During the late Franco-German war, over sixty balloons, many but indifferently constructed, left Paris, during the siege, with some one hundred and eighty persons and nearly three millions of letters. All reached a point of safety.
Professor Wise, the most noted American æronaut, has made, during the last forty years, nearly five hundred voyages, and one in particular, in 1859, of nearly 1200 miles—perhaps the longest on record—with three companions, from St. Louis, Mo., to New York State. This trip was made partly in the midst of a tornado, while above Lake Erie, during which time some twenty sailing crafts succumbed to the effects of the storm, yet the intrepid æronauts alighted in safety. M. Green, who was the first to use coal gas, instead of pure hydrogen, and has also made hundreds of successful ascensions, was carried from London to Weilburg, in the central part of Germany, about seven hundred miles in eight hours, without the slightest mishap. Lastly, Arban, crossed the Alps from Marseilles to Turin, four hundred miles, in stormy weather during the night. Mont Blanc to the left, on a level with the top of which he was, resembled an immense block of crystal—sparkling with a thousand fires; while the moon occasionally seemed to have borrowed the light of the sun.
VI.—CHARM OF ÆRIAL TRAVEL.
Nothing can equal the beauty of an ærial voyage, that most wonderful, easy and luxurious mode of locomotion, with its entire absence of dizziness—this sensation being lost with the separation from earth, as soon as the last cord, which unites us with the world below, is cut.
In rising from the ground, the feelings are absorbed in the novelty and magnificence of the spectacle presented, while the ears are saluted with the buzz of distant sound until the clouds are reached, when all is still as death. The scene is sublime. Around and beneath, the clouds roll in magnificent grandeur. They form pyramids, castles, reefs, icebergs, ships and towers, and again dissolve into chaos. The half obscured sun shedding his mellow light upon the picture, gives it a rich and dazzling lustre. Reverence for the work of nature, the solemn stillness, an admiration indescribable, all combined, seem to make a sound of praise.
The earth, which is never lost sight of at any hight, except clouds interfere or night sets in, seems to be concave, like the inside of a flattish hollow globe, instead of the outside, as would naturally be supposed. The reason for this optical delusion is, that the horizon appears on a level with the æronaut, while the distance downwards remains unaltered, making the surface below appear like a valley. The earth presents the panoramic view of an immense map, such as the enchanted Alladdin must have enjoyed. The coloring, designating the various products of the soil, is lively and exquisite. Variegated grass-plats, the golden tinge of waving grain fields, the more sombre foliage of the trees, the glossy surface of the water dazzling in the sunbeams, with occasional white specks for sailing craft; the innumerable villages, with tastefully decorated and tinny, toy-like houses, the numerous roads tortuously spreading over the surface and looking like chalk lines on a gaudy carpet, fairy-like carriages seemingly drawn by mice and guided by liliputian little things. Such is the beauty of this glorious earth. Yet, when mountains appear like ant hills, and Niagara a neat little cascade in a pleasure garden—instead of the raging grandeur, only a frothy bubble—man must be forcibly reminded that he is but the minutest animalcule, and not of so much importance as he presumes himself to be.
No less impressive is the scene at night. The sublime exhibition in the vast solitude and darkness of night creates the most stupendous effect upon the lonely æronaut.
The earth's surface, as far as the eye can reach, absolutely teems with the scattered fires of a watchful population, and exhibits a starry spectacle below, that rivals in brilliancy the lustre of the firmament above. A city looming up in the distant horizon gradually appears to blaze like a vast conflagration. On drawing near, every street is marked out by its particular line of fires; the forms and positions of the theatres, squares and markets are indicated by the presence of larger and more irregular accumulations of light, and the faint murmurs of a busy population still actively engaged in the pursuits of pleasure or the avocation of gain; all together combined form a picture, which, for beauty and effect, can not be conceived.
Again, higher up, or when clouds intervene, the sky, at all times darker when viewed from an elevation, seems almost black with the intensity of night; while, by contrast, the stars redoubled in their lustre, shine like sparks of the whitest silver, scattered upon the jetty dome around. Nothing can exceed this density of night. Not a single object of terrestrial nature can anywhere be distinguished, and an unfathomable abyss of "darkness visible" encompasses one on every side. It seems like cleaving the way through an interminable mass of black marble, and a light lowered from these dizzy hights appears to absolutely melt its way down into the frozen bosom of the surrounding inkiness. The cold is here intense.