EXCHELSIOR!
Told that I can "assist the progress of Military Science" if I go up in a "War Balloon" at Chelsea. Don't know anything about ballooning, but do want to assist Military Science.
Arrive at Chelsea Exhibition Grounds. See the Balloon being inflated. Disappointed, as a "War Balloon" seems to be exactly the same as a Peace Balloon. Expected it to be armour-plated, or fitted with aërial torpedoes, or something of that sort. Ask Professional Aëronaut if I mayn't take a bomb up with me, and drop it, as practice for war time? Aëronaut scowls fiercely. Asks, "If I want to blow the Balloon to smithereens?" Also asks, "If I have any bombs about me now?" Looks as if he would like to search me! Drop the subject—not the bomb. Still, I should like to know how I can "assist Military Science." Take my place in car nervously.
Somebody shouts, "Let go!" What an extraordinary sensation! Feel as if I had suddenly left digestive portion of my anatomy a mile below me. Have felt same sort of thing in crossing Channel. Look over edge of car. Appalling! Wish I hadn't been such a fool as to come. Ask Professional Aëronaut, "What would happen if a rope broke now?" He replies, sulkily, "your neck would break too." Not comforting. Question is—How long will this last without my being sea-sick?
Also, How am I "assisting progress of Military Science?" Balloon calmer, and not wobbling, thank Heaven! Begin to enjoy the view. How beastly cold it is up here, though! Passing over St. Paul's—suggest to fellow passenger that with a bomb, or better still a pistol, one could "pot" the Dome. Passenger (funny man) says, "Why not try a parashoot?" I laugh heartily, and nearly fall over side. Aëronaut, roughly, "wishes to goodness I'd keep still." I wish to goodness he'd make the Balloon keep still—don't say this, however.
Somewhere over Essex. See distant sea. Aëronaut says, "There's no end of a wind springing up." Heavens! Believe we are drifting out to sea! But I didn't want to "assist progress of Naval Science"—only "Military." Tell Aëronaut this. He says, he's "just going down." Talks as if he were "going down" to breakfast—after "getting up," as we have done! Rather a good joke for mid-air. But is it mid-air? We are descending rapidly. Digestion this time left up in clouds. Tearing along over fields. Balloon pitching and tossing violently. Grapnel thrown out. Catches a cow. Cow runs with us. Idiot! Why can't it stand steady?
Awful crash! Bump, bang, whack! Balloon explodes with fearful report. Yet no reporters present! Remember nothing more. Wake up, and find myself in Hospital of an Essex town. Query—Have I, or have I not, "assisted the progress of Military Science?"