The formation of this plan and its rapid execution in the exact moment of danger was sufficient proof of my presence of mind at the moment of our fall and of the vision which accompanied it. I even remember that I laughed at a remark, which really was laughable, of my companions in distress.
When they saw me climb on to the seat, and from there to the side of the basket, in order to swarm up the ropes to the crown, they asked me in all seriousness if I was going to get out. The question made me laugh. There was really something comical in the contrast between our situation and my friend’s question. To get out of a balloon in motion which is about to fall upon the spiked branches of a forest! They had asked me seriously, and with a certain amount of anxiety: “Are you going to get out?...” “No,” said I, and laughed. “Where do you want me to go?” It was at that moment that I saw my vision.
But to go back to our descent. The balloon, which thus dragged us over the trees, had kept all its power, for it was still filled with gas, and might drag us a long time yet.
What could we do? Opening the valve would by no means have stopped it, as it would have taken too much time and the gas would not have escaped quickly enough. We therefore decided to cut the ropes which bound the car to the crown in order to separate it from the infuriated balloon.
The good sailor took out his trusty axe, but scarcely had he given the first cut when the balloon succeeded in disengaging the basket from the branches which held it back and impeded its course. It then recommenced its flight, rising like an eagle towards higher regions.
We were stupified. So we were to have a new journey and fresh adventures!
Fortunately it was not one of long duration. The wind and the rain whipped the balloon from all sides and prevented it from regaining its original vigour and mounting higher. Then a last struggle engaged between the balloon and the storm, which had continued raging. The balloon, once free, tried to rise, but was held back by the extreme violence of the tempest. In its struggles it leapt and bounded, making us fear at any moment that the basket would upset and precipitate its contents pell-mell into space. Twice a squall threw us to the ground—that is to say, into the trees—and twice the unexhausted strength of the balloon snatched us from their branches. A third, more violent, gust enveloped the balloon entirely, bent it to the ground in front of the car, and hurled it against a large and magnificent oak—which I can see to-day before my eyes. We were in safety—the balloon gave the expiring yell of a strong fabric torn by violent explosion. It burst, rent along its side, and hung in a thousand enormous rags against the ancient branches of the great oak which had destroyed it.
We were at once enveloped by clouds of gas escaping from the disembowelled balloon. In a moment all was over. The car had stopped and we were safe. My watch pointed to one o’clock when I jumped down from the tree.
But in what part of the country were we? Whose was the wood which protected us? Should we meet Frenchmen or had we fallen into the enemy’s country? That old navigator Ulysses, when he walked on the beach of Ithaca, was not more ignorant of his fate than we when we left our car in the branches of the trees in which it remained captive.