“How far do you suppose those insignificant specks are down?”
“I should guess 3000 feet, but not having my instruments I cannot accurately ascertain our height or the temperature of the air; indeed, we have little time even for landscape viewing, as I suppose we both wish to make Brussels again to-night, there to account for our unceremonious flight.”
I now let off some gas, and in a few minutes we found ourselves travelling with considerable velocity across a large common, where there were canals and banks in which the grapnel was likely to get hold.
I prepared my companion for a rough landing, telling him he must not mind it, as it was his own seeking.
To do him justice he seemed to like the aërial mode of transit, and when the iron took in a water-course and hung fast in the bank, causing the balloon and car to roll over, and then to break away again, he became conscious of the terrible force of the wind, and prepared for a succession of bumps and shocks.
We were soon trailing along towards another canal, the car keeping just clear of the ground, when I found that it was a good spot to catch in, and begged my fellow-traveller to keep fast and look out for squalls. Fortunately this we held fast, but the wayward “Sylph” struggled hard for freedom, and we were thrice driven down with unpleasant violence before I crippled the balloon so as to be able to get out.
We lost no time in returning from whence we came.
On the whole, people were well pleased, both those who were present at the start and those who had only heard of the peculiar circumstances under which it became expedient to make the ascent thus early in the morning.
The newspaper accounts of this first attempt of mine in Belgium eulogised it as “daring and extraordinary.” Public attention therefore was not only called to it, but to another, which was spoken of as certain to take place, provided the gas directors would bestir themselves for the public good.
Thus politely challenged, how could they reasonably refrain from obliging?