A novel and important feature of this exhibition, however, was the substitution of living animals for sand-bags or other ballast, as used heretofore. In a wicker cage a cock, a duck, and a sheep were fastened, and these were carried some fifteen hundred feet into the air, descending uninjured, two miles from the starting-point, a few minutes later. The cage was broken open in the descent, but its occupants escaped injury, and the sheep was found quietly grazing when the rescue party arrived.
The successful voyage of these caged animals stimulated the balloonists to attempt the crucial test of sending up a balloon carrying a human passenger. But from this perilous undertaking the boldest spirits recoiled, even the Montgolfiers refusing to venture. In those days, however, there was always a means of securing human beings, willing or otherwise, for any undertaking. Where gold would not tempt, it needed but a word of the monarch to commute the death-sentence of some criminal, placing him at the disposal of the scientists for a better or worse fate than the gallows, as the case might be. And so when Louis XVI heard of the plight of the balloon-makers, he came to their assistance with the offer of two condemned prisoners to be sent on the first aerial voyage. This offer had an unexpected effect. The pride of a certain high-minded aeronaut named Rozier, who had hitherto refused to risk his life, was touched at the thought of criminals performing an act that all honest men refused. "What! are vile criminals to have the glory of being the first to ascend into the air?" he exclaimed. "No, no, that must not be." And forthwith he offered his own services for the hazardous undertaking.
The royal decree was accordingly repealed, to the chagrin of the criminals, no doubt, and preparations made for the momentous attempt. Montgolfier was engaged to construct a large balloon, and on the 15th of October, 1783, the trial was made in a garden in the Faubourg St. Antoine. Let no one suppose, however, that this first man-carrying balloon was cut loose from the earth and sent skyward to shift for itself, as might be gathered from the reluctance of persons to make the ascent. On the contrary, the balloon was held by strong cables, and allowed to rise only to a height of eighty feet—to the level of some of the lower windows of a modern sky-scraper—the aeronaut keeping it afloat for about five minutes by burning wool and straw in a grate made for the purpose.
Those who have witnessed the reckless manner in which the modern balloonist mounts thousands of feet into the air, seated on a trapeze or clinging to flying rings attached to an old balloon, patched and frequently rotten, may be inclined to sneer at the brave Rozier. But it should be remembered that in 1783 people had not learned nineteenth-century contempt for altitude. Furthermore, no one could tell what might be the effect upon the human system of ascending to a great height when away from a building or other terrestrial object. Fainting, hemorrhages, heart-failure, and death had been predicted, and could not be practically refuted. In short, it was an absolutely new and untried field; and it required far greater courage on the part of Rozier to mount eighty feet in a captive balloon than for a modern aeronaut to sail thousands of feet skyward. In proof of this is Rozier's subsequent record of ascents in free balloons, and dangerous voyages, in the last of which he lost his life.
To France, therefore, belongs the honor of inventing the balloon and being first to test it with a human passenger. On this last point, however, France only eclipsed America by a few days. For while the craze for balloon-making was at its height in France during the summer of 1783, a somewhat similar craze on a small scale had started in some of the American cities. Two members of the Philosophical Academy of Philadelphia, Rittenhouse and Hopkins, constructed a peculiar balloon having forty-seven small bags inflated with hydrogen attached to a car. On November 28th, six weeks after Rozier's ascent, this balloon was sent up, with James Wilcox, a carpenter of Philadelphia, as passenger. Everything was going well with the voyager until he suddenly discovered that the wind was wafting him toward the Schuylkill River, which so alarmed him that in attempting to descend quickly he punctured the bags so freely that he came to the ground with considerable force, escaping, however, with a dislocated wrist.
Meanwhile, in Europe, a new danger to balloonists had arisen. Fanaticism was rife, particularly in the vicinity of Paris, and many members of the cloth were tireless in denouncing this "tampering with God's laws by invading the inviolability of the firmament." Fortunately, the king took a broader view, and his soldiers were supplied freely for protecting balloonists and their property; but even with this protection both were roughly handled at times.
By this time England had become aroused; balloon-making became popular across the Channel, and some new records for time and distance were soon made. One balloon sent up in London landed in Sussex, forty-eight miles away, making the voyage in two hours and a half. A few days later a small balloon sent up in Kent was blown across the Channel and landed in Flanders. But neither of these balloons carried passengers.
As yet there had been few serious attempts at constructing dirigible balloons, but now Jean-Pierre Blanchard opened a new era of experiments by combining an ordinary balloon for obtaining the lifting power with wings and rudder. In this balloon there was also placed an umbrella-shaped sail interposed horizontally between the car and the body of the balloon, which was to act as a sort of parachute in case of accident. On the first voyage in this balloon Blanchard was to have had for companion a Benedictine monk; but as the machine began to rise from the ground the monk was seized with fear, turned deadly pale, crossed himself, and seemed about to collapse. Fortunately at this moment a leak was discovered in the balloon and it was accordingly lowered for repairs. When these were completed the aeronaut decided to dispense with the company of the monk, who was only too willing to gratify his wish. But just as the car was again ready to start, a stripling student from the Military Academy forced his way through the crowd, jumped into the car, and announced his intention of making the ascent. Being ordered from the car by Blanchard, he declared that he had the king's license, and when asked to produce it he drew his sword, declaring that this was the license he referred to. By this time the crowd had lost patience; some one seized the young man unceremoniously by the collar, hauled him from the car, and turned him over to the police.
A few years later particular attention was called to this incident by a rumor, which finally grew into a fixed belief in France, that the young military student in question was none other than the youthful Napoleon Bonaparte, then a student at the Academy. Throughout the entire reign of the emperor this was the general belief, and if it was denied at all by Napoleon, the denial was not made with due emphasis. At St. Helena, however, the captive emperor finally stated definitely that he was not the hero of this escapade, who is now known to have been a student by the name of Chambon.
Nothing of importance came of Blanchard's first attempt at guiding a balloon with rudder and wings, except perhaps to emphasize the fact that wings of an oarlike type were useless for propulsion; but nevertheless Blanchard soon prepared a somewhat similar balloon in which he proposed to steer himself across the English Channel. Before this time, as will be remembered, several balloons had crossed the Channel, but none of them had carried passengers. On this voyage Blanchard proposed to make the attempt, taking with him as companion an American physician named Jeffries. On January 7, 1785, these two embarked from the cliffs of Dover, a strong wind at the time setting toward the French coast. Before their journey was half completed they discovered that an insufficient amount of ballast had been shipped, and that the balloon was gradually descending at a rate which would land them in the Channel several miles from shore. To avert this calamity they were obliged to throw out everything in the car—books, provisions, anchors, ropes, the "wings" that were intended for guiding, and also most of their garments. They were, indeed, about to cut loose the car itself, and climb into the shrouds, when suddenly the balloon, caught by a fresh current of air, began to rise, and was wafted to a safe landing place. This was the most daring exploit as yet performed by the aeronauts.