‘But, my good friends,’ I observed, ‘you have made a mistake. I’m not a poacher, but have just come down from a balloon, and shall be very much obliged to you if you will help me to secure it when it descends again, as it will, away from the trees.’
‘Ha! ha! ha! Ho! ho! ho!’ roared my captors, ‘that won’t do for us, young master. There ain’t no b’loon up that there tree; but what there is there is your pal with the net what you catches the pheasants with; and,’ raising his voice, ‘he may as well come down at once, ‘cos we means nabbing him now we knows where he is.’
Some passing labourers were hailed and stationed round the tree to await the descent of ‘the other poacher,’ while I, whose remonstrances were of no avail, was hurried up to ‘the house,’ wherein sat, on his chair of state, the redoubtable ‘squire,’ to whom the domain belonged, and whose pheasants I was accused of stealing. Again I told the story of the balloon. The old gentleman regarded me with stern dignity, and, wagging his finger at me, solemnly inquired of the keepers (my captors) whether they had seen any balloon. Upon receiving a reply in the negative, he assumed his most magisterial demeanour.
‘Young man,’ he said, ‘it is sad indeed to find a person of education in your unfortunate position. Your tale of having come down in a balloon is as audacious as it is ridiculous. No balloon was seen by my servants, and you were seen to descend a tree, your companion remaining no doubt until the hue and cry should be passed. I have lost many pheasants lately, and there can be no doubt now as to who the culprits have been. I have nothing more to do now than to commit you for to-night to the lock-up, and the case will be investigated in the morning.’
‘But, sir,’ I pleaded, ‘pray send to the field just outside your park, where my friend will doubtless be found by this time with his balloon, which could not be seen by your keepers on account of the fog, but which was then hovering above the tree in which the grapnel had caught, and from which I extricated it.’
Happily for me this request was acceded to, and in due course Mr. Green made his appearance and corroborated my statement, upon which every attention was lavished upon us both. We received an invitation to dinner, and, instead of passing the night in a village cell, I slept on the bed of down of our most jovial and courteous host, who would not hear of our leaving him until we had enjoyed a good night’s rest under his hospitable roof.
But I am in very great danger of forgetting that my present intention is to write a practical treatise, not to prattle about my adventures, so I will set myself seriously to work at once; and will begin by showing in a few words what a balloon is not.
In the first place, a balloon is most certainly not what it is sometimes erroneously called—a flying machine. One might as well compare the gracefulness of a good swimmer with the aimless floating of a dead dog, as to pretend that the helpless drifting of a balloon has anything in common with the as yet only partially accomplished science of aërial flight. What, then, is a balloon, and how is it constructed?
A balloon for carrying passengers consists of a certain number of gores cut in such a form that when they are sewn together they form a perfect sphere, the lower part or neck being elongated, which gives a pear-shaped appearance. This elongation at the neck is made in order to allow the gas to pass freely into the balloon during inflation. On the top is placed a valve, which is a circular double door composed of two semicircles. To each of these semicircular openings is attached a line, which, meeting a little lower down, form one line, which passes through the centre of the balloon, and comes out at the neck; so that when the aëronaut desires to descend he lets out the gas by pulling the line. The doors open inwards, and close themselves by means of springs with which they are fitted.