This young man had communicated with that eminent scientist, Mayor Stokley, about a year previous to the attempt. The Mayor, who delights in encouraging genius of all kinds, promised his countenance to a trial trip of the machine at Philadelphia during the Centennial year.
“I will go with you,” he promised, “I, myself, will ascend with you into the illimitable ether; together will we make the attempt, together will we share the glory.”
This fact becoming known, Messrs. Daniel Dougherty and George Francis Childs, anxious to imitate so noble an example, entered their names, too, upon the ship’s books for the voyage. Airy was happy, and his happiness became delirious joy when, a week previous to the date of departure, he received another application worded as follows:—
SOARING
GENIUS.“I long to soar above this world of trials. False outwardness weighs upon my heart; the scent of earth smothers the zephyrean impulses of my soul. Take me with you. Yon, yon, into that blissful atmospheric belt where hay-fevers are unknown.
“Confidingly yours,
“H. W. B.”
The report of the coming trial of this air-ship spread rapidly throughout the land. Scientific men, railroad agents, and rapid transit speculators arrived in flocks and examined and re-examined the various rods, wires, screws, governors, pistons, cogs, gauges, and cranks. The newspapers, too, were lavish with preparatory puffs. Fate willed, however, that they should not be strong enough to blow success.
The machine was constructed in the shape of an American eagle with outstretched wings. A neat little boudoir was fitted up for passengers between the ribs, and a refrigerator for provisions was suspended from the beak.
The eventful morning arrived and saw an immense concourse of people at the foot of Sawyer’s Observatory, from the summit of which the experimental flight was to be made at 10 o’clock precisely. At that hour the inventor was on hand, attired in pink tights and spangles. A note was handed to him by Mr. Sawyer; he read it aloud to the assemblage—
HE COMETH
NOT.“My Dear Airy: I am unable to rise even from my bed, so of course can’t go up with you to-day. The doctor has just examined my silvery tongue, and bids me stay at home. He thinks I have been high enough this week, and says, jocosely, having been on a lark I had better ‘shoot the eagle.’ I lie here as I write you this note. Better luck next time.
“Dougherty.”