As we had far exceeded the ordinary limits of a public trip, I proposed that we should go on all the time we could see land in advance.
By and bye, darkness set in apace, and we could just discern—towards the north-west—a line of coast to the left of our apparent route. From what we could make out of the land, it was not highly cultivated or thickly populated.
There was a residence ahead which it was desirable to approach, and I lowered with that intention.
Our landing was rough but secure, and we were brought up in a hedge surrounding a sort of common, with a house distant a mile or so, having lights in the windows.
When the gas was let off by our united aid, we steered for the house, leaving the balloon on the ground until we could get assistance.
In proceeding up a cross country lane, no inhabitant of the wild strange place was met, and we were anxious to ascertain where we were, and how far we had travelled. Not until the iron gates of a baronial-looking seat came in view, did we hear voices.
Neither our questions, bearing, nor manner were pleasing to the gate-keepers; they evidently regarded us with suspicion; and when we stated that we came from the clouds in a balloon, and had left Berlin that afternoon, our story created doubt and caution.
“If you will take my card to the Baron,” said Herr Hildebrandt, “I daresay we shall be admitted to his presence.”
The card was sent up, and the Baron himself came down, but further explanation was required before the gates were widely opened. I happened to have the Berlin “National Zeitung” in my pocket, of that day’s impression, which could not have reached the neighbourhood by the time we arrived.
“But where is your balloon?” enquired the Baron, “I have not seen or heard of it.”