CHAPTER II
The next important advance in practical ballooning was made by the substitution of coal gas for hydrogen. This was England’s contribution to an art which previously had not greatly flourished west of the Channel. It was a contribution following the natural growth of science; for in 1814 coal gas began generally to be used for lighting London, and seven years later for inflating balloons. This valuable innovation was made by the famous aëronaut, Charles Green, on the occasion of his first ascension, made July 19, 1821, the coronation day of George IV. The new method largely superseded the old, extending throughout the world with the spread of gas lighting; and it gave a powerful stimulus to aëronautics by rendering inflation cheap and convenient. Mr. Green himself made 526 ascensions during his life, or at the rate of one cruise a month for nearly forty-four years. In due time, every country had its professional aëronauts, and finally its amateurs, who, forming themselves into aëro clubs, devoted themselves to racing in free balloons, inflated quite usually from a city gas supply.
In 1836 Mr. Robert Holland organized an expedition designed to test the utmost capabilities of the balloon of his day, particularly in points of endurance and control. Engaging as pilot the first aëronaut of the age, Mr. Charles Green, and employing the largest gas balloon that ever had been constructed, stocked with provisions enough to last three men a fortnight, he invited a third person, Mr. Monck Mason, to join them on a cruise from London to wherever the wind would take them, but preferably to land near Paris, as the balloon was to be delivered there after the voyage.
Fig. 10.—The Great Balloon of Nassau.
The vessel selected for that famous cruise was The Great Balloon of Nassau, then recently built by Mr. Green and representing all that his skill and experience could devise. It was of pear shape, formed of the finest crimson and white silk, “spun, wove and dyed expressly for the purpose,” and comprising when distended a volume of 85,000 cubic feet. From its stout balloon-ring six feet in diameter was suspended a wicker car measuring nine feet long by four wide, having a seat across either end, and a cushioned bottom to serve as a bed, if such should be needed. Across the middle of the car was a plank supporting a windlass for raising or lowering the guide-rope, that is a heavy rope which could be trailed over land, or water, to keep the balloon at a nearly constant level without expenditure of ballast, and to check its speed on landing. This valuable device invented by Mr. Green in 1820, was now to receive adequate trial, which, indeed, formed one of the chief purposes of the cruise. Other paraphernalia of the voyage were food and drink, warm clothing, lamps, trumpets, telescopes, barometers, a quicklime coffee-heater, a grapnel and cable, and a ton of sand ballast in bags.
The voyage proved well worthy of the elaborate preparations. At one-thirty o’clock on November 7th, the three navigators arose from London, in presence of a mighty multitude, and drifted in a southeasterly direction traversing the cultivated plains of Kent, and in two hours passed the environs of Canterbury. Here they dropped a parachute with a letter for the Mayor, which he duly received. Continuing their journey they floated leisurely above the tree tops, talking to the inhabitants of the country, startling the fleet-winged quail, terrifying a colony of rooks, and finally reaching Dover at sundown, where they again dropped a letter for the Mayor of the city, which also was duly delivered.
Without a moment’s pause they drifted over the Channel into the gathering darkness. Before them rose a huge wall of vapor and black clouds standing on the bosom of the sea; behind them the twinkling lights and the music of breakers rolling on a hospitable shore. Presently they were immersed in a region of absolute silence and impenetrable darkness. At times this deep stratum would slowly dissolve, revealing a glimpse of the dusky ocean and a passing ship; then some huge wreath of vapor would involve them in bottomless gloom, without perspective, without apparent motion, without a sound to cheer or mark their dubious course. Now to avoid the risk of settling too near the sea, as Blanchard and Jeffries had done, they were preparing to let down the guide-rope with floating ballast attached, when suddenly they emerged from the pall of darkness, and were greeted by the glittering lights of Calais, and the gentle sound of waters dashing upon the beach. They had crossed the Channel in one hour, and were soaring serenely three thousand feet above the ocean, not having to lower the guide-rope to preserve their elevation.
Now came the preparations for a night voyage over an obscurely defined land route. A simple rope one thousand feet long without ballast was allowed to trail beneath them. A lamp was lit. Coffee was heated by the slacking of quicklime. An ample store of viands and wine was spread on the board in the middle of the car. The strenuous period of thought and labor was past, and now three hungry men sat leisurely at dinner, after a fast of twelve long hours. However sparing of bones and bottles, which later might serve as ballast, they were not economical of food and wine that evening. For the present they had only to live and be happy as bachelors. Muffled in soft garments, well fed, abundantly served with divine beverages, hot or cold; what finer picture of masculine comfort and delight?
They were now floating tranquilly in the vast solitude of heaven, over a teeming continent mantled in night and mystery. Far along earth’s sable surface gleam the scattered fires of many villages; and above it the lovelier fires of a moonless sky. Unseen, unsuspected, they survey kingdoms and cities, trailing their long rope serpent-like over woodland, field and quiet homestead. Now on the horizon before them looms a greater fire, like a distant conflagration, widening as they approach. Gradually it expands into a model city, shooting out long lines of illuminated streets; here the public squares, markets and theatres; there the rumbling iron mills with blazing furnaces. They are above Liege at her festive hour, murmuring with animation and busy life. Again they drift into the dark regions of slumber, lapped in silence and deep tranquillity, where the lights of men are extinguished, and the stars, redoubling their lustre, gleam whitest silver in heaven’s jetty dome. Midnight involves the world; an abyss of darkness enfolds it; their solitary lamp seems to melt its way through solid space of blackest marble. For hours they undulate over the rolling hills, rising and falling a thousand cubits, held always to earth by the trailing rope. At times they are so near as to trace the landscape dimly; here a white tract covered lightly with snow, here a dark valley or forest, here a tortuous river, probably the Rhine, with its multitudinous thunder of waters. But in all that weird and obscure wandering no joyous note of human or animal life ascends ere dawn to cheer their solitary course in the sky.
At last the paling of the morning star, and a faint tingeing of the eastern cumuli, announce the expected day. With sudden bound the great ship mounts aloft twelve thousand feet, into the glory of the blazing sun, new risen among clouds of amber and purple. Far below, twilight and mist still mantle the half-awakened world, presenting a stupendous panorama, vast as an empire. Presently down they plunge into the vaporous and obscure atmosphere, drifting carelessly, but soon reascending into the splendor of morning. Thus after making the sun rise three times and set twice, they float contentedly along the misty landscape, marveling what region lies below them, whether a barren wilderness, or the abode of civilized life, with human comforts and a ready means of transportation. A hot breakfast would be very welcome now; for they had accidentally dropped the lime pot and had spent the latter half of the night without warm beverage in a region where oil and water had frozen.
At length through the clearing vapor they perceive the country well tilled and populous; a good place to land to shorten their route to Paris, and avoid the wide plains of Poland or Russia. They raise the guide-rope, lower the cable and anchor, open the valve, and descend in a grassy field near Weilburg, in the Duchy of Nassau. It is now seven-thirty o’clock, just eighteen hours since starting; and they have traveled five hundred miles, the longest aërial voyage thus far recorded. Very soon they are surrounded by a wondering crowd of pipe-puffing, shaggy-headed, German peasants, by whose willing aid they finally deflate the balloon, pack it in the bottom of the car, and mount it on a one-horse cart for Weilburg. Thence the aëronauts, after a week of festivities in their honor, and distinguished attentions from the highest officials of the town, embarked with their balloon for Paris. This famous craft now bore its permanent title; for a few days previously the lovely daughter of the Baron de Bibra, with seven other young ladies and Mr. Green, had stood within the air-inflated vessel, poured a generous libation of wine, and christened the hardy cruiser The Great Balloon of Nassau.
It was in truth a great balloon in various ways; in solidity and strength, in workmanship, in completeness of appointment, in endurance and control. Having accomplished that long journey without a sign of weakness or defect, it was still in prime condition, proudly heading for the farthest verge of Europe. It had not, of course, the instrumental equipment of a modern balloon; but it did possess the elements essential for a long and hard cruise. Since the day of its launching many additions have been added to the art, but these, for the most part, are special adjuncts. The more important features of a good balloon are practically the same to-day as when they were first introduced by Professor Charles and sturdy old Mr. Green.
A still more elaborate and colossal air ship was the Geant, constructed in 1863, for A. Nadar of Paris. It was made of a double layer of white silk, had a volume of 215,000 cubic feet and a buoyancy of 4½ tons. The car was a wicker cabin 13 feet wide by 7 feet high, with a wicker balcony round the top so that the roof could be used as an observation deck—a delightful place to loll in the starlight, or watch the morning sun “flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye.” The closed car comprised two main rooms with a hallway between them, one containing the captain’s bed and baggage, the other having three superposed berths for passengers. Minor divisions of the car were reserved for provisions, a lavatory, photography and a printing press, the latter to be used for the dissemination of news from the sky, as the navigators floated from state to state. A compensator balloon of 3,500 cubic feet, just below the main bag and connected with it, received the escaping gas during expansion with increase of temperature or altitude, and gave it back on contraction. In fact as well as in name, Nadar’s vessel was a giant. Curiously enough, he called it the “last balloon,” for he expected to realize enough money by exhibiting it, to inaugurate successful flying by means of the helicopter, and thus banish ballooning from the world of futile effort to the domain of bygone dreams and chimæras.
Fig. 11.—Car of Nadar’s Balloon.
The first ascension, made on Sunday, October 4, 1863, was one of magnificent promise. In the midst of a vast holiday throng on the Champ de Mars, the great globe towered aloft nearly two hundred feet, held to earth by one hundred men and twice as many sand bags. In the car were fifteen notable passengers including one lady, the fair young Princess de la Tour d’Auvergne, in morning toilet and a pretty hat. “Lachez tout!” shouts Captain Nadar, the effervescent photographer of Paris. Away they soar, heading for St. Petersburg, with provisions enough to sail beyond the polar sea.
The captain was now in supreme control, with the key to the victual and liquor room in his pocket, and his twelve commandments duly signed by all aboard. They had pledged themselves not to gamble, not to carry inflammable materials, not to smoke unduly, not to throw bottles overboard, not to quit the balloon without permission, but to descend if so ordered, etc. They had sailed at five o’clock in the evening and all was going merrily. But presently trouble came. The valve rope gave way, the vessel was sailing in the dark, and the Godards declared she was drifting to sea, whereas she was drifting in quite the opposite direction. To be on the safe side they threw out the anchors by permission of the commander. One anchor broke, but the other took hold and checked the balloon in spite of the strong wind blowing. At last after three violent bumps on the ground they landed near Meaux at nine o’clock in the evening, one passenger sustaining a broken knee, the others various bruises. It was a grand adventure and all were pleased.
Two weeks later a second voyage was begun in similar style, and again from the Champ de Mars, this time in the presence of the King of France and the young King George of Greece; but now Nadar took along, not the Princess with the pretty hat, but Madame Nadar, his wife. To entertain the crowd before starting, thirty-two persons were first sent aloft 300 feet and drawn back to earth. Finally at five o’clock Sunday evening, October 18th, a party of nine passengers soared proudly northward, well provisioned as before, and eager for a long voyage. They disappeared in the gathering night, leaving their friends much concerned for their safety and ultimate destination. At half past eight they were over Compiegne, seventy-eight miles away, drifting near the ground to say “All goes well” and have the good tidings transmitted to Paris. At nine they crossed the Belgian frontier; at midnight they were over Holland; at sunrise they skirted the Zuyder Zee and entered Hanover; at eight they were coursing headlong toward Nienburg and the North Sea in the current of a swift west wind.
They were now in great peril. If they went to sea they might all be drowned; if they came to earth at such horizontal speed they should be terribly pounded. Choosing the latter evil, they opened the valve and threw down the grappling irons. “To the ropes,” shouted the Godard brothers. Assembling on deck all clung to the suspension ropes to mitigate the shock of landing. Nadar put his arm about his wife to protect her. The anchors snatching a tree, uprooted and dragged it along; then caught and tore off the roof of a house; threshed into a telegraph line pulling down the wires and poles; struck into some firmer obstacle and broke off completely, leaving the huge monster to sweep unchecked in the violent ground current. Owing to trouble with the valve, the gas could not be liberated quickly; the great vessel again and again plunged to earth and rebounded high in air, its ponderous basket crashing through heavy timber, and breaking down whatever opposed its course. For nine miles they pounded over the plain by Nienburg toward the sea, dashing into pools, bogs and thickets, their limbs sprained or broken, their bodies bruised, their faces splashed with mud. Presently through loss of gas the rebounding ceased, the basket dragged along the earth squeezing some of the passengers beneath it, and dumping others out on the ground, leaving them behind. Those remaining tried to assist Madam Nadar to land, but they were tumbled out and she was caught under the basket from which she was extricated with much difficulty, when the balloon was finally halted. Thus their memorable voyage of seventeen hours, covering 750 miles, had a terrific, though not fatal ending. One had a broken femur, another a dislocated thigh, others numerous scratches and contusions. But no complaint was uttered; for the afflictions were regarded as natural concomitants to such interesting sport. After some days tender nursing by the Germans, and solicitous inquiries from the King of Hanover, they returned to Paris; some indeed on their backs, but for all that, none the less admired by their countrymen, as survivors of a marvelous adventure.
Another valiant English leader in aërostation was James Glaisher, member of the British Association for the Advancement of Science. As one of a committee of twelve appointed by that body in 1861, to explore the higher strata of the atmosphere by means of the balloon, he volunteered his services as an observer, when no other capable man could offer to do so. With a professional aëronaut, Mr. Coxwell, and a new balloon specially constructed for the work, cubing 90,000 feet, he made eleven ascensions for the society, four from Wolverhampton, seven from Woolwich. Incidentally he made seventeen other ascents of various altitude; not at the expense of the committee, but as a scientific passenger in public balloon ascents advertised beforehand.
The objects of the enterprise were first to study the physical conditions of the atmosphere; secondly to study the effect of the higher regions upon the passengers themselves, and some pigeons, which they carried along; thirdly to make some observations in acoustics and magnetism, particularly to determine the period of oscillation of a magnet at various altitudes. The specific study of the atmosphere itself was to comprise observations at all altitudes, of the temperature of the air, its pressure, and percentage of moisture; observations of the velocity and direction of the wind, the constitution of the clouds, their height, density and depth, the constitution and electrical properties of the air. They were also to collect samples of the air at different elevations, which later might be examined in the laboratory. Thus the voyages were systematically planned for scientific research, and were the first thorough attempts in England, though similar efforts had been made previously in France. It may be added that Glaisher’s observations were the most important made during the first century of aëronautics, and may be found fully detailed by that hardy investigator himself in the British Association Reports for 1862–66.
Mr. Glaisher’s most interesting voyage of that memorable series occurred on September 5, 1862. Starting from Wolverhampton at three minutes after one o’clock, they soared swiftly upward, passing through a cloud eleven hundred feet thick and emerging in a glorious field of sunlight with an amethystine sky above and a boundless sea of vapor beneath; a sea of rolling hills and mountain chains, with great snow-white masses steaming up from their surface. They had left the noisy bustle of earth in the comfortable temperature of 59°; in three quarters of an hour, they were five miles aloft in a deadly silent atmosphere, two degrees below zero, and approaching one third its usual density, the balloon neck white with hoar frost, the men gasping for breath. Here the observations became increasingly interesting but immensely more difficult. They are graphically told in the following extract from Mr. Glaisher’s classical report:
“I asked Mr. Coxwell to help me to read the instruments, as I experienced a difficulty in seeing. In consequence, however, of the rotatory motion of the balloon, which had continued without ceasing since the earth had been left, the valve-line had become twisted, and he had to leave the car and mount into the ring above to adjust it. At this time I looked at the barometer, and found it to be 10 inches, still decreasing fast; its true reading therefore, was 9¾ inches, implying a height of 29,000 feet. Shortly afterwards I laid my arm upon the table, possessed of its full vigor, and on being desirous of using it, I found it powerless; it must have lost its power momentarily. I tried to move the other arm, and found it powerless also. I then tried to shake myself, and succeeded in shaking my body. I seemed to have no limbs. I then looked at the barometer; whilst 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 this 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 either my arms or my legs; in fact I seemed to have none. 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 endeavored to speak, but could not; when in an instant intense black darkness came, the optic nerve finally lost power suddenly. I was still conscious, with as active a brain as at the present moment 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 in going to sleep. I cannot tell anything of the sense of hearing; the perfect stillness and silence of the regions six miles from the earth (and at this time we were between six and seven miles high) is such that no sound reaches the ear.
PLATE I.
GLAISHER AND COXWELL.
PARSEVAL KITE BALLOON.
“My last observation was made at 1 h. and 54 m., at 29,000 feet. I suppose two or three minutes fully were occupied between my eyes becoming insensible to seeing fine divisions, and 1 h. 54 m., and then that two or three minutes more passed till I was insensible; therefore I think this took place at about 1 h. 56 m. or 1 h. and 57 m. Whilst powerless I heard the words, ‘temperature’ and ‘observation,’ and I knew Mr. Coxwell was in the car speaking to me, and endeavoring to arouse me, therefore consciousness and hearing had returned. I then heard him speak more emphatically, but I could not see, speak or move. I heard him again say, ‘Do try—now do.’ Then I saw the instruments dimly, then Mr. Coxwell, and very shortly saw clearly. I rose in my seat and looked round, as though waking from sleep, though not refreshed by sleep, and said to Mr. Coxwell, ‘I have been insensible;’ he said, ‘You have; and I, too, very nearly.’ I then drew up my legs, which had been extended before me, and took a pencil in my hand to begin observations. Mr. Coxwell told me he had lost the use of his hands, which were black, and I poured brandy on them.
“I resumed my observations at 2 h. 7 m., recording the barometer reading at 11.53 inches, and temperature −2°. I suppose three or four minutes were occupied from the time of my hearing the words ‘temperature’ and ‘observation’ till I began to observe; if so, then returning consciousness came at 2 h. and 4 m., and this gives seven minutes for total insensibility. I found the water in the vessel supplying the wet-bulb thermometer, which I had by frequent disturbances kept from freezing, was one solid mass of ice; and it did not all melt until after we had been on the ground some time.
“Mr. Coxwell told me that whilst in the ring he felt it piercingly cold; that hoar-frost was all round the neck of the balloon. On attempting to leave the ring he found his hands frozen, and he had to place his arms on the ring and drop down; that he thought for a moment I had laid back to rest myself; that he spoke to me without eliciting a reply; that he then noticed my legs projected and my arms hung down by my side; that my countenance was serene and placid, without the earnestness and anxiety he had noticed before going into the ring, and then it struck him I was insensible. He wished to approach me, but could not, and he felt insensibility coming over himself; that he became anxious to open the valve, but in consequence of having lost the use of his hands he could not, and ultimately did so by seizing the cord with his teeth and dipping his head two or three times until the balloon took a decided turn downwards. This act is quite characteristic of Mr. Coxwell. I have never yet seen him without a ready means of meeting every difficulty, as it has arisen, with a cool self-possession that has always left my mind perfectly easy, and given me every confidence in his judgment in the management of so large a balloon.
“No inconvenience followed the insensibility; and when we dropped it was in a country where no conveyance of any kind could be obtained, so that I had to walk between seven or eight miles.
“The descent was at first very rapid; we passed downwards three miles in nine minutes; the balloon’s career was then checked, and we finally descended in the center of a large grass-field belonging to Mr. Kersall, at Cold Weston, seven-and-a-half miles from Ludlow.
“I have already said that my last observation was made at a height of 29,000 feet; at this time (1 h. 45 m.) we were ascending at the rate of 1,000 feet per minute; and when I resumed observations we were descending at the rate of 2,000 feet per minute. These two positions must be connected, taking into account the interval of time between, viz. 13 minutes, and on those considerations the balloon must have attained the altitude of 36,000 or 37,000 feet. Again, a very delicate minimum thermometer read—12, and this would give a height of 37,000 feet. Mr. Coxwell, on coming from the ring, noticed that the center of the aneroid barometer, its blue hand, and a rope attached to the car, were all in the same straight line, and this gave a reading of 7 inches, and leads to the same result. Therefore these independent means all lead to about the same elevation, viz. fully SEVEN MILES.
“In this ascent six pigeons were taken up. One was thrown out at the height of three miles, when it extended its wings and dropped as a piece of paper; a second, at four and five miles, and it fell downward as a stone. A fourth was thrown out at four miles on descending. It flew in a circle, and shortly alighted on the top of the balloon. The two remaining pigeons were brought down to the ground. One was found to be dead, and the other, a ‘carrier,’ was still living, but would not leave the hand when I attempted to throw it off, till after a quarter of an hour it began to peck a piece of ribbon which encircled its neck, and was then jerked off the finger, and flew with some vigor toward Wolverhampton. One of the pigeons returned to Wolverhampton on Sunday the 7th, and it is the only one that has been heard of.”
This was the loftiest ascent ever made up to that time; and thus Glaisher, or rather Coxwell, who was in the ring above him, could be called the “highest man” of the first century of aëronautics. Their greatest elevation, however, is now generally estimated at much less than seven miles, and probably below six miles, due allowance being made for inaccuracies of estimate made by Mr. Glaisher. His results, nevertheless, were considered valuable, revealing as they did, that the balloon may be used safely up to the neighborhood of five miles; that the temperature of the atmosphere does not, as previously supposed, decline one degree for each 300 feet of ascent, but often declines more rapidly, and sometimes even increases with the elevation for considerable stretches; that the moisture percentage is extremely slight at an altitude beyond five miles; that at all elevations attainable by man the dry- and wet-bulb thermometers can be used effectively, etc.
A still loftier ascent was made by Professor Berson of Germany, aided by the respiration of oxygen. On July 31, 1901, accompanied by Dr. Süring, he ascended from Berlin in the balloon Preussen to an elevation of 10,800 meters, which at present constitutes the world’s record for altitude. The balloon had a capacity of 300,000 cubic feet, and left the ground two thirds filled with hydrogen, and carrying 8,000 pounds of ballast in the form of sand bags attached to the sides of the basket, so that they could be cut loose with the slightest physical effort.
The Preussen was one of the largest passive balloons ever constructed. In cubic capacity it was comparable with the colossal Montgolfière, La Flesselle, already described, and the huge free balloon Le Geant, constructed by Nadar in 1863. But all were eclipsed by the great balloon of Henri Giffard. This latter measured 450,000 cubic feet, and even to-day ranks as the largest captive balloon ever constructed. It was a familiar object at the Paris Exposition of 1878, where it was installed by the famous inventor Henri Giffard, to give sightseers a bird’s-eye view of Paris. It could take up forty persons at one time, or eight more than once ascended in Nadar’s Geant.
No serious attempt has been made to surpass the altitude flight of Professor Berson and Dr. Süring; for though it is easily possible to carry human beings to a greater height than seven miles, the results seem hardly to justify the cost. To ascend very much higher would require an enormous and costly balloon, and to ensure the comfort of the passenger might require an air-tight car, or armor supplied continuously with fresh air, or oxygen. Such a suit, or car, however, can be made very light, since its pressure must naturally be internal; and it would admit of an extremely rapid change of elevation without discomfort to the passenger. A steel bottle weighing fifty pounds, and filled with compressed air, or oxygen, would supply a passenger several hours, and allow him to breathe under normal pressure. The total weight of a bottle and air-tight car, or suit, need not exceed the weight of a man. Moreover, the ballast could be largely dispensed with, thus admitting of a very rapid ascent from the earth. A celluloid car would have the advantage of transparency, though it might become too brittle at very low temperatures. A suit, or car, with glass portholes would serve in lieu of a celluloid car for transparency. The usual balloon and basket, carrying a steel bottle, furnishing air at normal pressure to a man in a rubberized silk suit is a sufficiently simple and practicable device; the air entering the suit near his mouth and leaving below through a check valve regulated to maintain the desired internal pressure. An air-tight silk fabric capable of enduring safely a tensile stress of 150 pounds per running inch would answer the purposes. But at present there seems to be no incentive to attempt a balloon trip exceeding the heights already attained, unless it be that of notoriety or sentiment.
The French meteorologists have devised a much simpler and cheaper method of exploring the upper atmosphere, by use of small balloons carrying recording instruments. An ordinary silk or gold-beater skin balloon, partly inflated, ascends to a great height with the instruments, drifts away losing gas, and on landing is found by some one who returns it according to written directions accompanying the craft. Another method, introduced by Professor Assman, is to employ closed rubber balloons which at great altitudes burst by the expansion of the hydrogen within them, and allow the instruments to descend in parachutes softly to the ground. Instrument-carrying balloons of the above type are called “sounding balloons,” or balloons sondes, whereas if they carry no instruments, but merely show the course of the wind, they may be called “pilot balloons.” Such sounding balloons have been used to explore the temperature of the atmosphere to an altitude of 18 miles.
In the preceding pages some extended balloon voyages have been described. These were considered very long in their day, but in recent years have been surpassed frequently, first by the professional aëronauts, then by the amateurs and members of various aëronautic clubs practicing aërostation as a sport, and stimulated by attractive prizes. But the man who achieved the longest balloon flight during the first century of the art, seems to have been Mr. John Wise, America’s foremost pioneer balloonist.
Mr. Wise was a rare composite of showman, scientist, sport and dare-devil, who during the four decades succeeding his first ascension at Philadelphia in 1835, made no fewer than 440 voyages. At first the aërial art captivated him by the beauty and sublimity of the natural panoramas witnessed from on high; then he amused himself by dropping things from the basket and hearing them whistle through space; and finally he coquetted with the balloon itself, in various ways to observe the result. On one occasion the neck was choked and the valve could not be operated, so that when the hydrogen expanded with increasing altitude, it overstretched the cover and started a rent in the side of the bag. The balloon descended rapidly, but landed without injurious shock.
The audacious aëronaut then decided to make an ascension and deliberately burst the balloon, by confining the gas in it and throwing out ballast. But first he tried the experiment on a dog, taking him up 4,000 feet, dropping him in a small collapsed balloon and watching him settle slowly to earth. Then rising to an altitude of 13,000 feet he stood debating whether to follow the example of the dog. The balloon quickly ended the question by exploding at the top. The hydrogen rushed out with a tempestuous sound, and the great vessel sank swiftly with a moaning noise of the wind in her rigging. In a few seconds the bag was empty and collapsed on the top of the net thus forming an effective parachute. After an exciting fall of more than two miles, Mr. Wise landed on a farm, with a lively thump, which overturned the basket, and threw him sprawling on the ground. It was fine sport; he decided at once to advertise a repetition of it, and thus was led by degrees to the invention of the ripping panel.[7]
Mr. Wise firmly believed that a steady wind from west to east prevails at a height of two miles. He wished to use this for long voyages, and even contemplated crossing the Atlantic; for he trusted his varnish to hold hydrogen a fortnight if need be. Accordingly in 1873 the New York Daily Graphic paid the cost of a balloon to carry him and two others on that hazardous voyage. The bag had a capacity of 400,000 cubic feet, but was too frail in construction to receive Mr. Wise’s approval, and actually burst during inflation when slightly more than three fourths full. Fortunately, perhaps, for Mr. Wise, he never had an opportunity to attempt the trans-Atlantic voyage; but on one occasion he enjoyed a memorable cruise in the great west wind which so took his fancy. Rising from St. Louis on June 23, 1859, he sailed northeastwardly for twenty hours, and landed at Henderson, N. Y., having traversed a distance of 809 miles, measured directly. But in attempting another long voyage with two companions, in September, 1879, he passed over Lake Michigan, where all were drowned.
In recent years Mr. Wise’s long voyage has been exceeded several times. In 1897 M. Godard sailed from Leipsic to Wilna, a distance of 1,032 miles in 24½ hours; but this was not an official flight nor in a direct course as the crow flies. In October, 1900, M. Balsan voyaged from Vincennes, France, to Rodom, Russia, a distance of 843 miles in 27 hours and 25 minutes, and De la Vaulx starting from the same point landed at Korosticheff, Russia, having traversed 1,193 miles in 35¾ hours. This latter is the longest balloon flight thus far recorded. A close second to this record was made by A. R. Hawley in his spherical balloon America, aided by Augustus Post, in the Gordon Bennett International Balloon Race of 1910. Sailing from St. Louis, October 17th, they drifted 1,172.9 miles from their starting point, and landed in a great forest at Peribonka River, North Lake Chilogoma, Canada, where they were lost for several days.
Fig. 12.—Diagram of a Modern Spherical Balloon with Ripping Panel.
Quite as eventful was the ocean voyage of Walter Wellman, who left Atlantic City October 15, 1910, for Europe in a motor balloon with a drag rope, or equilibrator, voyaged with favorable wind to a point 140 miles northeast of Nantucket Island, then was driven by adverse wind toward Bermuda, and finally rescued by a passing steamer, after 69 hours in the air and a journey of about one thousand miles. A full account of this strange voyage is given in the New York Times of October 19, 1910, and in the Scientific American of subsequent date.
The recent advances in aërostation, though not radically changing the balloon itself, contribute much to its usefulness and convenience. Improvements have occurred in the means of inflation and deflation, in devices for making topographical and meteorological observations, as also for transmitting and receiving signals. Hydrogen shipped in steel tubes is now available for easy and rapid inflation, the process of obtaining it on a large scale making it practically as cheap as illuminating gas. The ripping panel, invented in 1844 by America’s foremost pioneer aëronaut, John Wise, is a simple and an excellent practical device. This is a long patch running longitudinally above the equator[8] of the balloon, feebly sewed to the envelope, and having a cord, called the “ripping cord,” extending down to the car along the outside or inside of the bag, so that the pilot on coming to earth can let out the gas quickly by tearing a rent in the balloon, thus flattening it promptly on the earth’s surface, so as to avoid dragging and bumping if any wind prevails. During an ascension the rise or fall of the vessel may be instantly noted on the dial of the statoscope, the temperature, pressure and moisture of the atmosphere may be read on recording instruments, messages may be sent by telegraph and telephone either by wire or through space, and sky or landscape may be photographed if there be sufficient light. The bag itself has been improved by making it of special fabrics formed of several layers of silk, or cotton, with thin layers of rubber vulcanized between them to render the cloth impermeable, also the bag, when not designed to cleave the wind, is usually given a spherical form which is the figure of greatest volume for a given surface, the figure originally used by the inventor of the gas balloon; but when designed to be tethered in a wind, it is given a longish shape and a tail so that it may ride the wind like a kite. This type of balloon, though first proposed by Douglass Archibald about 1845, was first made a practical invention by Captain von Sigsfeld and Major von Parseval. In a certain sense it is a tethered motor-balloon, just as a kite is a tethered aëroplane.