descent was at the rate of 2,000 feet per minute. These two positions must be connected, having relation to the interval of time which elapsed between them; and they can scarcely be connected at a point less than 36,000 or 37,000 feet high. Again, a very delicate minimum thermometer was found to read minus 12 degrees, and that reading would indicate an elevation exceeding 36,000 feet. There cannot be any doubt that the balloon attained the great height of seven miles—the greatest ever reached. In this ascent six pigeons were taken up. One was thrown out at three miles. It extended its wings, and dropped like a piece of paper. A second at four miles, and it flew with vigour. A third between four and five miles, and it fell downwards. A fourth was thrown out at four miles in descending, and it alighted on the top of the balloon. Two were brought to the ground. One was dead, and the other was ill, but recovered so as to fly away in a quarter of an hour."

The results gathered by Mr. Glaisher from his numerous ascents are very interesting. He found that in no instance did the temperature of the air decrease uniformly with the increase of height. In fact, the decrease in the first mile is double that in the second, and nearly four times as great as the change of temperature in the fifth mile. The distribution of aqueous vapour in the air is no less remarkable. The temperature of the dew-point on leaving the earth decreases less rapidly than the temperature of the air; so that the difference between the two temperatures becomes less and less, till the vapour or cloud plane is reached, when they are usually together, and always most nearly approach each other, and that point is usually at about the height of one mile. On leaving the upper surface of cloud, the dew point decreases more rapidly than the air, and at extremely high situations the difference between the two temperatures is wonderfully great, indicating an extraordinary degree of dryness, and an almost entire absence of water. Under these circumstances, the presence of cirrus clouds far above this dry region, apparently as much above as when viewed from the earth, is very remarkable, and leads to the conclusion that they are not composed of water.

In the propagation of sound, M. Glaisher made many curious experiments. In one ascent (July 17th) he found, when at a distance of 11,800 feet above the earth, that a band was heard; at a height of 22,000 feet, a clap of thunder was heard; and at a height of 10,070 feet, the report of a gun was heard. On one occasion, he heard the dull hum of London at a height of 9,000 feet above the city, and on another occasion, the shouting of many thousands of persons could not be heard at the height of 4,000 feet.



Chapter IV. Balloons Made Useful in Warfare.

Wars of the French Republic—Company of "Ballooneers"— Battle of Fleurus—The Balloons of Egypt—Napoleon—Modern Services War in Italy—War in America—Conclusion.

We will conclude our work with a glance at aerostation as applied to warfare. Scarcely had the first ascents astonished the world, than the more adventurous spirits began to use the new discovery for a thousand purposes directly useful to man. The first point of view in which aerostation was regarded, was in that of its practical utility If one refers to the pre-occupations of the time—to the great events then occurring in the history of France, one will easily understand that the Committee of Public Safety soon thought of employing balloons in the observation of the forces and the movements of hostile troops. In 1794, the idea was practically carried out, and the French armies were provided with two companies of aeronauts. The command of one of these companies was given to Captain Coutelle, a young physicist of great talent, who rendered memorable services at the battle of Fleurus. The balloons were not thrown free, but were retained attached by means of long cords. In this way they took up, so to speak, aerial posts of observation. Placed in his car, the captain transmitted his instructions to his men below by means of coloured flags. Coutelle has left us a lively narrative of certain incidents connected with one of the grand days of the old Republic. He had been commissioned by the Committee of Public Safety to go to Maubeuge, where Jourdan's army was encamped, and to offer him the use of his balloon. The representative to whom the young doctor presented his commission, knew nothing about balloons, and not being able to understand the order of the Committee of Public Safety, it suddenly dawned upon him that Coutelle, with his trumpery forgery about balloons, was nothing else than a spy, and he was about to have him shot. The genuineness of the order from the Committee, however, was proved, and Coutelle's case was listened to.

"The army was at Beaumont," says Coutelle, "and the enemy, placed at a distance of only three miles, could attack at any moment. The general told me this fact, and engaged me to return and communicate it to the Committee. This I did. The Commission then felt the necessity of making an experiment with a balloon that could raise two persons, and the minister placed at my service the garden and the little mansion of Meudon. Many of the members of the Commission came to witness the first ascent of a balloon held in hand, like a kite, by means of two cords. The Commissioners ordered me to place myself in the car, and instructed me as to a number of signals which I must repeat, and observations which I must make. I raised myself to the full length of the cord, a height of 1,500 feet, and at this height, with the help of a glass, I could distinctly see the seven bends of the river Seine. On returning to the earth, I received the compliments of the Commission.

"Arrived at Maubeuge, my first care was to find a suitable spot to erect my furnace, and to make every preparation for the arrival of my balloon from Meudon. Each day my observations contained something new either in the works which the Austrians had thrown up during the night, or in the arrangement of their forces. On the fifth day a piece of cannon had been brought to bear upon the balloon, and shots were fired at me as soon as I appeared above the ramparts. None of the shots took effect, and on the following day the piece was no longer in position. Experience enforced upon me the necessity of forming some provision against these unexpected attacks. I employed the night in fixing cords all round the middle of my balloon. Each of the aerostiers had charge of one of the ropes, and by means of them I could easily move about, and thus get myself out of range of any gun that had been trained to bear against me. I was afterwards ordered to make a reconnaissance at Mayence, and I posted myself between our lines and the enemy at half range of cannon. When the wind, which was tempestuous at first, became calmer, I was able to count the number of cannon on the ramparts, as well as the troops that marched through the streets and in the squares.

"Generally the soldiers of the enemy, all who saw the observer watching them and taking notes, came to the idea that they could do nothing without being seen. Our soldiers were of the same opinion, and consequently they regarded us with great admiration and trust. On the heavy marches they brought us prepared food and wine, which my men were hardly able to get for themselves, so closely did they require to attend to the ropes. We were encamped upon the banks of the Rhine at Manheim when our general sent me to the opposite bank to parley. As soon as the Austrian officers were made aware that I commanded the balloon, I was overwhelmed with questions and compliments.

"What causes an impression which, till one is accustomed to it, is very alarming, is the noise which the balloon makes when it is struck by successive gales of wind. When the wind has passed, the balloon, which has been pressed into a concave form by the wind, suddenly resumes its globular form with a loud noise heard at a great distance. The silk of the balloon would often burst in a case of this kind, were it not for the restraining power of the network."

After the days of Coutelle we do not read that balloons were made much use of in warfare. The only ascent in the Egypt campaign was that of a tricolor balloon thrown up to commemorate a fete. That Napoleon knew full well the value of the scientific discoveries of his time is clear from the following conversation with a learned Mohammedan, which took place in the great pyramid of Cheops:—

Mussamed. "Noble successor of Alexander, honour to shine invincible arms, and to the unexpected lightning with which your warriors are furnished."

Bonaparte. "Do you believe that that lightning is the work of the children of men? Allah has placed it in our hands by means of the genius of war."

Mussamed. "We recognised by your arms that it is Allah that has sent you—the Delta and all the neighbouring countries are full of thy miracles. But would you be a conqueror if Allah did not permit you?"

Bonaparte. "A celestial body will point by my orders to the dwelling of the clouds, and lightning will descend towards the earth, along a rod of metal from which I can call it forth."

Napoleon did not favour the use of balloons in war. Perhaps it was because he himself had such a splendid genius for war that he depended alone upon himself, and scorned assistance. Perhaps it was because if balloons were discovered to be of real utility, his enemies might make use of them as well as himself, and France retain no special advantage in them. But however this may be, on his return from Egypt he sold the balloon of Fleurus to Robertson. The company of ballooneers was dissolved, and the balloons themselves disappeared in smoke.

During the war in America, the role which the balloon played was a more important one. The Government of the United States conferred the title of aeronautic engineer upon Mr. Allan, of Rhode Island, who originated the idea of communicating by a telegraphic wire from the balloon to the camp. The first telegraphic message which was transmitted from the aerial regions is that of Professor Love, at Washington, to the President of the United States. The following is this despatch:—

"WASHINGTON, Balloon the 'Enterprise.'

"SIR,—The point of observation commands an extent of nearly fifty miles in diameter. The city, with its girdle of encampments, presents a superb scene. I have great pleasure in sending you this despatch—the first that has been telegraphed from an aerial station—and to know that I should be so much encouraged, from having given the first proof that the aeronautic science can render great assistance in these countries."

In the month of September, 1861, one of the most hardy aeronauts (La Mountain) furnished important information to General M'Clellan. The balloon of La Mountain, which arose from the northern camp upon the Potomac, passed above Washington. La Mountain then cut the cord that connected his balloon with the earth, and rising rapidly to the height of a mile and a half, he found himself directly above his enemies' lines. There he was able to observe perfectly their position and their movements. He then threw over ballast, and ascended to the height of three miles. At this height he encountered a current which carried him in the direction of Maryland, where he descended in safety. General M'Clellan was so much satisfied with the observations taken in the balloon, that, at his request, the order was given to the War Department to construct four new balloons.

If this volume of "The Library of Wonders" had not had for its single object "balloons and their history," we would have devoted a chapter to the numerous attempts made to steer balloons. We shall only say here that aerial navigation should be divided into two kinds with balloons, and without balloons. In the first case, it is limited to the study of aerial currents, and to the art of rising to those currents which suit the direction of the voyage undertaken. The balloon is not the master of the atmosphere; on the contrary, it is its powerless slave. In the second case, the discovery of Montgolfier is useless; and the question is, to find out a new machine capable of flying in the air, and at the same time heavier than the air. Birds are, without doubt, the best models to study. But with what force shall we replace LIFE? The air-boat of M. Pline seems to us one of the best ideas; but the working of it presents many difficulties. Let us find a motive power at once light and powerful (aluminium and electricity, for example), and we will have definitively conquered the empire of the air.

THE END