THE DOMINION OF THE AIR
The Story of Aerial Navigation
by J. M. Bacon
CONTENTS
[ CHAPTER I. ] THE DAWN OF AERONAUTICS.
[ CHAPTER II. ] THE INVENTION OF THE BALLOON.
[ CHAPTER III. ] THE FIRST BALLOON ASCENT IN ENGLAND.
[ CHAPTER IV. ] THE DEVELOPMENT OF BALLOON PHILOSOPHY.
[ CHAPTER V. ] SOME FAMOUS EARLY VOYAGERS.
[ CHAPTER VI. ] CHARLES GREEN AND THE NASSAU BALLOON.
[ CHAPTER VII. ] CHARLES GREEN—FURTHER ADVENTURES.
[ CHAPTER VIII. ] JOHN WISE—THE AMERICAN AERONAUT.
[ CHAPTER IX. ] EARLY METHODS AND IDEAS.
[ CHAPTER X. ] THE COMMENCEMENT OF A NEW ERA.
[ CHAPTER XI. ] THE BALLOON IN THE SERVICE OF SCIENCE.
[ CHAPTER XII. ] HENRY COXWELL AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES.
[ CHAPTER XIII. ] SOME NOTEWORTHY ASCENTS.
[ CHAPTER XIV. ] THE HIGHEST ASCENT ON RECORD.
[ CHAPTER XV. ] FURTHER SCIENTIFIC VOYAGES OF GLAISHER AND COXWELL.
[ CHAPTER XVI. ] SOME FAMOUS FRENCH AERONAUTS.
[ CHAPTER XVII. ] ADVENTURE AND ENTERPRISE.
[ CHAPTER XVIII. ] THE BALLOON IN THE SIEGE OF PARIS.
[ CHAPTER XIX. ] THE TRAGEDY OF THE ZENITH—THE NAVIGABLE BALLOON
[ CHAPTER XX. ] A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
[ CHAPTER XXI. ] THE COMING OF THE FLYING MACHINE.
[ CHAPTER XXII. ] THE STORY OF THE SPENCERS.
[ CHAPTER XXIII. ] NEW DEPARTURES IN AEROSTATION.
[ CHAPTER XXIV. ] ANDREE AND HIS VOYAGES
[ CHAPTER XXV. ] THE MODERN AIRSHIP—IN SEARCH OF THE LEONIDS.
[ CHAPTER XXVI. ] RECENT AERONAUTICAL EVENTS.
[ CHAPTER XXVII. ] THE POSSIBILITIES OF BALLOONS IN WARFARE.
[ CHAPTER XXVIII. ] THE CONSTITUTION OF THE AIR.
[ CHAPTER XXIX. ] CONCLUSION.
CHAPTER I. THE DAWN OF AERONAUTICS.
"He that would learn to fly must be brought up to the constant practice of it from his youth, trying first only to use his wings as a tame goose will do, so by degrees learning to rise higher till he attain unto skill and confidence."
So wrote Wilkins, Bishop of Chester, who was reckoned a man of genius and learning in the days of the Commonwealth. But so soon as we come to inquire into the matter we find that this good Bishop was borrowing from the ideas of others who had gone before him; and, look back as far as we will, mankind is discovered to have entertained persistent and often plausible ideas of human flight. And those ideas had in some sort of way, for good or ill, taken practical shape. Thus, as long ago as the days when Xenophon was leading back his warriors to the shores of the Black Sea, and ere the Gauls had first burned Rome, there was a philosopher, Archytas, who invented a pigeon which could fly, partly by means of mechanism, and partly also, it is said, by aid of an aura or spirit. And here arises a question. Was this aura a gas, or did men use it as spiritualists do today, as merely a word to conjure with?
Four centuries later, in the days of Nero, there was a man in Rome who flew so well and high as to lose his life thereby. Here, at any rate, was an honest man, or the story would not have ended thus; but of the rest—and there are many who in early ages aspired to the attainment of flight—we have no more reason to credit their claims than those of charlatans who flourish in every age.
In medieval times we are seriously told by a saintly writer (St. Remigius) of folks who created clouds which rose to heaven by means of "an earthen pot in which a little imp had been enclosed." We need no more. That was an age of flying saints, as also of flying dragons. Flying in those days of yore may have been real enough to the multitude, but it was at best delusion. In the good old times it did not need the genius of a Maskelyne to do a "levitation" trick. We can picture the scene at a "flying seance." On the one side the decidedly professional showman possessed of sufficient low cunning; on the other the ignorant and highly superstitious audience, eager to hear or see some new thing—the same audience that, deceived by a simple trick of schoolboy science, would listen to supernatural voices in their groves, or oracular utterances in their temples, or watch the urns of Bacchus fill themselves with wine. Surely for their eyes it would need no more than the simplest phantasmagoria, or maybe only a little black thread, to make a pigeon rise and fly.
It is interesting to note, however, that in the case last cited there is unquestionably an allusion to some crude form of firework, and what more likely or better calculated to impress the ignorant! Our firework makers still manufacture a "little Devil." Pyrotechnic is as old as history itself; we have an excellent description of a rocket in a document at least as ancient as the ninth century. And that a species of pyrotechny was resorted to by those who sought to imitate flight we have proof in the following recipe for a flying body given by a Doctor, eke a Friar, in Paris in the days of our King John:—
"Take one pound of sulphur, two pounds of willowcarbon, six pounds of rock salt ground very fine in a marble mortar. Place, when you please, in a covering made of flying papyrus to produce thunder. The covering in order to ascend and float away should be long, graceful, well filled with this fine powder; but to produce thunder the covering should be short, thick, and half full."
Nor does this recipe stand alone. Take another sample, of which chapter and verse are to be found in the MSS. of a Jesuit, Gaspard Schott, of Palermo and Rome, born three hundred years ago:—
"The shells of hen-eggs, if properly filled and well secured against the penetration of the air, and exposed to solar rays, will ascend to the skies and sometimes suffer a natural change. And if the eggs of the larger description of swans, or leather balls stitched with fine thongs, be filled with nitre, the purest sulphur quicksilver, or kindred materials which rarify by their caloric energy, and if they externally resemble pigeons, they will easily be mistaken for flying animals."
Thus it would seem that, hunting back in history, there were three main ideas on which would-be aeronauts of old exercised their ingenuity. There was the last-mentioned method, which, by the way, Jules Verne partly relies on when he takes his heroes to the moon, and which in its highest practical development may be seen annually on the night of "Brock's Benefit" at the Crystal Palace. There is, again, the "tame goose" method, to which we must return presently; and, lastly, there is a third method, to which, as also to the brilliant genius who conceived it, we must without further delay be introduced. This may be called the method of "a hollow globe."
Roger Bacon, Melchisedeck-fashion, came into existence at Ilchester in 1214 of parentage that is hard to trace. He was, however, a born philosopher, and possessed of intellect and penetration that placed him incalculably ahead of his generation. A man of marvellous insight and research, he grasped, and as far as possible carried out, ideas which dawned on other men only after centuries. Thus, many of his utterances have been prophetic. It is probable that among his chemical discoveries he re-invented gunpowder. It is certain that he divined the properties of a lens, and diving deep into experimental and mechanical sciences, actually foresaw the time when, in his own words, "men would construct engines to traverse land and water with great speed and carry with them persons and merchandise." Clearly in his dreams Bacon saw the Atlantic not merely explored, but on its bosom the White Star liners breaking records, contemptuous of its angriest seas. He saw, too, a future Dumont circling in the air, and not only in a dead calm, but holding his own with the feathered race. He tells his dream thus: "There may be made some flying instrument so that a man sitting in the middle of the instrument and turning some mechanism may put in motion some artificial wings which may beat the air like a bird flying."
But he lived too long before his time. His ruin lay not only in his superior genius, but also in his fearless outspokenness. He presently fell under the ban of the Church, through which he lost alike his liberty and the means of pursuing investigation. Had it been otherwise we may fairly believe that the "admirable Doctor," as he was called, would have been the first to show mankind how to navigate the air. His ideas are perfectly easy to grasp. He conceived that the air was a true fluid, and as such must have an upper limit, and it would be on this upper surface, he supposed, as on the bosom of the ocean, that man would sail his air-ship. A fine, bold guess truly. He would watch the cirrus clouds sailing grandly ten miles above him on some stream that never approached nearer. Up there, in his imagination, would be tossing the waves of our ocean of air. Wait for some little better cylinders of oxygen and an improved foot-warmer, and a future Coxwell will go aloft and see; but as to an upper sea, it is truly there, and we may visit and view its sun-lit tossing billows stretching out to a limitless horizon at such times as the nether world is shrouded in densest gloom. Bacon's method of reaching such an upper sea as he postulated was, as we have said, by a hollow globe.
"The machine must be a large hollow globe, of copper or other suitable metal, wrought extremely thin so as to have it as light as possible," and "it must be filled with ethereal air or liquid fire." This was written in the thirteenth century, and it is scarcely edifying to find four hundred years after this the Jesuit Father Lana, who contrived to make his name live in history as a theoriser in aeronautics, arrogating to himself the bold conception of the English Friar, with certain unfortunate differences, however, which in fairness we must here clearly point out. Lana proclaimed his speculations standing on a giant's shoulders. Torricelli, with his closed bent tube, had just shown the world how heavily the air lies above us. It then required little mathematical skill to calculate what would be the lifting power of any vessel void of air on the earth's surface. Thus Lana proposed the construction of an air ship which possibly because of its picturesquesness has won him notoriety. But it was a fraud. We have but to conceive a dainty boat in which the aeronaut would sit at ease handling a little rudder and a simple sail. These, though a schoolboy would have known better, he thought would guide his vessel when in the air.
So much has been claimed for Father Lana and his mathematical and other attainments that it seems only right to insist on the weakness of his reasoning. An air ship simply drifting with the wind is incapable of altering its course in the slightest degree by either sail or rudder. It is simply like a log borne along in a torrent; but to compare such a log properly with the air ship we must conceive it WHOLLY submerged in the water and having no sail or other appendage projecting into the air, which would, of course, introduce other conditions. If, however, a man were to sit astride of the log and begin to propel it so that it travels either faster or slower than the stream, then in that case, either by paddle or rudder, the log could be guided, and the same might be said of Lana's air boat if only he had thought of some adequate paddle, fan, or other propeller. But he did not. One further explanatory sentence may here be needed; for we hear of balloons which are capable of being guided to a small extent by sail and rudder. In these cases, however, the rudder is a guide rope trailing on earth or sea, so introducing a fresh element and fresh conditions which are easy to explain.
Suppose a free balloon drifting down the wind to have a sail suddenly hoisted on one side, what happens? The balloon will simply swing till this sail is in front, and thus continue its straightforward course. Suppose, however, that as soon as the side sail is hoisted a trail rope is also dropped aft from a spar in the rigging. The tendency of the sail to fly round in front is now checked by the dragging rope, and it is constrained to remain slanting at an angle on one side; at the same time the rate of the balloon is reduced by the dragging rope, so that it travels slower than the wind, which, now acting on its slant sail, imparts a certain sidelong motion much as it does in the case of a sailing boat.
Lana having in imagination built his ship, proceeds to make it float up into space, for which purpose he proposes four thin copper globes exhausted of air. Had this last been his own idea we might have pardoned him. We have, however, pointed out that it was not, and we must further point out that in copying his great predecessor he fails to see that he would lose enormous advantage by using four globes instead of one. But, beyond all, he failed to see what the master genius of Bacon saw clearly—that his thin globes when exhausted must infallibly collapse by virtue of that very pressure of the air which he sought to make use of.
It cannot be too strongly insisted on that if the too much belauded speculations of Lana have any value at all it is that they throw into stronger contrast the wonderful insight of the philosopher who so long preceded him. By sheer genius Bacon had foreseen that the emptied globe must be filled with SOMETHING, and for this something he suggests "ethereal air" or "liquid fire," neither of which, we contend, were empty terms. With Bacon's knowledge of experimental chemistry it is a question, and a most interesting one, whether he had not in his mind those two actual principles respectively of gas and air rarefied by heat on which we launch our balloons into space to-day.
Early progress in any art or science is commonly intermittent. It was so in the story of aeronautics. Advance was like that of the incoming tide, throwing an occasional wave far in front of its rising flood. It was a phenomenal wave that bore Roger Bacon and left his mark on the sand where none other approached for centuries. In those centuries men were either too priest-ridden to lend an ear to Science, or, like children, followed only the Will-o'-the-Wisp floating above the quagmire which held them fast. They ran after the stone that was to turn all to gold, or the elixir that should conquer death, or the signs in the heavens that should foretell their destinies; and the taint of this may be traced even when the dark period that followed was clearing away. Four hundred years after Roger's death, his illustrious namesake, Francis Bacon, was formulating his Inductive Philosophy, and with complete cock-sureness was teaching mankind all about everything. Let us look at some of his utterances which may help to throw light on the way he regarded the problem we are dealing with.
"It is reported," Francis Bacon writes, "that the Leucacians in ancient time did use to precipitate a man from a high cliffe into the sea; tying about him, with strings, at some distance, many great fowles; and fixing unto his body divers feathers, spread, to breake the fall. Certainly many birds of good wing (as Kites and the like) would beare up a good weight as they flie. And spreading of feathers, thin and close, and in great breadth, will likewise beare up a great weight, being even laid without tilting upon the sides. The further extension of this experiment of flying may be thought upon."
To say the least, this is hardly mechanical. But let us next follow the philosopher into the domain of Physics. Referring to a strange assertion, that "salt water will dissolve salt put into it in less time than fresh water will dissolve it," he is at once ready with an explanation to fit the case. "The salt," he says, "in the precedent water doth by similitude of substance draw the salt new put in unto it." Again, in his finding, well water is warmer in winter than summer, and "the cause is the subterranean heat which shut close in (as in winter) is the more, but if it perspire (as it doth in summer) it is the less." This was Bacon the Lord. What a falling off—from the experimentalist's point of view—from Bacon the Friar! We can fancy him watching a falcon poised motionless in the sky, and reflecting on that problem which to this day fairly puzzles our ablest scientists, settling the matter in a sentence: "The cause is that feathers doe possess upward attractions." During four hundred years preceding Lord Verulam philosophers would have flown by aid of a broomstick. Bacon himself would have merely parried the problem with a platitude!
At any rate, physicists, even in the brilliant seventeenth century, made no material progress towards the navigation of the air, and thus presently let the simple mechanic step in before them. Ere that century had closed something in the nature of flight had been accomplished. It is exceedingly hard to arrive at actual fact, but it seems pretty clear that more than one individual, by starting from some eminence, could let himself fall into space and waft himself away for some distance with fair success and safety, It is stated that an English Monk, Elmerus, flew the space of a furlong from a tower in Spain, a feat of the same kind having been accomplished by another adventurer from the top of St. Mark's at Venice.
In these attempts it would seem that the principle of the parachute was to some extent at least brought into play. If also circumstantial accounts can be credited, it would appear that a working model of a flying machine was publicly exhibited by one John Muller before the Emperor Charles V. at Nuremberg. Whatever exaggeration or embellishment history may be guilty of it is pretty clear that some genuine attempts of a practical and not unsuccessful nature had been made here and there, and these prompted the flowery and visionary Bishop Wilkins already quoted to predict confidently that the day was approaching when it "would be as common for a man to call for his wings as for boots and spurs."
We have now to return to the "tame goose" method, which found its best and boldest exponent in a humble craftsman, by name Besnier, living at Sable, about the year 1678. This mechanical genius was by trade a locksmith, and must have been possessed of sufficient skill to construct an efficient apparatus out of such materials as came to his hand, of the simplest possible design. It may be compared to the earliest type of bicycle, the ancient "bone shaker," now almost forgotten save by those who, like the writer, had experience of it on its first appearance. Besnier's wings, as it would appear, were essentially a pair of double-bladed paddles and nothing more, roughly resembling the double-paddle of an old-fashioned canoe, only the blades were large, roughly rectangular, and curved or hollowed. The operator would commence by standing erect and balancing these paddles, one on each shoulder, so that the hollows of the blades should be towards the ground. The forward part of each paddle was then grasped by the hands, while the hinder part of each was connected to the corresponding leg. This, presumably, would be effected after the arms had been raised vertically, the leg attachment being contrived in some way which experience would dictate.
The flyer was now fully equipped, and nothing remained for him save to mount some eminence and, throwing himself forward into space and assuming the position of a flying bird, to commence flapping and beating the air with a reciprocal motion. First, he would buffet the air downwards with the left arm and right leg simultaneously, and while these recovered their position would strike with the right hand and left leg, and so on alternately. With this crude method the enterprising inventor succeeded in raising himself by short stages from one height to another, reaching thus the top of a house, whence he could pass over others, or cross a river or the like.
The perfecting of his system became then simply a question of practice and experience, and had young athletes only been trained from early years to the new art it seems reasonable to suppose that some crude approach to human flight would have been effected. Modifications and improvements in construction would soon have suggested themselves, as was the case with the bicycle, which in its latest developments can scarcely be recognised as springing from the primitive "bone-shaker" of thirty-three years ago. We would suggest the idea to the modern inventor. He will in these days, of course, find lighter materials to hand. Then he will adopt some link motion for the legs in place of leather thongs, and will hinge the paddle blades so that they open out with the forward stroke, but collapse with the return. Then look on another thirty-three years—a fresh generation—and our youth of both sexes may find a popular recreation in graceful aerial exercise. The pace is not likely to be excessive, and molestations from disguised policemen—not physically adapted, by the way, to rapid flight—need not be apprehended.
One of the best tests of Besnier's measure of success is supplied by the fact that he had pupils as well as imitators. First on this list must be mentioned a Mr. Baldwin, a name which, curiously enough, twice over in modern times comes into the records of bold aerial exploits. This individual, it appears, purchased a flying outfit of Besnier himself, and surpassed his master in achievement. A little later one Dante contrived some modification of the same apparatus, with which he pursued the new mode of progress till he met with a fractured thigh.
But whatever the imitators of Besnier may have accomplished, to the honest smith must be accorded the full credit of their success, and with his simple, but brilliant, record left at flood mark, the tide of progress ebbed back again, while mankind ruminated over the great problem in apparent inactivity. But not for long. The air-pump about this period was given to the world, and chemists were already busy investigating the nature of gases. Cavallo was experimenting on kindred lines, while in our own land the rival geniuses of Priestley and Cavendish were clearing the way to make with respect to the atmosphere the most important discovery yet dreamed of. In recording this dawn of a new era, however, we should certainly not forget how, across the Atlantic, had arisen a Rumford and a Franklin, whose labours were destined to throw an all-important sidelight on the pages of progress which we have now to chronicle.
CHAPTER II. THE INVENTION OF THE BALLOON.
It was a November night of the year 1782, in the little town of Annonay, near Lyons. Two young men, Stephen and Joseph Montgolfier, the representatives of a firm of paper makers, were sitting together over their parlour fire. While watching the smoke curling up the chimney one propounded an idea by way of a sudden inspiration: "Why shouldn't smoke be made to raise bodies into the air?"
The world was waiting for this utterance, which, it would seem, was on the tip of the tongue with many others. Cavendish had already discovered what he designated "inflammable air," though no one had as yet given it its later title of hydrogen gas. Moreover, in treating of this gas—Dr. Black of Edinburgh, as much as fifteen years before the date we have now arrived at, had suggested that it should be made capable of raising a thin bladder in the air. With a shade more of good fortune, or maybe with a modicum more of leisure, the learned Doctor would have won the invention of the balloon for his own country. Cavallo came almost nearer, and actually putting the same idea into practice, had succeeded in the spring of 1782 in making soap bubbles blown with hydrogen gas float upwards. But he had accomplished no more when, as related, in the autumn of the same year the brothers Montgolfier conceived the notion of making bodies "levitate" by the simpler expedient of filling them with smoke.
This was the crude idea, the application of which in their hands was soon marked with notable success. Their own trade supplied ready and suitable materials for a first experiment, and, making an oblong bag of thin paper a few feet in length, they proceeded to introduce a cloud of smoke into it by holding crumpled paper kindled in a chafing dish beneath the open mouth. What a subject is there here for an imaginative painter! As the smoky cloud formed within, the bag distended itself, became buoyant, and presently floated to the ceiling. The simple trial proved a complete success, due, as it appeared to them, to the ascensive power of a cloud of smoke.
An interesting and more detailed version of the story is extant. While the experiment was in progress a neighbour, the widow of a tradesman who had been connected in business with the firm, seeing smoke escaping into the room, entered and stood watching the proceedings, which were not unattended with difficulties. The bag, half inflated, was not easy to hold in position over the chafing dish, and rapidly cooled and collapsed on being removed from it. The widow noting this, as also the perplexity of the young men, suggested that they should try the result of tying the dish on at the bottom of the bag. This was the one thing wanted to secure success, and that good lady, whose very name is unhappily lost, deserves an honoured place in history. It was unquestionably the adoption of her idea which launched the first balloon into space.
The same experiment repeated in the open air proving a yet more pronounced success, more elaborate trials were quickly developed, and the infant balloon grew fast. One worthy of the name, spherical in shape and of some 600 cubic feet capacity, was now made and treated as before, with the result that ere it was fully inflated it broke the strings that held it and sailed away hundreds of feet into the air. The infant was fast becoming a prodigy. Encouraged by their fresh success, the inventors at once set about preparations for the construction of a much larger balloon some thirty-five feet diameter (that is, of about 23,000 cubic feet capacity), to be made of linen lined with paper and this machine, launched on a favourable day in the following spring, rose with great swiftness to fully a thousand feet, and travelled nearly a mile from its starting ground.
Enough; the time was already ripe for a public demonstration of the new invention, and accordingly the 5th of the following June witnessed the ascent of the same balloon with due ceremony and advertisement. Special pains were taken with the inflation, which was conducted over a pit above which the balloon envelope was slung; and in accordance with the view that smoke was the chief lifting power, the fuel was composed of straw largely mixed with wool. It is recorded that the management of the furnace needed the attention of two men only, while eight men could hardly hold the impatient balloon in restraint. The inflation, in spite of the fact that the fuel chosen was scarcely the best for the purpose, was conducted remarkable expedition, and on being released, the craft travelled one and a half miles into the air, attaining a height estimated at over 6,000 feet.
From this time the tide of events in the aeronautical world rolls on in full flood, almost every half-year marking a fresh epoch, until a new departure in the infant art of ballooning was already on the point of being reached. It had been erroneously supposed that the ascent of the Montgolfier balloon had been due, not to the rarefaction of the air within it—which was its true cause—but to the evolution of some light gas disengaged by the nature of the fuel used. It followed, therefore, almost as a matter of course, that chemists, who, as stated in the last chapter, were already acquainted with so-called "inflammable air," or hydrogen gas, grasped the fact that this gas would serve better than any other for the purposes of a balloon. And no sooner had the news of the Montgolfiers' success reached Paris than a subscription was raised, and M. Charles, Professor of Experimental Philosophy, was appointed, with the assistance of M. Roberts, to superintend the construction of a suitable balloon and its inflation by the proposed new method.
The task was one of considerable difficulty, owing partly to the necessity of procuring some material which would prevent the escape of the lightest and most subtle gas known, and no less by reason of the difficulty of preparing under pressure a sufficient quantity of gas itself. The experiment, sound enough in theory, was eventually carried through after several instructive failures. A suitable material was found in "lustring," a glossy silk cloth varnished with a solution of caoutchouc, and this being formed into a balloon only thirteen feet in diameter and fitted without other aperture than a stopcock, was after several attempts filled with hydrogen gas prepared in the usual way by the action of dilute sulphuric acid on scrap iron.
The preparations completed, one last and all-important mistake was made by closing the stop-cock before the balloon was dismissed, the disastrous and unavoidable result of this being at the time overlooked.
On August 25, 1783, the balloon was liberated on the Champ de Mars before an enormous concourse, and in less than two minutes had reached an elevation of half a mile, when it was temporarily lost in cloud, through which, however, it penetrated, climbing into yet higher cloud, when, disappearing from sight, it presently burst and descended to earth after remaining in the air some three-quarters of an hour.
The bursting of this little craft taught the future balloonist his first great lesson, namely, that on leaving earth he must open the neck of his balloon; and the reason of this is obvious. While yet on earth the imprisoned gas of a properly filled balloon distends the silk by virtue of its expansive force, and in spite of the enormous outside pressure which the weight of air exerts upon it. Then, as the balloon rises high in the air and the outside pressure grows less, the struggling gas within, if allowed no vent, stretches the balloon more and more until the slender fabric bursts under the strain.
At the risk of being tedious, we have dwelt at some length on the initial experiments which in less than a single year had led to the discovery and development of two distinct methods—still employed and in competition with each other—of dismissing balloons into the heavens. We are now prepared to enter fully into the romantic history of our subject which from this point rapidly unfolds itself.
Some eleven months only after the two Montgolfiers were discovered toying with their inflated paper bag, the younger of the two brothers was engaged to make an exhibition of his new art before the King at Versailles, and this was destined to be the first occasion when a balloon was to carry a living freight into the sky. The stately structure, which was gorgeously decorated, towered some seventy feet into the air, and was furnished with a wicker car in which the passengers were duly installed. These were three in number, a sheep, a cock, and a duck, and amid the acclamations of the multitude, rose a few hundred feet and descended half a mile away. The cock was found to have sustained an unexplained mishap: its leg was broken; but the sheep was feeding complacently, and the duck was quacking with much apparent satisfaction.
Now, who among mortals will come forward and win the honour of being the first to sail the skies? M. Pilitre de Rozier at once volunteered, and by the month of November a new air ship was built, 74 feet high, 48 feet in largest diameter, and 15 feet across the neck, outside which a wicker gallery was constructed, while an iron brazier was slung below all. But to trim the boat properly two passengers were needed, and de Rozier found a ready colleague in the Marquis d'Arlandes. By way of precaution, de Rozier made a few preliminary ascents with the balloon held captive, and then the two intrepid Frenchmen took their stand on opposite sides of the gallery, each furnished with bundles of fuel to feed the furnace, each also carrying a large wet sponge with which to extinguish the flames whenever the machine might catch fire. On casting off the balloon rose readily, and reaching 3,000 feet, drifted away on an upper current.
The rest of the narrative, much condensed from a letter of the Marquis, written a week later, runs somewhat thus: "Our departure was at fifty-four minutes past one, and occasioned little stir among the spectators. Thinking they might be frightened and stand in need of encouragement, I waved my arm. M. de Rozier cried, 'You are doing nothing, and we are not rising!' I stirred the fire, and then began to scan the river, but Pilitre cried again, 'See the river; we are dropping into it!' We again urged the fire, but still clung to the river bed. Presently I heard a noise in the upper part of the balloon, which gave a shock as though it had burst. I called to my companion, 'Are you dancing?' The balloon by now had many holes burned in it, and using my sponge I cried that we must descend. My companion, however, explained that we were over Paris, and must now cross it. Therefore, raising the fire once more, we turned south till we passed the Luxemburg, when, extinguishing the flame, the balloon came down spent and empty."
Daring as was this ascent, it was in achievement eclipsed two months later at Lyons, when a mammoth balloon, 130 feet in height and lifting 18 tons, was inflated in seventeen minutes, and ascended with no less than seven passengers. When more than half a mile aloft this machine, which was made of too slender material for its huge size, suddenly developed a rent of half its length, causing it to descend with immense velocity; but without the smallest injury to any of the passengers. This was a memorable performance, and the account, sensational as it may read, is by no means unworthy of credit; for, as will be seen hereafter, a balloon even when burst or badly torn in midair may, on the principle of the parachute, effect its own salvation.
In the meanwhile, the rival balloon of hydrogen gas—the Charliere, as it has been called—had had its first innings. Before the close of the year MM. Roberts and Charles constructed and inflated a hydrogen balloon, this time fitted with a practicable valve, and in partnership accomplished an ascent beating all previous records. The day, December 17, was one of winter temperature; yet the aeronauts quickly reached 6,000 feet, and when, after remaining aloft for one and a half hours, they descended, Roberts got out, leaving Charles in sole possession. Left to himself, this young recruit seems to have met with experiences which are certainly unusual, and which must be attributed largely to the novelty of his situation. He declared that at 9,000 feet, or less than two miles, all objects on the earth had disappeared from view, a statement which can only be taken to mean that he had entered cloud. Further, at this moderate elevation he not only became benumbed with cold, but felt severe pain in his right ear and jaw. He held on, however, ascending till 10,500 feet were reached, when he descended, having made a journey of thirty miles from the start.
Ascents, all on the Continent, now followed one another in rapid succession, and shortly the MM. Roberts essayed a venture on new lines. They attempted the guidance of a balloon by means of oars, and though they failed in this they were fortunate in making a fresh record. They also encountered a thunderstorm, and by adopting a perfectly scientific method—of which more hereafter—succeeded in eluding it. The storm broke around them when they were 14,000 feet high, and at this altitude, noting that there were diverse currents aloft, they managed to manoeuvre their balloon higher or lower at will and to suit their purpose, and by this stratagem drew away from the storm centre. After six and a half hours their voyage ended, but not until 150 miles had been covered.
It must be freely granted that prodigious progress had been made in an art that as yet was little more than a year old; but assuredly not enough to justify the absurdly inflated ideas that the Continental public now began to indulge in. Men lost their mental balance, allowing their imagination to run riot, and speculation became extravagant in the extreme. There was to be no limit henceforward to the attainment of fresh knowledge, nor any bounds placed to where man might roam. The universe was open to him: he might voyage if he willed to the moon or elsewhere: Paris was to be the starting point for other worlds: Heaven itself had been taken by storm.
Moderation had to be learned ere long by the discipline of more than one stern lesson. Hitherto a marvellous—call it a Providential—good fortune had attended the first aerial travellers; and even when mishaps presently came to be reckoned with, it may fairly be questioned whether so many lives were sacrificed among those who sought to voyage through the sky as were lost among such as first attempted to navigate the sea.
It is in such ventures as we are now regarding that fortune seems readiest to favour the daring, and if I may digress briefly to adduce experiences coming within my own knowledge, I would say that it is to his very impulsiveness that the enthusiast often owes the safety of his neck. It is the timid, not the bold rider, that comes to grief at the fence. It is the man who draws back who is knocked over by a tramcar. Sheer impetus, moral or physical, often carries you through, as in the case of a fall from horse-back. To tumble off when your horse is standing still and receive a dead blow from the ground might easily break a limb. But at full gallop immunity often lies in the fact that you strike the earth at an angle, and being carried forward, impact is less abrupt. I can only say that I have on more than one occasion found the greatest safety in a balloon venture involving the element of risk to lie in complete abandonment to circumstances, and in the increased life and activity which the delirium of excitement calls forth. In comparing, however, man's first ventures by sky with those by sea, we must remember what far greater demand the former must have made upon the spirit of enterprise and daring.
We can picture the earliest sea voyager taking his first lesson astride of a log with one foot on the bottom, and thus proceeding by sure stages till he had built his coracle and learned to paddle it in shoal water. But the case was wholly different when the first frail air ship stood at her moorings with straining gear and fiercely burning furnace, and when the sky sailor knew that no course was left him but to dive boldly up into an element whence there was no stepping back, and separated from earth by a gulf which man instinctively dreads to look down upon.
Taking events in their due sequence, we have now to record a voyage which the terrors of sky and sea together combined to make memorable. Winter had come—early January of 1785—when, in spite of short dark days and frosty air, M. Blanchard, accompanied by an American, Dr. Jeffries, determined on an attempt to cross the Channel. They chose the English side, and inflating their balloon with hydrogen at Dover, boldly cast off, and immediately drifted out to sea. Probably they had not paid due thought to the effect of low sun and chilly atmosphere, for their balloon rose sluggishly and began settling down ere little more than a quarter of their course was run. Thereupon they parted with a large portion of their ballast, with the result that they crept on as far as mid-Channel, when they began descending again, and cast out the residue of their sand, together with some books, and this, too, with the uncomfortable feeling that even these measures would not suffice to secure their safety.
This was in reality the first time that a sea passage had been made by sky, and the gravity of their situation must not be under-estimated. We are so accustomed in a sea passage to the constant passing of other vessels that we allow ourselves to imagine that a frequented portion of the ocean, such as the Channel, is thickly dotted over with shipping of some sort. But in entertaining this idea we are forgetful of the fact that we are all the while on a steamer track. The truth, however, is that anywhere outside such a track, even from the commanding point of view of a high-flying balloon, the ocean is seen to be more vast than we suppose, and bears exceedingly little but the restless waves upon its surface. Once fairly in the water with a fallen balloon, there is clearly no rising again, and the life of the balloon in this its wrong element is not likely to be a long one. The globe of gas may under favourable circumstances continue to float for some while, but the open wicker car is the worst possible boat for the luckless voyagers, while to leave it and cling to the rigging is but a forlorn hope, owing to the mass of netting which surrounds the silk, and which would prove a death-trap in the water. There are many instances of lives having been lost in such a dilemma, even when help was near at hand.
Our voyagers, whom we left in mid-air and stream, were soon descending again, and this time they threw out their tackle—anchor, ropes, and other gear, still without adequately mending matters. Then their case grew desperate. The French coast was, indeed, well in sight, but there seemed but slender chance of reaching it, when they began divesting themselves of clothing as a last resort. The upshot of this was remarkable, and deserves a moment's consideration. When a balloon has been lightened almost to the utmost the discharge of a small weight sometimes has a magical effect, as is not difficult to understand. Throwing out ten pounds at an early stage, when there may be five hundred pounds more of superfluous weight, will tell but little, but when those five hundred pounds are expended then an extra ten pounds scraped together from somewhere and cast overboard may cause a balloon to make a giant stride into space by way of final effort; and it was so with M. Blanchard. His expiring balloon shot up and over the approaching land, and came safely to earth near the Forest of Guiennes. A magnificent feast was held at Calais to celebrate the above event. M. Blanchard was presented with the freedom of the city in a gold box, and application was made to the Ministry to have the balloon purchased and deposited as a memorial in the church. On the testimony of the grandson of Dr. Jeffries the car of this balloon is now in the museum of the same city.
A very noteworthy example of how a balloon may be made to take a fresh lease of life is supplied by a voyage of M. Testu about this date, which must find brief mention in these pages. In one aspect it is laughable, in another it is sublime. From every point of view it is romantic.
It was four o'clock on a threatening day in June when the solitary aeronaut took flight from Paris in a small hydrogen balloon only partially filled, but rigged with some contrivance of wings which were designed to render it self-propelling. Discovering, however, that this device was inoperative, M. Testu, after about an hour and a half, allowed the balloon to descend to earth in a corn field, when, without quitting hold of the car, he commenced collecting stones for ballast. But as yet he knew not the ways of churlish proprietors of land, and in consequence was presently surprised by a troublesome crowd, who proceeded, as they supposed, to take him prisoner till he should pay heavy compensation, dragging him off to the nearest village by the trail rope of his balloon.
M. Testu now had leisure to consider his situation, and presently hit on a stratagem the like of which has often since been adopted by aeronauts in like predicament. Representing to his captors that without his wings he would be powerless, he suffered them to remove these weighty appendages, when also dropping a heavy cloak, he suddenly cut the cord by which he was being dragged, and, regaining freedom, soared away into the sky. He was quickly high aloft, and heard thunder below him, soon after which, the chill of evening beginning to bring him earthward, he descried a hunt in full cry, and succeeded in coming down near the huntsmen, some of whom galloped up to him, and for their benefit he ascended again, passing this time into dense cloud with thunder and lightning. He saw the sun go down and the lightning gather round, yet with admirable courage he lived the night out aloft till the storms were spent and the midsummer sun rose once more. With daylight restored, his journey ended at a spot over sixty miles from Paris.
We have, of course, recounted only a few of the more noteworthy early ballooning ventures. In reality there had up to the present time been scores of ascents made in different localities and in all conditions of wind and weather, yet not a life had been lost. We have now, however, to record a casualty which cost the first and boldest aeronaut his life, and which is all the more regrettable as being due to circumstances that should never have occurred.
M. Pilatre de Rosier, accompanied by M. Romain, determined on crossing the Channel from the French side; and, thinking to add to their buoyancy and avoid the risk of falling in the sea, hit on the extraordinary idea of using a fire balloon beneath another filled with hydrogen gas! With this deadly compound machine they actually ascended from Boulogne, and had not left the land when the inevitable catastrophe took place.
The balloons caught fire and blew up at a height of 3,000 feet, while the unfortunate voyagers were dashed to atoms.
CHAPTER III. THE FIRST BALLOON ASCENT IN ENGLAND.
As may be supposed, it was not long before the balloon was introduced into England. Indeed, the first successful ascent on record made in our own country took place in the summer of 1784, ten months previous to the fatal venture narrated at the close of the last chapter. Now, it is a remarkable and equally regrettable circumstance that though the first ascent on British soil was undoubtedly made by one of our own countrymen, the fact is almost universally forgotten, or ignored, and the credit is accorded to a foreigner.
Let us in strict honesty examine into the case. Vincent Lunardi, an Italian, Secretary to the Neapolitan Ambassador, Prince Caramanico, being in England in the year 1784, determined on organising and personally executing an ascent from London; and his splendid enterprise, which was presently carried to a successful issue, will form the principal subject of the present chapter. It will be seen that remarkable success crowned his efforts, and that his first and ever memorable voyage was carried through on September 15th of that year.
More than a month previously, however, attention had been called to the fact that a Mr. Tytler was preparing to make an ascent from Edinburgh in a hot air balloon, and in the London Chronicle of August 27th occurs the following circumstantial and remarkable letter from a correspondent to that journal:
"Edinburgh, Aug. 27, 1784.
"Mr. Tytler has made several improvements upon his fire balloon. The reason of its failure formerly was its being made of porous linen, through which the air made its escape. To remedy this defect, Mr. Tytler has got it covered with a varnish to retain the inflammable air after the balloon is filled.
"Early this morning this bold adventurer took his first aerial flight. The balloon being filled at Comely Garden, he seated himself in the basket, and the ropes being cut he ascended very high and descended quite gradually on the road to Restalrig, about half a mile from the place where he rose, to the great satisfaction of those spectators who were present. Mr. Tytler went up without the furnace this morning; when that is added he will be able to feed the balloon with inflammable air, and continue his aerial excursions as long as he chooses.
"Mr. Tytler is now in high spirits, and in his turn laughs at those infidels who ridiculed his scheme as visionary and impracticable. Mr. Tytler is the first person in Great Britain who has navigated the air."
Referring to this exploit, Tytler, in a laudatory epistle addressed to Lunardi, tells of the difficulties he had had to contend with, and artlessly reveals the cool, confident courage he must have displayed. No shelter being available for the inflation, and a strong wind blowing, his first misfortune was the setting fire to his wicker gallery. The next was the capsizing and damaging of his balloon, which he had lined with paper. He now substituted a coat of varnish for the paper, and his gallery being destroyed, so that he could no longer attempt to take up a stove, he resolved to ascend without one. In the end the balloon was successfully inflated, when he had the hardihood to entrust himself to a small basket (used for carrying earthenware) slung below, and thus to launch himself into the sky. He did so under the conviction that the risk he ran was greater than it really was, for he argued that his craft was now only like a projectile, and "must undoubtedly come to the ground with the same velocity with which it ascended." On this occasion the crowd tried for some time to hold him near the ground by one of the restraining ropes, so that his flight was curtailed. In a second experiment, however, he succeeded in rising some hundreds of feet, and came to earth without mishap.
But little further information respecting Mr. Tytler is apparently forthcoming, and therefore beyond recording the fact that he was the first British aeronaut, and also that he was the first to achieve a balloon ascent in Great Britain, we are unable to make further mention of him in this history.
Of his illustrious contemporary already mentioned there is, on the contrary, much to record, and we would desire to give full credit to his admirable courage and perseverance. It was with a certain national and pardonable pride that the young Italian planned his bold exploit, feeling with a sense of self-satisfaction, which he is at no pains to hide, that he aimed at winning honour for his country as well as for himself. In a letter which he wrote to his guardian, Chevalier Gherardo Compagni, he alludes to the stolid indifference of the English people and philosophers to the brilliant achievements in aeronautics which had been made and so much belauded on the Continent. He proclaims the rivalry as regards science and art existing between France and England, attributing to the latter an attitude of sullen jealousy. At the same time he is fully alive to the necessity of gaining English patronage, and sets about securing this with tactful diplomacy. First he casts about for a suitable spot where his enterprise would not fail to enlist general attention and perhaps powerful patrons, and here he is struck by the attractions and facilities offered by Chelsea Hospital. He therefore applies to Sir George Howard, the Governor, asking for the use of the famous hospital, to which, on the occasion of his experiments, he desires that admittance should only be granted to subscribers, while any profits should be devoted to the pensioners of the hospital. His application having been granted, he assures his guardian that he "still maintains his mental balance, and his sleep is not banished by the magnitude of his enterprise, which is destined to lead him through the path of danger to glory."
This letter was dated the 15th of July, and by the beginning of August his advertisement was already before the public, inviting subscribers and announcing a private view of his balloon at the Lyceum, where it was in course of construction, and was being fitted with contrivances of his own in the shape of oars and sails. He had by this time not only enlisted the interest of Sir George Howard, and of Sir Joseph Banks, but had secured the direct patronage of the King.
But within a fortnight a most unforeseen mishap had occurred, which threatened to overwhelm Lunardi in disappointment and ruin. A Frenchman of the name of Moret, designing to turn to his own advertisement the attention attracted by Lunardi's approaching trials, attempted to forestall the event by an enterprise of his own, announcing that he would make an ascent with a hot air balloon in some gardens near Chelsea Hospital, and at a date previous to that fixed upon by Lunardi. In attempting, however, to carry out this unworthy project the adventurer met with the discomfiture he deserved. He failed to effect his inflation, and when after fruitless attempts continued for three hours, his balloon refused to rise, a large crowd, estimated at 60,000, assembled outside, broke into the enclosure, committing havoc on all sides, not unattended with acts of violence and robbery.
The whole neighbourhood became alarmed, and it followed as a matter of course that Lunardi was peremptorily ordered to discontinue his preparations, and to announce in the public press that his ascent from Chelsea Hospital was forbidden. Failure and ruin now stared the young enthusiast in the face, and it was simply the generous feeling of the British public, and the desire to see fair play, that gave him another chance. As it was, he became the hero of the hour; thousands flocked to the show rooms at the Lyceum, and he shortly obtained fresh grounds, together with needful protection for his project, at the hands of the Hon. Artillery Company. By the 15th of September all incidental difficulties, the mere enumeration of which would unduly swell these pages, had been overcome by sheer persistence, and Lunardi stood in the enclosure allotted him, his preparations in due order, with 150,000 souls, who had formed for hours a dense mass of spectators, watching intently and now confidently the issue of his bold endeavour.
But his anxieties were as yet far from over, for a London crowd had never yet witnessed a balloon ascent, while but a month ago they had seen and wreaked their wrath upon the failure of an adventurer. They were not likely to be more tolerant now. And when the advertised hour for departure had arrived, and the balloon remained inadequately inflated, matters began to take a more serious turn. Half an hour later they approached a crisis, when it began to be known that the balloon still lacked buoyancy, and that the supply of gas was manifestly insufficient. The impatience of the mob indeed was kept in restraint by one man alone. This man was the Prince of Wales who, refusing to join the company within the building and careless of the attitude of the crowd, remained near the balloon to check disorder and unfair treatment.
But an hour after time the balloon still rested inert and then, with fine resolution, Lunardi tried one last expedient. He bade his colleague, Mr. Biggen, who was to have ascended with him, remain behind, and quietly substituting a smaller and lighter wicker car, or rather gallery, took his place within and severed the cords just as the last gun fired. The Prince of Wales raised his hat, imitated at once by all the bystanders, and the first balloon that ever quitted English soil rose into the air amid the extravagant enthusiasm of the multitude. The intrepid aeronaut, pardonably excited, and fearful lest he should not be seen within the gallery, made frantic efforts to attract attention by waving his flag, and worked his oars so vigorously that one of them broke and fell. A pigeon also gained its freedom and escaped. The voyager, however, still retained companions in his venture—a dog and a cat.
Following his own account, Lunardi's first act on finding himself fairly above the town was to fortify himself with some glasses of wine, and to devour the leg of a chicken. He describes the city as a vast beehive, St. Paul's and other churches standing out prominently; the streets shrunk to lines, and all humanity apparently transfixed and watching him. A little later he is equally struck with the view of the open country, and his ecstasy is pardonable in a novice. The verdant pastures eclipsed the visions of his own lands. The precision of boundaries impressed him with a sense of law and order, and of good administration in the country where he was a sojourner.
By this time he found his balloon, which had been only two-thirds full at starting, to be so distended that he was obliged to untie the mouth to release the strain. He also found that the condensed moisture round the neck had frozen. These two statements point to his having reached a considerable altitude, which is intelligible enough. It is, however, difficult to believe his further assertion that by the use of his single oar he succeeded in working himself down to within a few hundred feet of the earth. The descent of the balloon must, in point of fact, have been due to a copious outrush of gas at his former altitude. Had his oar really been effective in working the balloon down it would not have needed the discharge of ballast presently spoken of to cause it to reascend. Anyhow, he found himself sufficiently near the earth to land a passenger who was anxious to get out. His cat had not been comfortable in the cold upper regions, and now at its urgent appeal was deposited in a corn field, which was the point of first contact with the earth. It was carefully received by a country-woman, who promptly sold it to a gentleman on the other side of the hedge, who had been pursuing the balloon.
The first ascent of a balloon in England was deserving of some record, and an account alike circumstantial and picturesque is forthcoming. The novel and astonishing sight was witnessed by a Hertfordshire farmer, whose testimony, published by Lunardi in the same year, runs as follows:—
This deponent on his oath sayeth that, being on Wednesday, the 15th day of September instant, between the hours of three and four in the afternoon, in a certain field called Etna, in the parish of North Mimms aforesaid, he perceived a large machine sailing in the air, near the place where he was on horseback; that the machine continuing to approach the earth, the part of it in which this deponent perceived a gentleman standing came to the ground and dragged a short way on the ground in a slanting direction; that the time when this machine thus touched the earth was, as near as this deponent could judge, about a quarter before four in the afternoon. That this deponent being on horseback, and his horse restive, he could not approach nearer to the machine than about four poles, but that he could plainly perceive therein gentleman dressed in light coloured cloaths, holding in his hand a trumpet, which had the appearance of silver or bright tin. That by this time several harvest men coming up from the other part of the field, to the number of twelve men and thirteen women, this deponent called to them to endeavour to stop the machine, which the men attempted, but the gentleman in the machine desiring them to desist, and the machine moving with considerable rapidity, and clearing the earth, went off in a north direction and continued in sight at a very great height for near an hour afterwards. And this deponent further saith that the part of the machine in the which the gentleman stood did not actually touch the ground for more than half a minute, during which time the gentleman threw out a parcel of what appeared to this deponent as dry sand. That after the machine had ascended again from the earth this deponent perceived a grapple with four hooks, which hung from the bottom of the machine, dragging along the ground, which carried up with it into the air a small parcel of loose oats, which the women were raking in the field. And this deponent further on his oath sayeth that when the machine had risen clear from the ground about twenty yards the gentleman spoke to this deponent and to the rest of the people with his trumpet, wishing them goodbye and saying that he should soon go out of sight. And this deponent further on his oath sayeth that the machine in which the gentleman came down to earth appeared to consist of two distinct parts connected together by ropes, namely that in which the gentleman appeared to be, a stage boarded at the bottom, and covered with netting and ropes on the sides about four feet and a half high, and the other part of the machine appeared in the shape of an urn, about thirty feet high and of about the same diameter, made of canvas like oil skin, with green, red, and yellow stripes.
NATHANIEL WHITBREAD.
Sworn before me this twentieth day of September, 1784, WILLIAM BAKER.
It was a curious fact, pointed out to the brave Italian by a resident, that the field in which the temporary descent had been made was called indifferently Etna or Italy, "from the circumstance which attended the late enclosure of a large quantity of roots, rubbish, etc., having been collected there, and having continued burning for many days. The common people having heard of a burning mountain in Italy gave the field that name."
But the voyage did not end at Etna. The, as yet, inexperienced aeronaut now cast out all available ballast in the shape of sand, as also his provisions, and rising with great speed, soon reached a greater altitude than before, which he sought to still farther increase by throwing down his plates, knives, and forks. In this somewhat reckless expenditure he thought himself justified by the reliance he placed on his oar, and it is not surprising that in the end he owns that he owed his safety in his final descent to his good fortune. The narrative condensed concludes thus:—
"At twenty minutes past four I descended in a meadow near Ware. Some labourers were at work in it. I requested their assistance, but they exclaimed they would have nothing to do with one who came on the Devil's Horse, and no entreaties could prevail on them to approach me. I at last owed my deliverance to a young woman in the field who took hold of a cord I had thrown out, and, calling to the men, they yielded that assistance at her request which they had refused to mine."
As may be supposed, Lunardi's return to London resembled a royal progress. Indeed, he was welcomed as a conqueror to whom the whole town sought to do honour, and perhaps his greatest gratification came by way of the accounts he gathered of incidents which occurred during his eventful voyage. At a dinner at which he was being entertained by the Lord Mayor and judges he learned that a lady seeing his falling oar, and fancying that he himself was dashed to pieces, received a shock thereby which caused her death. Commenting on this, one of the judges bade him be reassured, inasmuch as he had, as if by compensation, saved the life of a young man who might live to be reformed. The young man was a criminal whose condemnation was regarded as certain at the hands of the jury before whom he was being arraigned, when tidings reached the court that Lunardi's balloon was in the air. On this so much confusion arose that the jury were unable to give due deliberation to the case, and, fearing to miss the great sight, actually agreed to acquit the prisoner, that they themselves might be free to leave the court!
But he was flattered by a compliment of a yet higher order. He was told that while he hovered over London the King was in conference with his principal Ministers, and his Majesty, learning that he was in the sky, is reported to have said to his councillors, "We may resume our own deliberations at pleasure, but we may never see poor Lunardi again!" On this, it is further stated that the conference broke up, and the King, attended by Mr. Pitt and other chief officers of State, continued to view Lunardi through telescopes as long as he remained in the horizon.
The public Press, notably the Morning Post of September 16, paid a worthy tribute to the hero of the hour, and one last act of an exceptional character was carried out in his honour, and remains in evidence to this hour. In a meadow in the parish of Standon, near Ware, there stands a rough hewn stone, now protected by an iron rail. It marks the spot where Lunardi landed, and on it is cut a legend which runs thus:
Let Posterity know
And knowing be astonished
that
On the 15th day of September 1784
Vincent Lunardi of Lusca in Tuscany
The first aerial traveller in Britain
Mounting from the Artillery Ground
In London
And Traversing the Regions of the Air
For Two Hours and Fifteen Minutes
In this Spot Revisited the Earth.
On this rude monument
For ages be recorded
That Wondrous Enterprise
Successfully atchieved
By the Powers of Chemistry
And the Fortitude of Man
That Improvement in Science
Which
The Great Author of all Knowledge
Patronyzing by His Providence
The Invention of Mankind
Hath graciously permitted
To Their Benefit
And
His own Eternal Glory.
CHAPTER IV. THE DEVELOPMENT OF BALLOON PHILOSOPHY.
In less than two years not only had the science of ballooning reached almost its highest development, but the balloon itself, as an aerostatic machine, had been brought to a state of perfection which has been but little improved upon up to the present hour. Better or cheaper methods of inflation were yet to be discovered, lighter and more suitable material remained to be manufactured; but the navigation of the air, which hitherto through all time had been beyond man's grasp, had been attained, as it were, at a bound, and at the hands of many different and independent experimentalists was being pursued with almost the same degree of success and safety as to-day.
Nor was this all. There was yet another triumph of the aeronautical art which, within the same brief period, had been to all intents and purposes achieved, even if it had not been brought to the same state of perfection as at the present hour. This was the Parachute. This fact is one which for a sufficient reason is not generally known. It is very commonly supposed that the parachute, in anything like its present form, is a very modern device, and that the art of successfully using it had not been introduced to the world even so lately as thirty years ago. Thus, we find it stated in works of that date dealing with the subject that disastrous consequences almost necessarily attended the use of the parachute, "the defects of which had been attempted to be remedied in various ways, but up to this time without success." A more correct statement, however, would have been that the art of constructing and using a practicable parachute had through many years been lost or forgotten. In actual fact, it had been adopted with every assurance of complete success by the year 1785, when Blanchard by its means lowered dogs and other animals with safety from a balloon. A few years later he descended himself in a like apparatus from Basle, meeting, however, with the misadventure of a broken leg.
But we must go much further back for the actual conception of the parachute, which, we might suppose, may originally have been suggested by the easy floating motion with which certain seeds or leaves will descend from lofty trees, or by the mode adopted by birds of dropping softly to earth with out-stretched wings. M. de la Loubere, in his historical account of Siam, which he visited in 1687-88, speaks of an ingenious athlete who exceedingly diverted the King and his court by leaping from a height and supporting himself in the air by two umbrellas, the handles of which were affixed to his girdle. In 1783, that is, the same year as that in which the balloon was invented, M. le Normand experimented with a like umbrella-shaped contrivance, with a view to its adoption as a fire escape, and he demonstrated the soundness of the principle by descending himself from the windows of a lofty house at Lyons.
It was, however, reserved for M. Jacques Garnerin in 1797 to make the first parachute descent that attracted general attention. Garnerin had previously been detained as a State prisoner in the fortress of Bade, in Hungary, after the battle of Marchiennes in 1793, and during his confinement had pondered on the possibility of effecting his escape by a parachute. His solitary cogitations and calculations resulted, after his release, in the invention and construction of an apparatus which he put to a practical test at Paris before the court of France on October 22nd, 1797. Ascending in a hydrogen balloon to the height of about 2,000 feet, he unhesitatingly cut himself adrift, when for some distance he dropped like a stone. The folds of his apparatus, however, opening suddenly, his fall became instantly checked. The remainder of his descent, though leisurely, occupying, in fact, some twelve minutes, appeared to the spectators to be attended with uncertainty, owing to a swinging motion set up in the car to which he was clinging. But the fact remains that he reached the earth with only slight impact, and entirely without injury.
It appears that Garnerin subsequently made many equally successful parachute descents in France, and during the short peace of 1802 visited London, where he gave an exhibition of his art. From the most reliable accounts of his exploit it would seem that his drop was from a very great height, and that a strong ground wind was blowing at the time, the result of which was that wild, wide oscillations were set up in the car, which narrowly escaped bringing him in contact with the house tops in St. Pancreas, and eventually swung him down into a field, not without some unpleasant scratches.
Nor was Garnerin the only successful parachutist at this period. A Polish aeronaut, Jordaki Kuparento, ascended from Warsaw on the 24th of July, 1804 in a hot air balloon, taking up, as was the custom, an attached furnace, which caused the balloon to take fire when at a great height. Kuparento, however, who was alone, had as a precaution provided himself with a parachute, and with this he seems to have found no difficulty in effecting a safe descent to earth.
It was many years after this that fresh experimentalists, introducing parachutes on new lines and faulty in construction, met with death or disaster. Enough, however, has already been said to show that in the early years we are now traversing in this history a perfectly practicable parachute had become an accomplished fact. The early form is well described by Mr. Monck Mason in a letter to the Morning Herald in 1837, written on the eve of an unrehearsed and fatal experiment made by Mr. Cocking, which must receive notice in due course. "The principle," writes Mr. Monck Mason, "upon which all these parachutes were constructed is the same, and consists simply of a flattened dome of silk or linen from 24 feet to 28 feet in diameter. From the outer margin all around at stated intervals proceed a large number of cords, in length about the diameter of the dome itself, which, being collected together in one point and made fast to another of superior dimensions attached to the apex of the machine, serve to maintain it in its form when expanded in the progress of the descent. To this centre cord likewise, at a distance below the point of junction, varying according to the fancy of the aeronaut, is fixed the car or basket in which he is seated, and the whole suspended from the network of the balloon in such a manner as to be capable of being detached in an instant at the will of the individual by cutting the rope by which it is made fast above."
It followed almost as a matter of course that so soon as the balloon had been made subject to something like due control, and thus had become recognised as a new machine fairly reduced to the service of man, it began to be regarded as an instrument which should be made capable of being devoted to scientific research. Indeed, it may be claimed that, among the very earliest aeronauts, those who had sailed away into the skies and brought back intelligent observations or impressions of the realm of cloud-land, or who had only described their own sensations at lofty altitudes, had already contributed facts of value to science. It is time then, taking events in their due sequence, that mention should be made of the endeavours of various savants, who began about the commencement of the nineteenth century to gather fresh knowledge from the exploration of the air by balloon ascents organised with fitting equipment. The time had now come for promoting the balloon to higher purposes than those of mere exhibition or amusement. In point of fact, it had already in one way been turned to serious practical account. It had been used by the French during military operations in the revolutionary war as a mode of reconnoitring, and not without success, so that when after due trial the war balloon was judged of value a number of similar balloons were constructed for the use of the various divisions of the French army, and, as will be told in its proper place, one, at least, of these was put to a positive test before the battle of Fleurus.
But, returning to more strictly scientific ascents, which began to be mooted at this period, we are at once impressed with the widespread influence which the balloon was exercising on thinking minds. We note this from the fact that what must be claimed to be the first genuine ascent for scientific observation was made in altogether fresh ground, and at so distant a spot as St. Petersburg.
It was now the year 1804, and the Russian Academy had determined on attempting an examination of the physical condition of the higher atmosphere by means of the balloon. The idea had probably been suggested by scientific observations which had already been made on mountain heights by such explorers as De Luc, Saussure, Humboldt, and others. And now it was determined that their results should be tested alongside such observations as could be gathered in the free heaven far removed from any disturbing effects that might be caused by contiguity to earth. The lines of enquiry to which special attention was required were such as would be naturally suggested by the scientific knowledge of the hour, though they may read somewhat quaintly to-day. Would there be any change in the intensity of the magnetic force? Any change in the inclination of the magnetised needle? Would evaporation find a new law? Would solar rays increase in power? What amount of electric matter would be found? What change in the colours produced by the prism? What would be the constitution of the higher and more attenuated air? What physical effect would it have on human and bird life?
The ascent was made at 7.15 on a summer evening by M. Robertson and the Academician, M. Sacharof, to whom we are indebted for the following resume of notes, which have a special value as being the first of their class. Rising slowly, a difference of atmosphere over the Neva gave the balloon a downward motion, necessitating the discharge of ballast. As late as 8.45 p.m. a fine view was obtained of the Newski Islands, and the whole course of the neighbouring river. At 9.20 p.m., when the barometer had fallen from 30 inches to 23 inches, a canary and a dove were dismissed, the former falling precipitately, while the latter sailed down to a village below. All available ballast was now thrown out, including a spare great coat and the remains of supper, with the result that at 9.30 the barometer had fallen to 22 inches, and at this height they caught sight of the upper rim of the sun. The action of heart and lungs remained normal. No stars were seen, though the sky was mainly clear, such clouds as were visible appearing white and at a great height. The echo of a speaking trumpet was heard after an interval of ten seconds. This was substantially the outcome of the experiments. The practical difficulties of carrying out prearranged observations amid the inconvenience of balloon travel were much felt. Their instruments were seriously damaged, and their results, despite most painstaking and praiseworthy efforts, must be regarded as somewhat disappointing.
But ere the autumn of the same year two other scientific ascents, admirably schemed and financed at the public expense, had been successfully carried out at Paris in a war balloon which, as will be told, had at this time been returned from military operations in Egypt. In the first of these, Gay Lussac ascended in company with M. Biot, with very complete equipment. Choosing ten o'clock in the morning for their hour of departure, they quickly entered a region of thin, but wet fog, after which they shot up into denser cloud, which they completely surmounted at a height of 6,500 feet, when they described the upper surface as bearing the resemblance, familiar enough to aeronauts and mountaineers, as of a white sea broken up into gently swelling billows, or of an extended plain covered with snow.
A series of simple experiments now embarked upon showed the behaviour of magnetised iron, as also of a galvanic pile or battery, to remain unaltered. As their altitude increased their pulses quickened, though beyond feeling keenly the contrast of a colder air and of scorching rays of the sun they experienced no physical discomfort. At 11,000 feet a linnet which they liberated fell to the earth almost helplessly, while a pigeon with difficulty maintained an irregular and precipitate flight. A carefully compiled record was made of variations of temperature and humidity, and they succeeded in determining that the upper air was charged with negative electricity. In all this these two accomplished physicists may be said to have carried out a brilliant achievement, even though their actual results may seem somewhat meagre. They not only were their own aeronauts, but succeeded in arranging and carrying out continuous and systematic observations throughout the period of their remaining in the sky.
This voyage was regarded as such a pronounced success that three weeks later, in mid-September, Gay Lussac was induced to ascend again, this time alone, and under circumstances that should enable him to reach an exceptionally high altitude. Experience had taught the advisability of certain modifications in his equipment. A magnet was ingeniously slung with a view of testing its oscillation even in spite of accidental gyrations in the balloon. Thermometers and hygrometers were carefully sheltered from the direct action of the sun, and exhausted flasks were supplied with the object of bringing down samples of upper air for subsequent analysis.
Again it was an early morning ascent, with a barometer on the ground standing at 30.6 inches, and a slightly misty air. Lussac appears to have accomplished the exceedingly difficult task of counting the oscillations of his magnet with satisfaction to himself. At 10,000 feet twenty vibrations occupied 83 seconds, as compared with 84.33 seconds at the earth's surface. The variation of the compass remained unaltered, as also the behaviour of magnetised iron at all altitudes. Keeping his balloon under perfect control, and maintaining a uniform and steady ascent, he at the same time succeeded in compiling an accurate table of readings recording atmospheric pressure, temperature and humidity, and it is interesting to find that he was confronted with an apparent anomaly which will commonly present itself to the aeronaut observer. Up to 12,000 feet the temperature had decreased consistently from 82 degrees to 47 degrees, after which it increased 6 degrees in the next 2,000 feet. This by no means uncommon experience shall be presently discussed. The balloon was now steadily manoeuvred up to 18,636 feet, at which height freezing point was practically reached. Then with a further climb 20,000 feet is recorded, at which altitude the ardent philosopher could still attend to his magnetic observations, nor is his arduous and unassisted task abandoned here, but with marvellous pertinacity he yet struggled upwards till a height of no less than 23,000 feet is recorded, and the thermometer had sunk to 14 degrees F. Four miles and a quarter above the level of the sea, reached by a solitary aerial explorer, whose legitimate training lay apart from aeronautics, and whose main care was the observation of the philosophical instruments he carried! The achievement of this French savant makes a brilliant record in the early pages of our history.
It is not surprising that Lussac should own to having felt no inconsiderable personal discomfort before his venture was over. In spite of warm clothing he suffered greatly from cold and benumbed fingers, not less also from laboured breathing and a quickened pulse; headache supervened, and his throat became parched and unable to swallow food. In spite of all, he conducted the descent with the utmost skill, climbing down quietly and gradually till he alighted with gentle ease at St. Gourgen, near Rouen. It may be mentioned here that the analysis of the samples of air which he had brought down proved them to contain the normal proportion of oxygen, and to be essentially identical, as tested in the laboratory, with the free air secured at the surface of the earth.
The sudden and apparently unaccountable variation in temperature recorded by Lussac is a striking revelation to an aerial observer, and becomes yet more marked when more sensitive instruments are used than those which were taken up on the occasion just related. It will be recorded in a future chapter how more suitable instruments came in course of time to be devised. It is only necessary to point out at this stage that instruments which lack due sensibility will unavoidably read too high in ascents, and too low in descents where, according to the general law, the air is found to grow constantly colder with elevation above the earth's surface. It is strong evidence of considerable efficiency in the instruments, and of careful attention on the part of the observer, that Lussac was able to record the temporary inversion of the law of change of temperature above-mentioned. Had he possessed modern instrumental equipment he would have brought down a yet more remarkable account of the upper regions which he visited, and learned that the variations of heat and cold were considerably more striking than he supposed.
With a specially devised instrument used with special precautions, the writer, as will be shown hereafter, has been able to prove that the temperature of the air, as traversed in the wayward course of a balloon, is probably far more variable and complex than has been recorded by most observers.
The exceptional height claimed to have been reached by Gay Lassac need not for a moment be questioned, and the fact that he did not experience the same personal inconvenience as has been complained of by mountain climbers at far less altitudes admits of ready explanation. The physical exertion demanded of the mountaineer is entirely absent in the case of an aeronaut who is sailing at perfect ease in a free balloon. Moreover, it must be remembered that—a most important consideration—the aerial voyager, necessarily travelling with the wind, is unconscious, save at exceptional moments, of any breeze whatever, and it is a well-established fact that a degree of cold which might be insupportable when a breeze is stirring may be but little felt in dead calm. It should also be remembered, in duly regarding Gay Lussac's remarkable record, that this was not his first experience of high altitudes, and it is an acknowledged truth that an aeronaut, especially if he be an enthusiast, quickly becomes acclimatised to his new element, and sufficiently inured to its occasional rigours.
CHAPTER V. SOME FAMOUS EARLY VOYAGERS.
During certain years which now follow it will possibly be thought that our history, so far as incidents of special interest are concerned, somewhat languishes. Yet it may be wrong to regard this period as one of stagnation or retrogression.
Before passing on to later annals, however, we must duly chronicle certain exceptional achievements and endeavours as yet unmentioned, which stand out prominently in the period we have been regarding as also in the advancing years of the new century Among these must in justice be included those which come into the remarkable, if somewhat pathetic subsequent career of the brilliant, intrepid Lunardi.
Compelling everywhere unbounded admiration he readily secured the means necessary for carrying out further exploits wherever he desired while at the same time he met with a measure of good fortune in freedom from misadventure such as has generally been denied to less bold adventurers. Within a few months of the time when we left him, the popular hero and happy recipient of civic and royal favours, we find him in Scotland attempting feats which a knowledge of practical difficulties bids us regard as extraordinary.
To begin with, nothing appears more remarkable than the ease, expedition, and certainty with which in days when necessary facilities must have been far harder to come by than now, he could always fill his balloon by the usually tedious and troublesome mode attending hydrogen inflation. We see him at his first Scottish ascent, completing the operation in little more than two hours. It is the same later at Glasgow, where, commencing with only a portion of his apparatus, he finds the inflation actually to proceed too rapidly for his purpose, and has to hold the powers at his command strongly in check. Later, in December weather, having still further improved his apparatus, he makes his balloon support itself after the inflation of only ten minutes. Then, as if assured of impunity, he treats recognised risks with a species of contempt. At Kelso he hails almost with joy the fact that the wind must carry him rapidly towards the sea, which in the end he narrowly escapes. At Glasgow the chances of safe landing are still more against him, yet he has no hesitation in starting, and at last the catastrophe he seemed to court actually overtook him, and he plumped into the sea near Berwick, where no sail was even in sight, and a winter's night coming on. From this predicament he was rescued by a special providence which once before had not deserted him, when in a tumult of violent and contrary currents, and at a great height to boot, his gallery was almost completely carried away, and he had to cling on to the hoop desperately with both hands.
Then we lose sight of the dauntless, light-hearted Italian for one-and-twenty years, when in the Gentleman's Magazine of July 31, 1806, appears the brief line, "Died in the convent of Barbadinas, of a decline, Mr. Vincent Lunardi, the celebrated aeronaut."
Garnerin, of whom mention has already been made, accomplished in the summer of 1802 two aerial voyages marked by extreme velocity in the rate of travel. The first of these is also remarkable as having been the first to fairly cross the heart of London. Captain Snowdon, R.N., accompanied the aeronaut. The ascent took place from Chelsea Gardens, and proved so great an attraction that the crowd overflowed into the neighbouring parts of the town, choking up the thoroughfares with vehicles, and covering the river with boats. On being liberated, the balloon sped rapidly away, taking a course midway between the river and the main highway of the Strand, Fleet Street, and Cheapside, and so passed from view of the multitude. Such a departure could hardly fail to lead to subsequent adventures, and this is pithily told in a letter written by Garnerin himself: "I take the earliest opportunity of informing you that after a very pleasant journey, but after the most dangerous descent I ever made, on account of the boisterous weather and the vicinity of the sea, we alighted at the distance of four miles from this place and sixty from Ranelagh. We were only three-quarters of an hour on the way. To-night I intend to be in London with the balloon, which is torn to pieces. We ourselves are all over bruises."
Only a week after the same aeronaut ascended again from Marylebone, when he attained almost the same velocity, reaching Chingford, a distance of seventeen miles, in fifteen minutes.
The chief danger attending a balloon journey in a high wind, supposing no injury has been sustained in filling and launching, results not so much from impact with the ground on alighting as from the subsequent almost inevitable dragging along the ground. The grapnels, spurning the open, will often obtain no grip save in a hedge or tree, and even then large boughs will be broken through or dragged away, releasing the balloon on a fresh career which may, for a while, increase in mad impetuosity as the emptying silk offers a deeper hollow for the wind to catch.
The element of risk is of another nature in the case of a night ascent, when the actual alighting ground cannot be duly chosen or foreseen. Among many record night ascents may here, somewhat by anticipation of events, be mentioned two embarked upon by the hero of our last adventure. M. Garnerin was engaged to make a spectacular ascent from Tivoli at Paris, leaving the grounds at night with attached lamps illuminating his balloon. His first essay was on a night of early August, when he ascended at 11 p.m., reaching a height of nearly three miles. Remaining aloft through the hours of darkness, he witnessed the sun rise at half-past two in the morning, and eventually came to earth after a journey of some seven hours, during which time he had covered considerably more than a hundred miles. A like bold adventure carried out from the same grounds the following month was attended with graver peril. A heavy thunderstorm appearing imminent, Garnerin elected to ascend with great rapidity, with the result that his balloon, under the diminished pressure, quickly became distended to an alarming degree, and he was reduced to the necessity of piercing a hole in the silk, while for safety's sake he endeavoured to extinguish all lamps within reach. He now lost all control over his balloon, which became unmanageable in the conflict of the storm. Having exhausted his ballast, he presently was rudely brought to earth and then borne against a mountain side, finally losing consciousness until the balloon had found anchorage three hundred miles away from Paris.
A night ascent, which reads as yet more sensational and extraordinary, is reported to have been made a year or two previously, and when it is considered that the balloon used was of the Montgolfier type the account as it is handed down will be allowed to be without parallel. It runs thus: Count Zambeccari, Dr. Grassati of Rome, and M. Pascal Andreoli of Antona ascended on a November night from Bologna, allowing their balloon to rise with excessive velocity. In consequence of this rapid transition to an extreme altitude the Count and the Doctor became insensible, leaving Andreoli alone in possession of his faculties. At two o'clock in the morning they found themselves descending over the Adriatic, at which time a lantern which they carried expired and was with difficulty re-lighted. Continuing to descend, they presently pitched in to the sea and became drenched with salt water. It may seem surprising that the balloon, which could not be prevented falling in the water, is yet enabled to ascend from the grip of the waves by the mere discharge of ballast. (It would be interesting to inquire what meanwhile happened to the fire which they presumably carried with them.) They now rose into regions of cloud, where they became covered with hoar frost and also stone deaf. At 3 a.m. they were off the coast of Istria, once more battling with the waves till picked up by a shore boat. The balloon, relieved of their weight, then flew away into Turkey.
However overdrawn this narrative may appear, it must be read in the light of another account, the bare, hard facts of which can admit of no question. It is five years later, and once again Count Zambeccari is ascending from Bologna, this time in company with Signor Bonagna. Again it is a Montgolfier or fire balloon, and on nearing earth it becomes entangled in a tree and catches fire. The aeronauts jump for their lives, and the Count is killed on the spot. Certainly, when every allowance is made for pardonable or unintentional exaggeration, it must be conceded that there were giants in those days. Giants in the conception and accomplishment of deeds of lofty daring. Men who came scathless through supreme danger by virtue of the calmness and courage with which they withstood it.
Among other appalling disasters we have an example of a terrific descent from a vast height in which the adventurers yet escape with their lives. It was the summer of 1808, and the aeronauts, MM. Andreoli and Brioschi, ascending from Padua, reach a height at which a barometer sinks to eight inches, indicating upwards of 30,000 feet. At this point the balloon bursts, and falls precipitately near Petrarch's tomb. Commenting on this, Mr. Glaisher, the value of whose opinion is second to none, is not disposed to question the general truth of the narrative. In regard to Zambeccari's escape from the sea related above, it should be stated that in the case of a gas-inflated balloon which has no more than dipped its car or gallery in the waves, it is generally perfectly possible to raise it again from the water, provided there is on board a store of ballast, the discharge of which will sufficiently lighten the balloon. A case in point occurred in a most romantic and perilous voyage accomplished by Mr. Sadler on the 1st of October, 1812.
His adventure is one of extraordinary interest, and of no little value to the practical aeronaut. The following account is condensed from Mr. Sadler's own narrative. He started from the grounds of Belvedere House, Dublin, with the expressed intention of endeavouring to cross over the Irish Channel to Liverpool. There appear to have been two principal air drifts, an upper and a lower, by means of which he entertained fair hopes of steering his desired course. But from the outset he was menaced with dangers and difficulties. Ere he had left the land he discovered a rent in his silk which, occasioned by some accident before leaving, showed signs of extending. To reach this, it was necessary to extemporise by means of a rope a species of ratlins by which he could climb the rigging. He then contrived to close the rent with his neckcloth. He was, by this time, over the sea, and, manoeuvring his craft by aid of the two currents at his disposal, he was carried to the south shore of the Isle of Man, whence he was confident of being able, had he desired it, of landing in Cumberland. This, however, being contrary to his intention, he entrusted himself to the higher current, and by it was carried to the north-west of Holyhead. Here he dropped once again to the lower current, drifting south of the Skerry Lighthouse across the Isle of Anglesea, and at 4.30 p.m. found himself abreast of the Great Orme's Head. Evening now approaching, he had determined to seek a landing, but at this critical juncture the wind shifted to the southward, and he became blown out to sea. Then, for an hour, he appears to have tried high and low for a more favourable current, but without success; and, feeling the danger of his situation, and, moreover, sighting no less than five vessels beating down the Channel, he boldly descended in the sea about a mile astern of them. He must for certain have been observed by these vessels; but each and all held on their course, and, thus deserted, the aeronaut had no choice but to discharge ballast, and, quitting the waves, to regain his legitimate element. His experiences at this period of his extraordinary voyage are best told in his own words. "At the time I descended the sun was near setting Already the shadows of evening had cast a dusky hue over the face of the ocean, and a crimson glow purpled the tops of the waves as, heaving in the evening breeze, they died away in distance, or broke in foam against the sides of the vessels, and before I rose from the sea the orb had sunk below the horizon, leaving only the twilight glimmer to light the vast expanse around me. How great, therefore, was my astonishment, and how incapable is expression to convey an adequate idea of my feelings when, rising to the upper region of the air, the sun, whose parting beams I had already witnessed, again burst on my view, and encompassed me with the full blaze of day. Beneath me hung the shadows of even, whilst the clear beams of the sun glittered on the floating vehicle which bore me along rapidly before the wind."
After a while he sights three more vessels, which signify their willingness to stand by, whereupon he promptly descends, dropping beneath the two rear-most of them. From this point the narrative of the sinking man, and the gallant attempt at rescue, will rival any like tale of the sea. For the wind, now fast rising, caught the half empty balloon so soon as the car touched the sea, and the vessel astern, though in full pursuit, was wholly unable to come up. Observing this, Mr. Sadler, trusting more to the vessel ahead, dropped his grappling iron by way of drag, and shortly afterwards tried the further expedient of taking off his clothes and attaching them to the iron. The vessels, despite these endeavours, failing to overhaul him, he at last, though with reasonable reluctance, determined to further cripple the craft that bore him so rapidly by liberating a large quantity of gas, a desperate, though necessary, expedient which nearly cost him his life.
For the car now instantly sank, and the unfortunate man, clutching at the hoop, found he could not even so keep himself above the water, and was reduced to clinging, as a last hope, to the netting. The result of this could be foreseen, for he was frequently plunged under water by the mere rolling of the balloon. Cold and exertion soon told on him, as he clung frantically to the valve rope, and when his strength failed him he actually risked the expedient of passing his head through the meshes of the net. It was obvious that for avail help must soon come; yet the pursuing vessel, now close, appeared to hold off, fearing to become entangled in the net, and in this desperate extremity, fainting from exhaustion and scarcely able to cry aloud, Mr. Sadler himself seems to have divined the chance yet left; for, summoning his failing strength, he shouted to the sailors to run their bowsprit through his balloon. This was done, and the drowning man was hauled on board with the life scarcely in him.
A fitting sequel to the above adventure followed five years afterwards. The Irish Sea remained unconquered. No balloonist had as yet ever crossed its waters. Who would attempt the feat once more? Who more worthy than the hero's own son, Mr. Windham Sadler?
This aspiring aeronaut, emulating his father's enterprising spirit, chose the same starting ground at Dublin, and on the longest day of 1817, when winds seemed favourable, left the Porto Bello barracks at 1.20 p.m. His endeavour was to "tack" his course by such currents as he should find, in the manner attempted by his father, and at starting the ground current blew favourably from the W.S.W. He, however, allowed his balloon to rise to too high an altitude, where he must have been taken aback by a contrary drift; for, on descending again through a shower of snow, he found himself no further than Ben Howth, as yet only ten miles on his long journey. Profiting by his mistake, he thenceforward, by skilful regulation, kept his balloon within due limits, and successfully maintained a direct course across the sea, reaching a spot in Wales not far from Holyhead an hour and a half before sundown. The course taken was absolutely the shortest possible, being little more than seventy miles, which he traversed in five hours.
From this period of our story, noteworthy events in aeronautical history grow few and far between. As a mere exhibition the novelty of a balloon ascent had much worn off. No experimentalist was ready with any new departure in the art. No fresh adventure presented itself to the minds of the more enterprising spirits; and, whereas a few years previously ballooning exploits crowded into every summer season and were not neglected even in winter months, there is now for a while little to chronicle, either abroad or in our own country. A certain revival of the sensational element in ballooning was occasionally witnessed, and not without mishap, as in the case of Madame Blanchard, who, in the summer of 1819, ascending at night with fireworks from the Tivoli Gardens, Paris, managed to set fire to her balloon and lost her life in her terrific fall. Half a dozen years later a Mr., as also Mrs., Graham figure before the public in some bold spectacular ascents.
But the fame of any aeronaut of that date must inevitably pale before the dawning light shed by two stars of the first magnitude that were arising in two opposite parts of the world—Mr. John Wise in America, and Mr. Charles Green in our own country. The latter of these, who has been well styled the "Father of English Aeronautics," now entered on a long and honoured career of so great importance and success that we must reserve for him a separate and special chapter.
CHAPTER VI. CHARLES GREEN AND THE NASSAU BALLOON.
The balloon, which had gradually been dropping out of favour, had now been virtually laid aside, and, to all appearance, might have continued so, when, as if by chance concurrence of events, there arrived both the hour and the man to restore it to the world, and to invest it with a new practicability and importance. The coronation of George the Fourth was at hand, and this became a befitting occasion for the rare genius mentioned at the end of the last chapter, and now in his thirty-sixth year, to put in practice a new method of balloon management and inflation, the entire credit of which must be accorded to him alone.
From its very introduction and inception the gas balloon, an expensive and fragile structure in itself, had proved at all times exceedingly costly in actual use. Indeed, we find that at the date at which we have now arrived the estimate for filling a balloon of 70,000 cubic feet—no extraordinary capacity—with hydrogen gas was about L250. When, then, to this great outlay was added the difficulty and delay of producing a sufficient supply by what was at best a clumsy process, as also the positive failure and consequent disappointment which not infrequently ensued, it is easy to understand how through many years balloon ascents, no longer a novelty, had begun to be regarded with distrust, and the profession of a balloonist was doomed to become unremunerative. A simpler and cheaper mode of inflation was not only a desideratum, but an absolute necessity. The full truth of this may be gathered from the fact that we find there were not seldom instances where two or three days of continuous and anxious labour were expended in generating and passing hydrogen into a balloon, through the fabric of which the subtle gas would escape almost as fast as it was produced.
It was at this juncture, then, that Charles Green conceived the happy idea of substituting for hydrogen gas the ordinary household gas, which at this time was to be found ready to hand and in sufficient quantity in all towns of any consequence; and by the day of the coronation all was in readiness for a public exhibition of this method of inflation, which was carried out with complete success, though not altogether without unrehearsed and amusing incident, as must be told.
The day, July 18, was one of summer heat, and Green at the conclusion of his preparations, fatigued with anxious labour and oppressed by the crowding of the populace, took refuge within the car of his balloon, which was by that time already inflated, and only awaiting the gun signal that was to announce the moment for its departure. To allow of his gaining the refreshment of somewhat purer air he begged his friends who were holding the car of his balloon in restraint to keep it suspended at a few feet from the earth, while he rested himself within, and, this being done, it would appear that he fell into a doze, from which he did not awake till he found that the balloon, which had slipped from his friends' hold, was already high above the crowd and requiring his prompt attention. This was, however, by no means an untoward accident, and Green's triumph was complete. By this one venture alone the success of the new method was entirely assured. The cost of the inflation had been reduced ten-fold, the labour and uncertainty a hundred-fold, and, over and above all, the confidence of the public was restored. It is little wonder, then, that in the years that now follow we find the balloon returning to all the favour it had enjoyed in its palmiest days. But Green proved himself something more than a practical balloonist of the first rank. He brought to the aid of his profession ideas which were matured by due thought and scientifically sound. It is true he still clung for a while to the antiquated notion that mechanical means could, with advantage, be used to cause a balloon to ascend or descend, or to alter its direction in a tranquil atmosphere. But he saw clearly that the true method of navigating a balloon should be by a study of upper currents, and this he was able to put to practical proof on a memorable occasion, and in a striking manner, as we shall presently relate.
He learned the lesson early in his career while acquiring facts and experience, unassisted, in a number of solitary voyages made from different parts of the country. Among these he is careful to record an occasion when, making a day-light ascent from Boston, Lincolnshire, he maintained a lofty course, which promised to take him direct to Grantham; but, presently descending to a lower level, and his balloon diverging at an angle of some 45 degrees, he now headed for Newark. This experience he stored away.
A month later we find him making a night voyage from Vauxhall Gardens, destined to be the scene of many memorable ascents in the near future; and on this occasion he gave proof of his capability as a close and intelligent observer. It was a July night, near 11 p.m., moonless and cloudy, yet the earth was visible, and under these circumstances his simple narrative becomes of scientific value. He accurately distinguished the reflective properties of the face of the diversified country he traversed. Over Battersea and Wandsworth—this was in 1826—there were white sheets spread over the land, which proved to be corn crops ready for the sickle. Where crops were not the ground was darker, with, here and there, objects absolutely black—in other words, trees and houses. Then he mentions the river in a memorandum, which reads strangely to the aeronaut who has made the same night voyage in these latter days. The stream was crossed in places with rows of lamps apparently resting on the water. These were the lighted bridges; but, here and there, were dark planks, and these too were bridges—at Battersea and Putney—but without a light upon them!
In these and many other simple, but graphic, narratives Green draws his own pictures of Nature in her quieter moods. But he was not without early experience of her horse play, a highly instructive record of which should not be omitted here, and which, as coming from so careful and conscientious an observer, is best gathered from his own words. The ascent was from Newbury, and it can have been no mean feat to fill, under ordinary circumstances, a balloon carrying two passengers and a considerable weight of ballast at the small gas-holder which served the town eighty-five years ago. But the circumstances were not ordinary, for the wind was extremely squally; a tremendous hail and thunderstorm blew up, and a hurricane swept the balloon with such force that two tons weight of iron and a hundred men scarce sufficed to hold it in check.
Green on this occasion had indeed a companion, whose usefulness however at a pinch may be doubted when we learn that he was both deaf and dumb. The rest of the narrative runs thus: "Between 4 and 5 p.m. the clouds dispersed, but the wind continued to rage with unabated fury the whole of the evening. At 6 p.m. I stepped into the car with Mr. Simmons and gave the word 'Away!' The moment the machine was disencumbered of its weights it was torn by the violence of the wind from the assistants, bounded off with the velocity of lightning in a southeasterly direction, and in a very short space of time attained an elevation of two miles. At this altitude we perceived two immense bodies of clouds operated on by contrary currents of air until at length they became united, and at that moment my ears were assailed by the most awful and longest continued peal of thunder I have ever heard. These clouds were a full mile beneath us, but perceiving other strata floating at the same elevation at which we were sailing, which from their appearance I judged to be highly charged with electricity, I considered it prudent to discharge twenty pounds of ballast, and we rose half a mile above our former elevation, where I considered we were perfectly safe and beyond their influence. I observed, amongst other phenomena, that at every discharge of thunder all the detached pillars of clouds within the distance of a mile around became attracted and appeared to concentrate their force towards the first body of clouds alluded to, leaving the atmosphere clear and calm beneath and around us.
"With very trifling variations we continued the same course until 7.15 p.m., when we descended to within 500 feet of the earth; but, perceiving from the disturbed surface of the rivers and lakes that a strong wind existed near the earth, we again ascended and continued our course till 7.30 p.m., when a final descent was safely effected in a meadow field in the parish of Crawley in Surrey, situated between Guildford and Horsham, and fifty-eight miles from Newbury. This stormy voyage was performed in one hour and a half."
It was after Green had followed his profession for fifteen years that he was called upon to undertake the management of an aerial venture, which, all things considered, has never been surpassed in genuine enterprise and daring. The conception of the project was due to Mr. Robert Hollond, and it took shape in this way. This gentleman, fresh from Cambridge, possessed of all the ardour of early manhood, as also of adequate means, had begun to devote himself with the true zeal of the enthusiast to the pursuit of ballooning, finding due opportunity for this in his friendship with Mr. Green, who enjoyed the management of the fine balloon made for ascents at the then popular Vauxhall Gardens. In the autumn of 1836 the proprietors of this balloon, contemplating making an exhibition of an ascent from Paris, and requiring their somewhat fragile property to be conveyed to that city, Mr. Hollond boldly came forward and offered to transfer it thither, and, as nearly as this might be possible, by passage through the sky. The proposal was accepted, and Mr. Holland, in conjunction with Green, set about the needful preparations. These, as will appear, were on an extraordinary scale, and no blame is to be imputed on that account, as a little consideration will show. For the venture proposed was not to be that of merely crossing the Channel, which, as we have seen, had been successfully effected no less than fifty years before. The voyage in contemplation was to be from London; it was, moreover, to be pursued through a long, moonless winter's night, and under conditions of which no living aeronaut had had actual experience.
Calculation, based on a sufficient knowledge of fast upper currents, told that their course, ere finished, might be one of almost indefinite length, and it is not too much to say that no one, with the knowledge of that day, could predict within a thousand miles where the dawn of the next day might find them. The equipment, therefore, was commensurate with the possible task before them. To begin with, they limited their number to three in all—Mr. Hollond, as chief and keeper of the log; Mr. Green, as aeronaut; and an enthusiastic colleague, Mr. Monck Mason, as the chronicler of the party. Next, they provided themselves with passports to all parts of the Continent; and then came the fitting out and victualling of the aerial craft itself, calculated to carry some 90,000 cubic feet of gas, and a counterpoise of a ton of ballast, which took the form partly of actual provisions in large quantity, partly of gear and apparatus, and for the rest of sand and also lime, of which more anon. Across the middle of the car was fixed a bench to serve as table, and also as a stage for the winding in and out of an enormous trail rope a thousand feet long, designed by Mr. Green to meet the special emergencies of the voyage. At the bottom of the car was spread a large cushion to serve the purposes of rest. When all was in readiness unfitness of weather baulked the travellers for some days, but Monday, the 7th of November, was judged a favourable day, so that the inflation was rapidly proceeded with, and at 1.30 p.m. the "Monstre Balloon," as it was entitled in the "Ingoldsby Legends," left the earth on her eventful and ever memorable voyage. The weather was fine and promising, and, rising with a moderate breeze from the N.W., they began to traverse the northern parts of Kent, while light, drifting upper clouds gave indication of other possible currents. Mr. Hollond was precise in the determination of times and of all readings and we learn that at exactly 2.48 p.m. they were crossing the Medway, six miles west of Rochester, while at 4.5 p.m. the lofty towers of Canterbury were well in view, two miles to the east, and here a little function was well carried out. Green had twice ascended from this city under patronage of the authorities, and the idea occurred to the party that it would be a graceful compliment to drop a message to the Mayor as they passed. A suitable note, therefore, quickly written, was dismissed in a parachute, and it may be mentioned that this, as also a similar missive addressed later to the Mayor of Dover, were duly received and acknowledged.
At a quarter past four they sighted the sea, and here, the air beginning to grow chill, the balloon dropped earthward, and for some miles they skimmed the ground, disturbing the partridges, scattering the rooks, and keeping up a running conversation the while with labourers and passers below. In this there was exercise of perfectly proper aerial seamanship, such as moreover presently led to an exhibition of true science. To save ballast is, with a balloon, to prolong life, and this may often best be done by flying low, which doubtless was Green's present intention. But soon his trained eye saw that the ground current which now carried them was leading them astray. They were trending to the northward, and so far out of their course that they would soon make the North Foreland, and so be carried out over the North Sea far from their desired direction. Thereupon Green attempted to put in practice his theory, already spoken of, of steering by upper currents, and the event proved his judgment peculiarly correct. "Nothing," wrote Mr. Monck Mason, "could exceed the beauty of the manoeuvre, to which the balloon at once responded, regaining her due course, and, in a matter of a few minutes only, bearing the voyagers almost vertically over the castle of Dover in the exact line for crossing the straits between that town and Calais."
So far all was well, and success had been extraordinary; but from this moment they became faced with new conditions, and with the grave trouble of uncertainty. Light was failing, the sea was before them, and—what else thenceforth? 4.48 p.m. was recorded as the moment when the first line of breaking waves was seen directly below them, and then the English coast line began rapidly to fade out from their view. But, ahead, the obscurity was yet more intense, for clouds, banked up like a solid wall, crowned along its frowning heights, with "parapets and turrets and batteries and bastions," and, plunging into this opposing barrier, they were quickly buried in blackness, losing at the same time over the sea all sound from earth soever. So for a short hour's space, when the sound of waves once again broke in upon them, and immediately afterwards emerging from the dense cloud (a sea-fog merely) they found themselves immediately over the brilliantly lighted town of Calais. Seeing this, the travellers attempted to signal by igniting and lowering a Bengal Light, which was directly followed by the beating of drums from below.
It adds a touch of reality, as well as cheerfulness, to the narrative to read that at this period of their long journey the travellers apply themselves to a fair, square meal, the first for twelve hours, despite the day's excitement and toil. We have an entry among the stores of the balloon of wine bottles and spirit flasks, but there is no mention of these being requisitioned at this period. The demand seems rather to have been for coffee—coffee hot; and this by a novel device was soon prepared. It goes without saying that a fire or flame of any kind, except with special precautions, is inadmissable in a balloon; but a cooking heat, sufficient for the present purpose, was supplied from the store of lime, a portion of which, being placed in a suitably contrived vessel and slaked quickly, procured the desired beverage.
This meal now indulged in seems to have been heartily and happily enjoyed; and from this point, for a while, the narrative becomes that of enthusiastic and delighted travellers. In the gloom below, for leagues around, they regarded the scattered fires of a watchful population, with here and there the lights of larger towns, and the contemplation begot romantic reveries. "Were they not amid the vast solitudes of the skies, in the dead of night, unknown and unnoticed, secretly and silently reviewing kingdoms, exploring territories, and surveying cities all clothed in the dark mantle of mystery?" Presently they identified the blazing city of Liege, with the lurid lights of extensive outlying iron works, and this was the last visible sign they caught of earth that night; save, at least, when occasional glimpses of lightning momentarily and dimly outlined the world in the abyss below.
Ere long, they met with their first discomfort, which they seem to have regarded as a most serious one, namely, the accidental dropping overboard of their cherished coffee-boiling apparatus. With its loss their store of lime became useless, save as ballast, and for this it was forthwith utilised until nothing remained but the empty lime barrel itself, which, being regarded as an objectionable encumbrance, it was desirable to get rid of, were it not for the risk involved in rudely dropping it to earth. But the difficulty was met. They possessed a suitable small parachute, and, attached to this, the barrel was allowed to float earthward.
As hours advanced, the blackness of night increased, and their impressions appear somewhat strange to anyone familiar with ordinary night travel in the sky. Mr. Monck Mason compares their progress through the darkness to "cleaving their way through an interminable mass of black marble." Then, presently, an unaccountable object puzzles and absorbs the attention of all the party for a long period. They were gazing open-mouthed at a long narrow avenue of feeble light, which, though apparently belonging to earth, was too long and regular for a river, and too broad for a canal or road, and it was only after many futile imaginings that they discovered they were simply looking at a stay rope of the balloon hanging far out over the side.
Somewhat later still, there was a more serious claim upon the imagination. It was half-past three in the morning, and the balloon, which, to escape from too low an altitude, had been liberally lightened, had now at high speed mounted to a vast height. And then, amid the black darkness and dead silence of that appalling region, suddenly overhead came the sound of an explosion, followed by the violent rustling of the silk, while the car jerked violently, as though suddenly detached from its hold. This was the idea, leading to the belief that the balloon had suddenly exploded, and that they were falling headlong to earth. Their suspense, however, cannot have been long, and the incident was intelligible enough, being due to the sudden yielding of stiffened net and silk under rapid expansion caused by their speedy and lofty ascent.
The chief incidents of the night were now over, until the dawn arrived and began to reveal a strange land, with large tracts of snow, giving place, as the light strengthened, to vast forests. To their minds these suggested the plains of Poland, if not the steppes of Russia, and, fearing that the country further forward might prove more inhospitable, they decided to come to earth as speedily as possible. This, in spite of difficult landing, they effected about the hour that the waking population were moving abroad, and then, and not till then, they learned the land of their haven—the heart of the German forests. Five hundred miles had been covered in eighteen hours from start to finish!
CHAPTER VII. CHARLES GREEN—FURTHER ADVENTURES.
All history is liable to repeat itself, and that of aeronautics forms no exception to the rule. The second year after the invention of the balloon the famous M. Blanchard, ascending from Frankfort, landed near Weilburg, and, in commemoration of the event, the flag he bore was deposited among the archives in the ducal palace of that town. Fifty-one years passed by when, outside the same city, a yet more famous balloon effected its landing, and with due ceremony its flag is presently laid beside that of Blanchard in the same ducal palace. The balloon of the "Immortal Three," whose splendid voyage has just been recounted, will ever be known by the title of the Great Nassau Balloon, but the neighbourhood of its landing was that of the town of Weilburg, in the Duchy of Nassau, whither the party betook themselves, and where, during many days, they were entertained with extravagant hospitality and honour until business recalled Mr. Hollond home.
Green had now made upwards of two hundred ascents, and, though he lived to make a thousand, it was impossible that he could ever eclipse this last record. It is true that the same Nassau balloon, under his guidance, made many other most memorable voyages, some of which it will be necessary to dwell on. But, to preserve a better chronology, we must first, without further digression, approach an event which fills a dark page in our annals; and, in so doing, we have to transfer our attention from the balloon itself to its accessory, the parachute.
Twenty-three years before our present date, that is to say in 1814, Mr. Cocking delivered his views as to the proper form of the parachute before the Society of Arts, who, as a mark of approval, awarded him a medal. This parachute, however, having never taken practical shape, and only existing, figuratively speaking, in the clouds, seemed unlikely to find its way there in reality until the success of the Nassau adventure stirred its inventor to strenuous efforts to give it an actual trial. Thus it came about that he obtained Mr. Green's co-operation in the attempt he now undertook, and, though this ended disastrously, for Mr. Cocking, the great professional aeronaut can in no way soever be blamed for the tragic event.
The date of the trial was in July, 1837. Mr. Cocking's parachute was totally different in principle from that form which, as we have seen, had met with a fair measure of success at the hands of early experimenters; and on the eve of its trial it was strongly denounced and condemned in the London Press by the critic whom we have recently so freely quoted, Mr. Monck Mason.
This able reasoner and aeronaut pointed out that the contrivance about to be tested aimed at obviating two principal drawbacks which the parachute had up to that time presented, namely (1) the length of time which elapses before it becomes sufficiently expanded, and (2) the oscillatory movement which accompanies the descent. In this new endeavour the inventor caused his machine to be fixed rigidly open, and to assume the shape of an inverted cone. In other words, instead of its being like an umbrella opened, it rather resembled an umbrella blown inside out. Taking, then, the shape and dimensions of Mr. Cocking's structure as a basis for mathematical calculation, as also its weight, which for required strength he put at 500 lbs. Mr. Monck Mason estimated that the adventurer and his machine must attain in falling a velocity of some twelve miles an hour. In fact, his positive prediction was that one of two events must inevitably take place. "Either the parachute would come to the ground with a force incompatible with the safety of the individual, or should it be attempted to make it sufficiently light to resist this conclusion, it must give way beneath the forces which will develop in the descent."
This emphatic word of warning was neglected, and the result of the terrible experiment can best be gathered from two principal sources. First, that of a special reporter writing from terra-firma, and, secondly, that of Mr. Green himself, who gives his own observations as made from the balloon in which he took the unfortunate man and his invention into the sky.
The journalist, who first speaks of the enormous concourse that gathered to see the ascent, not only within Vauxhall Gardens, but on every vantage ground without, proceeds to tell of his interview with Mr. Cocking himself, who, when questioned as to the danger involved, remarked that none existed for him, and that the greatest peril, if any, would attend the balloon when suddenly relieved of his weight. The proprietors of the Gardens, as the hour approached, did their best to dissuade the over-confident inventor, offering, themselves, to take the consequences of any public disappointment. This was again without avail, and so, towards 6 p.m., Mr. Green, accompanied by Mr. Spencer, a solicitor of whom this history will have more to tell, entered the balloon, which was then let up about 40 feet that the parachute might be affixed below. A little later, Mr. Cocking, casting aside his heavy coat and tossing off a glass of wine, entered his car and, amid deafening acclamations, with the band playing the National Anthem, the balloon and aeronauts above, and he himself in his parachute swinging below, mounted into the heavens, passing presently, in the gathering dusk, out of view of the Gardens.
The sequel should be gathered from Mr. Green's own narrative. Previous to starting, 650 lbs. of ballast had to be discarded to gain buoyancy sufficient to raise the massive machine. This, together with another 100 lbs., which was also required to be ejected owing to the cooling of the air, was passed out through a canvas tube leading downwards through a hole in the parachute, an ingenious contrivance which would prevent the sand thrown out from the balloon falling on the slender structure itself. On quitting the earth, however, this latter set up such violent oscillations that the canvas tube was torn away, and then it became the troublesome task of the aeronauts to make up their ballast into little parcels, and, as occasion required, to throw these into space clear of the swinging parachute below.
Despite all efforts, however, it was soon evident that the cumbersome nature of the huge parachute would prevent its being carried up quite so high as the inventor desired. Mr. Cocking had stipulated for an elevation of 7,000 feet, and, as things were, only 5,000 feet could be reached, at any rate, before darkness set in. This fact was communicated to Mr. Cocking, who promptly intimated his intention of leaving, only requesting to know whereabouts he was, to which query Mr. Spencer replied that they were on a level with Greenwich. The brief colloquy that ensued is thus given by Mr. Green:—
"I asked him if he felt quite comfortable, and if the practical trial bore out his calculation. Mr. Cocking replied, 'Yes, I never felt more comfortable or more delighted in my life,' presently adding, 'Well, now I think I shall leave you.' I answered, 'I wish you a very "Good Night!" and a safe descent if you are determined to make it and not use the tackle' (a contrivance for enabling him to retreat up into the balloon if he desired). Mr. Cocking's only reply was, 'Good-night, Spencer; Good-night, Green!' Mr. Cocking then pulled the rope that was to liberate himself, but too feebly, and a moment afterwards more violently, and in an instant the balloon shot upwards with the velocity of a sky rocket. The effect upon us at this moment was almost beyond description. The immense machine which suspended us between heaven and earth, whilst it appeared to be forced upwards with terrific violence and rapidity through unknown and untravelled regions amidst the howlings of a fearful hurricane, rolled about as though revelling in a freedom for which it had long struggled, but of which until that moment it had been kept in utter ignorance. It, at length, as if somewhat fatigued by its exertions, gradually assumed the motions of a snake working its way with extraordinary speed towards a given object. During this frightful operation the gas was rushing in torrents from the upper and lower valve, but more particularly from the latter, as the density of the atmosphere through which we were forcing our progress pressed so heavily on the valve at the top of the balloon as to admit of but a comparatively small escape by this aperture. At this juncture, had it not been for the application to our mouths of two pipes leading into an air bag, with which we had furnished ourselves previous to starting, we must within a minute have been suffocated, and so, but by different means, have shared the melancholy fate of our friend. This bag was formed of silk, sufficiently capacious to contain 100 gallons of atmospheric air. Prior to our ascent, the bag was inflated with the assistance of a pair of bellows with fifty gallons of air, so allowing for any expansion which might be produced in the upper regions. Into the end of this bag were introduced two flexible tubes, and the moment we felt ourselves to be going up in the manner just described, Mr. Spencer, as well as myself, placed either of them in our mouths. By this simple contrivance we preserved ourselves from instantaneous suffocation, a result which must have ensued from the apparently endless volume of gas with which the car was enveloped. The gas, notwithstanding all our precautions, from the violence of its operation on the human frame, almost immediately deprived us of sight, and we were both, as far as our visionary powers were concerned, in a state of total darkness for four or five minutes."
Messrs. Green and Spencer eventually reached earth in safety near Maidstone, knowing nothing of the fate of their late companion. But of this we are sufficiently informed through a Mr. R. Underwood, who was on horseback near Blackheath and watching the aeronauts at the moment when the parachute was separated from the balloon. He noticed that the former descended with the utmost rapidity, at the same time swaying fearfully from side to side, until the basket and its occupant, actually parting from the parachute, fell together to earth through several hundred feet and were dashed to pieces.
It would appear that the liberation of the parachute from below the balloon had been carried out without hitch; indeed, all so far had worked well, and the wind at the time was but a gentle breeze. The misadventure, therefore, must be entirely attributed to the faulty manner in which the parachute was constructed. There could, of course, be only one issue to the sheer drop from such a height, which became the unfortunate Mr. Cocking's fate, but the very interesting question will have to be discussed as to the chances in favour of the aeronaut who, within his wicker car, while still duly attached to the balloon, may meet with a precipitate descent.
We may here fitly mention an early perilous experience of Mr. Green, due simply to the malice of someone never discovered. It appears that while Green's balloon, previous to an ascent, was on the ground, the cords attaching the car had been partly severed in such a way as to escape detection. So that as soon as the balloon rose the car commenced breaking away, and its occupants, Mr. Green and Mr. Griffiths, had to clutch at the ring, to which with difficulty they continued to cling. Meanwhile, the car remaining suspended by one cord only, the balloon was caused to hang awry, with the result that its upper netting began giving way, allowing the balloon proper gradually to escape through the bursting meshes, thus threatening the distracted voyagers with terrible disaster. The disaster, in fact, actually came to pass ere the party completed their descent, "the balloon, rushing through the opening in the net-work with a tremendous explosion, and the two passengers clinging to the rest of the gear, falling through a height said to be near a hundred feet. Both, though only with much time and difficulty, recovered from the shock."
In 1840, three years after the tragic adventure connected with Mr. Cocking's parachute trial, we find Charles Green giving his views as to the practicability of carrying out a ballooning enterprise which should far excel all others that had hitherto been attempted. This was nothing less than the crossing of the Atlantic from America to England. There is no shadow of doubt that the adventurous aeronaut was wholly in earnest in the readiness he expressed to embark on the undertaking should adequate funds be forthcoming; and he discusses the possibilities with singular clearness and candour. He maintains that the actual difficulties resolve themselves into two only: first, the maintenance of the balloon in the sky for the requisite period of time; and, secondly, the adequate control of its direction in space. With respect to the first difficulty, he points out the fact to which we have already referred, namely, that it is impossible to avoid the fluctuations of level in a balloon's course, "by which it constantly becomes alternately subjected to escape of gas by expansion, and consequent loss of ballast, to furnish an equivalent diminution of weight." Taking his own balloon of 80,000 cubic feet by way of example, he shows that this, fully inflated on the earth, would lose 8,000 cubic feet of gas by expansion in ascending only 3,000 feet. Moreover, the approach of night or passage through cloud or falling rain would occasion chilling of the gas or accumulation of moisture on the silk, in either case necessitating the loss of ballast, the store of which is always the true measure of the balloon's life.
To combat the above difficulty Green sanguinely relies on his favourite device of a trail or guide rope, whose function, being that of relieving the balloon of a material weight as it approaches the earth, could, he supposed, be made to act yet more efficiently when over the sea in the following manner. Its length, suspended from the ring, being not less than 2,000 feet, it should have attached at its lower end at certain intervals a number of small, stout waterproof canvas bags, the apertures of which should be contrived to admit water, but to oppose its return. Between these bags were to be conical floats, to support any length of the rope that might descend on the sea. Now, should the balloon commence descending, it would simply deposit a certain portion of rope on the water until it regained equilibrium at no great decrease of altitude, and would thus continue its course until alteration of conditions should cause it to recommence rising, when the weight of water now collected in the bags would play its part in preventing the balloon from soaring up into space. With such a contrivance Green allowed himself to imagine that he could keep a properly made balloon at practically the same altitude for a period of three months if required.
The difficulty of maintaining a due course was next discussed, and somewhat speedily disposed of. Here Green relied on the results of his own observation, gathered during 275 ascents, and stated his conviction that there prevails a uniformity of upper wind currents that would enable him to carry out his bold projects successfully. His contention is best given in his own words:
"Under whatever circumstances," he says, "I made my ascent, however contrary the direction of the winds below, I uniformly found that at a certain elevation, varying occasionally, but always within 10,000 feet of the earth, a current from the west or rather from the north of west, invariably travailed, nor do I recollect a single instance in which a different result ensued." Green's complete scheme is now sufficiently evident. He was to cross the Atlantic practically by the sole assistance of upper currents and his guide rope, but on this latter expedient, should adverse conditions prevail, he yet further relied, for he conceived that the rope could have attached to its floating end a water drag, which would hold the balloon in check until favouring gales returned.
Funds, apparently, were not forthcoming to allow of Mr. Green's putting his bold method to the test; but we find him still adhering with so much zeal to his project that, five years later, he made, though again unsuccessfully, a second proposal to cross the Atlantic by balloon. He still continued to make many and most enterprising ascents, and one of a specially sensational nature must be briefly mentioned before we pass on to regard the exploits of other aeronauts.
It was in 1841 on the occasion of a fete at Cremorne House, when Mr. Green, using his famous Nassau balloon, ascended with a Mr. Macdonnell. The wind was blowing with such extreme violence that Rainham, in Essex, about twenty miles distant, was reached in little more than a quarter of an hour, and here, on nearing the earth, the grapnel, finding good hold, gave a wrench to the balloon that broke the ring and jerked the car completely upside down, the aeronauts only escaping precipitation by holding hard to the ropes. A terrific steeplechase ensued, in which the travellers were dragged through stout fencing and other obstacles till the balloon, fairly emptied of gas, finally came to rest, but not until some severe injuries had been received.
CHAPTER VIII. JOHN WISE—THE AMERICAN AERONAUT.
By this period the domination of the air was being pursued in a fresh part of the world. England and her Continental neighbours had vied with each in adding to the roll of conquests, and it could hardly other be supposed that America would stand by without taking part in the campaign which was now being revived with so much fresh energy in the skies.
The American champion who stepped forward was Mr. John Wise, of Lancaster, Pa., whose career, commencing in the year 1835, we must now for a while follow. Few attempts at ballooning of any kind had up to that time been made in all America. There is a record that in December, 1783, Messrs. Rittenhouse and Hopkins, Members of the Philosophical Academy of Philadelphia, instituted experiments with an aerial machine consisting of a cage to which forty-seven small balloons were harnessed. In this strange craft a carpenter, by name Wilcox, was induced to ascend, which, it is said, he did successfully, remaining in the air for ten minutes, when, finding himself near a river, he sought to come to earth again by opening several of his balloons. This brought about an awkward descent, attended, however, by no more serious accident than a dislocated wrist. Mr. Wise, on the other hand, states that Blanchard had won the distinction of making the first ascent in the New World in 1793 in Philadelphia on which occasion Washington was a spectator; and a few years afterwards other Frenchmen gave exhibitions, which, however, led to no real development of the new art on this, the further side of the Atlantic. Thus the endeavours we are about to describe were those of an independent and, at the same time, highly, practical experimentalist, and on this account have a special value of their own.
The records that Wise has left of his investigations begin at the earliest stage, and possess the charm of an obvious and somewhat quaint reality. They commence with certain crude calculations which would seem to place no limit to the capabilities of a balloon. Thus, he points out that one of "the very moderate size of 400 feet diameter" would convey 13,000 men. "No wonder, then," he continues, "the citizens of London became alarmed during the French War, when they mistook the appearance of a vast flock of birds coming towards the Metropolis for Napoleon's army apparently coming down upon them with this new contrivance."
Proceeding to practical measures, Wise's first care was to procure some proper material of which to build an experimental balloon of sufficient size to lift and convey himself alone. For this he chose ordinary long-cloth, rendered gas-tight by coats of suitable varnish, the preparation of which became with him, as, indeed, it remains to this day, a problem of chief importance and difficulty. Perhaps it hardly needs pointing out that the varnish of a balloon must not only be sufficiently elastic not to crack or scale off with folding or unavoidable rough usage, but it must also be of a nature to resist the common tendency of such substances to become adherent or "tacky." Wise determined on bird lime thinned with linseed oil and ordinary driers. With this preparation he coated his material several times both before and after the making up, and having procured a net, of which he speaks with pride, and a primitive sort of car, of which he bitterly complains, he thought himself sufficiently equipped to embark on an actual ascent, which he found a task of much greater practical difficulty than the mere manufacture of his air ship. For the inflation by hydrogen of so small a balloon as his was he made more than ample provision in procuring no less than fifteen casks of 130 gallons capacity each. He also duly secured a suitable filling ground at the corner of Ninth and Green Streets, Philadelphia, but he made a miscalculation as to the time the inflation would demand, and this led to unforeseen complications, for as yet he knew not the way of a crowd which comes to witness a balloon ascent.
Having all things in readiness, and prudently waiting for fair weather, he embarked on his grand experiment on the 2nd of May, 1835, announcing 4 p.m. as the hour of departure. But by that time the inflation, having only proceeded for three hours, the balloon was but half full, and then the populace began to behave as in such circumstances they always will. They were incredulous, and presently grew troublesome. In vain the harnessing of the car was proceeded with as though all were well. For all was not well, and when the aeronaut stepped into his car with only fifteen pounds of sand and a few instruments he must have done so with much misgiving. Still, he had friends around who might have been useful had they been less eager to help. But these simply crowded round him, giving him no elbow room, nor opportunity for trying the "lift" of his all-too-empty globe. Moreover, some would endeavour to throw the machine upward, while others as strenuously strove to keep it down, and at last the former party prevailed, and the balloon, being fairly cast into the air, grazed a neighbouring chimney and then plunged into an adjacent plot, not, however, before the distracted traveller had flung away all his little stock of sand. There now was brief opportunity for free action, and to the first bystander who came running up Wise gave the task of holding the car in check. To the next he handed out his instruments, his coat, and also his boots, hoping thus to get away; but his chance had not yet come, for once again the crowd swarmed round him, keeping him prisoner with good-natured but mistaken interference, and drowning his voice with excited shouting. Somehow, by word and gesture, he gave his persecutors to understand that he wished to speak, and then he begged them only to give him a chance, whereupon the crowd fell back, forming a ring, and leaving only one man holding the car. It was a moment of suspense, for Wise calculated that he had only parted with some eighteen pounds since his first ineffectual start from the filling ground; but it was enough, and in another moment he was sailing up clear above the crowd. So great, as has been already shewn, is often the effect of parting with the last few pounds of dead weight in a well-balanced balloon.
Such was the first "send off" of the future great balloonist, destined to become the pioneer in aeronautics on the far side of the Atlantic. The balloon ascended to upwards of a mile, floating gradually away, but at its highest point it reached a conflict of currents, causing eddies from which Wise escaped by a slight decrease of weight, effected by merely cutting away the wreaths of flowers that were tied about his car. A further small substitute for ballast he extemporised in the metal tube inserted in the neck of his fabric, and this he cast out when over the breadth of the Delaware, and he describes it as falling with a rustling sound, and striking the water with a splash plainly heard at more than a mile in the sky. After an hour and a quarter the balloon spontaneously and steadily settled to earth.
An ascent carried out later in the same summer led to a mishap, which taught the young aeronaut an all-important lesson. Using the same balloon and the same mode of inflation, he got safely and satisfactorily away from his station in the town of Lebanon, Pa., and soon found himself over a toll gate in the open country, where the gate keeper in banter called up to him for his due. To this summons Wise, with heedless alacrity, responded in a manner which might well have cost him dear. He threw out a bag of sand to represent his toll, and, though he estimated this at only six pounds, it so greatly accelerated his ascent that he shortly found himself at a greater altitude than he ever after attained. He passed through mist into upper sunshine, where he experienced extreme cold and ear-ache, at which time, seeking the natural escape from such trouble, he found to his dismay that the valve rope was out of reach. Thus he was compelled to allow the balloon to ascend yet higher, at its own will; and then a terrible event happened.
By mischance the neck of his balloon, which should have been open, was out of reach and folded inwards in such a way as to prevent the free escape of the gas, which, at this great altitude, struggled for egress with a loud humming noise, giving him apprehensions of an accident which very shortly occurred, namely, the bursting of the lower part of his balloon with a loud report. It happened, however, that no extreme loss of gas ensued, and he commenced descending with a speed which, though considerable, was not very excessive. Still, he was eager to alight in safety, until a chance occurrence made him a second time that afternoon guilty of an act of boyish impetuosity. A party of volunteers firing a salute in his honour as he neared the ground, he instantly flung out papers, ballast, anything he could lay his hands on, and once again soared to a great height with his damaged balloon. He could then do no more, and presently subsiding to earth again, he acquired the welcome knowledge that even in such precarious circumstances a balloon may make a long fall with safety to its freight.
Mr. Wise's zeal and indomitable spirit of enterprise led to speedy developments of the art which he had espoused; the road to success being frequently pointed out by failure or mishap. He quickly discarded the linen balloon for one of silk on which he tried a new varnish composed of linseed oil and india-rubber, and, dressing several gores with this, he rolled them up and left them through a night in a drying loft, with the result that the next day they were disintegrated and on the point of bursting into flame by spontaneous combustion. Fresh silk and other varnish were then tried, but with indifferent success. Next he endeavoured to dispense with sewing, and united the gores of yet another balloon by the mere adhesiveness of the varnish and application of a hot iron. This led to a gaping seam developing at the moment of an ascent, and then there followed a hasty and hazardous descent on a house-top and an exciting rescue by a gentleman who appeared opportunely at a third storey window. Further, another balloon had been destroyed, and Wise badly burned, at a descent, owing to a naked light having been brought near the escaping gas. It is then without wonder that we find him after this temporarily bankrupt, and resorting to his skill in instrument-making to recover his fortunes. Only, however, for a few months, after which he is before the public once more as a professional aeronaut. He now adopts coal gas for inflation, and incidents of an impressive nature crowd into his career, forcing important facts upon him. The special characteristics of his own country present peculiar difficulties; broad rivers and vast forests become serious obstacles. He is caught in the embrace of a whirlwind; he narrowly escapes falling into a forest fire; he is precipitated, but harmlessly, into a pine wood. Among other experiments, he makes a small copy of Mr. Cocking's parachute, and drops it to earth with a cat as passenger, proving thereby that that unfortunate gentleman's principle was really less in fault than the actual slenderness of the material used in his machine.
We now approach one of Wise's boldest, and at the same time most valuable, experiments. It was the summer of 1839, and once again the old trouble of spontaneous combustion had destroyed a silk balloon which was to have ascended at Easton, Pa. Undeterred, however, Wise resolutely advertised a fresh attempt, and, with only a clear month before the engagement, determined on hastily rigging up a cambric muslin balloon, soaking it in linseed oil and essaying the best exhibition that this improvised experiment could afford. It was intended to become a memorable one, inasmuch as, should he meet with no hindrance, his determination was nothing less than that of bursting this balloon at a great height, having firmly convinced himself that the machine in these circumstances would form itself into a natural parachute, and bring him to earth with every chance in favour of safety. In his own words, "Scientific calculations were on his side with a certainty as great and principles as comprehensive as that a pocket-handkerchief will not fall as rapidly to the ground when thrown out of a third storey window as will a brick."
His balloon was specially contrived for the experiment in hand, having cords sewn to the upper parts of its seams, and then led down through the neck, where they were secured within reach, their office being that of rending the whole head of the balloon should this be desired. On this occasion a cat and a dog were taken up, one of these being let fall from a height of 2,000 feet in a Cocking's parachute, and landing in safety, the other being similarly dismissed at an altitude of 4,000 feet in an oiled silk balloon made in the form of a collapsed balloon, which, after falling a little distance, expanded sufficiently to allow of its descending with a safe though somewhat vibratory motion. Its behaviour, at any rate, fully determined Wise on carrying out his own experiment.
Being constructed entirely for the main object in view, the balloon had no true opening in the neck beyond an orifice of about an inch, and by the time a height of 13,000 feet had been reached the gas was streaming violently through this small hole, the entire globe being expanded nearly to bursting point, and the cords designed for rending the balloon very tense. At this critical period Wise owns to having experienced considerable nervous excitement, and observing far down a thunderstorm in progress he began to waver in his mind, and inclined towards relieving the balloon of its strain, and so abandoning his experiment, at least for the present. He remembers pulling out his watch to make a note of the hour, and, while thus occupied, the straining cords, growing tenser every moment, suddenly took charge of the experiment and burst the balloon of their own accord. The gas now rushed from the huge rent above tumultuously and in some ten seconds had entirely escaped, causing the balloon to descend rapidly, until the lower part of the muslin, doubling in upwards, formed a species of parachute after the manner intended. The balloon now came down with zig-zag descent, and finally the car, striking the earth obliquely, tossed its occupant out into a field unharmed. Shortly after this Wise experimented with further success with an exploded balloon.
It is not a little remarkable that this pioneer of aeronautics in American—a contemporary of Charles Green in England, but working and investigating single-handed on perfectly independent lines—should have arrived at the same conclusions as did Green himself as to the possibility, which, in his opinion, amounted to a certainty, of being able to cross the Atlantic by balloon if only adequate funds were forth-coming. So intent was he on his bold scheme that, in the summer of 1843, he handed to the Lancaster Intelligencer a proclamation, which he desired might be conveyed to all publishers of newspapers on the globe. It contained, among other clauses, the following:—
"Having from a long experience in aeronautics been convinced that a constant and regular current of air is blowing at all times from west to east, with a velocity of from twenty to forty and even sixty miles per hour, according to its height from the earth, and having discovered a composition which renders silk or muslin impervious to hydrogen gas, so that a balloon may be kept afloat for many weeks, I feel confident with these advantages that a trip across the Atlantic will not be attended with as much real danger as by the common mode of transition. The balloon is to be 100 feet in diameter, giving it a net ascending power of 25,000 lbs." It was further stated that the crew would consist of three persons, including a sea navigator, and a scientific landsman. The specifications for the transatlantic vessel were also to include a seaworthy boat in place of the ordinary car. The sum requisite for this enterprise was, at the time, not realised; but it should be mentioned that several years later a sufficient sum of money was actually subscribed. In the summer of 1873 the proprietors of the New York Daily Graphic provided for the construction of a balloon of no less than 400,000 cubic feet capacity, and calculated to lift 14,000 lbs. It was, however, made of bad material; and, becoming torn in inflation, Wise condemned and declined to use it. A few months later, when it had been repaired, one Donaldson and two other adventurers, attempting a voyage with this ill-formed monster, ascended from New York, and were fortunate in coming down safely, though not without peril, somewhere in Connecticut.
Failing in his grand endeavour, Wise continued to follow the career of a professional aeronaut for some years longer, of which he has left a full record, terminating with the spring of 1848. His ascents were always marked by carefulness of detail, and a coolness and courage in trying circumstances that secured him uniform success and universal regard. He was, moreover, always a close and intelligent observer, and many of his memoranda are of scientific value.
His description of an encounter with a storm-cloud in the June of 1843 has an interest of its own, and may not be considered overdrawn. It was an ascent from Carlisle, Pa., to celebrate the anniversary of Bunker's Hill, and Wise was anxious to gratify the large concourse of people assembled, and thus was tempted, soon after leaving the ground, to dive up into a huge black cloud of peculiarly forbidding aspect. This cloud appeared to remain stationary while he swept beneath it, and, having reached its central position, he observed that its under surface was concave towards the earth, and at that moment he became swept upwards in a vortex that set his balloon spinning and swinging violently, while he himself was afflicted with violent nausea and a feeling of suffocation. The cold experienced now became intense, and the cordage became glazed with ice, yet this had no effect in checking the upward whirling of the balloon. Sunshine was beyond the upper limits of the cloud; but this was no sooner reached than the balloon, escaping from the uprush, plunged down several hundred feet, only to be whirled up again, and this reciprocal motion was repeated eight or ten times during an interval of twenty minutes, in all of which time no expenditure of gas or discharge of ballast enabled the aeronaut to regain any control over his vessel.
Statements concerning a thunderstorm witnessed at short range by Wise will compare with other accounts. The thunder "rattled" without any reverberations, and when the storm was passing, and some dense clouds moving in the upper currents, the "surface of the lower stratum swelled up suddenly like a boiling cauldron, which was immediately followed by the most brilliant ebullition of sparkling coruscations." Green, in his stormy ascent from Newbury, England, witnessed a thunderstorm below him, as will be remembered, while an upper cloud stratum lay at his own level. It was then that Green observed that "at every discharge of thunder all the detached pillars of clouds within the distance of a mile around became attracted."
The author will have occasion, in due place, to give personal experiences of an encounter with a thunderstorm which will compare with the foregoing description.
CHAPTER IX. EARLY METHODS AND IDEAS.
Before proceeding to introduce the chief actors and their achievements in the period next before us, it will be instructive to glance at some of the principal ideas and methods in favour with aeronauts up to the date now reached. It will be seen that Wise in America, contrary to the practice of Green in our own country, had a strong attachment to the antique mode of inflation with hydrogen prepared by the vitriolic process; and his balloons were specially made and varnished for the use of this gas. The advantage which he thus bought at the expense of much trouble and the providing of cumbersome equipment was obvious enough, and may be well expressed by a formula which holds good to-day, namely, that whereas 1,000 cubic feet of hydrogen is capable of lifting 7 lbs., the same quantity of coal gas of ordinary quality will raise but 35 lbs. The lighter gas came into all Wise's calculations for bolder schemes. Thus, when he discusses the possibility of using a metal balloon, his figures work out as follows: If a balloon of 200 feet diameter were constructed out of copper, weighing one pound to the square foot; if, moreover, some six tons were allowed for the weight of car and fastenings, an available lifting power would remain capable of raising 45 tons to an altitude of two miles. This calculation may appear somewhat startling, yet it is not only substantially correct, but Wise entertained no doubt as to the practicability of such a machine. For its inflation he suggests inserting a muslin balloon filled with air within the copper globe, and then passing hydrogen gas between the muslin and copper surfaces, which would exclude the inner balloon as the copper one filled up.
His method of preparing hydrogen was practically that still adopted in the field, and seems in his hands to have been seldom attended with difficulty. With eight common 130-gallon rum puncheons he could reckon on evolving 5,000 cubic feet of gas in an hour, using his elements in the following proportions: water, 560 lbs.; sulphuric acid (sp. g. 1.85), 144 lbs.; iron turnings, 125 lbs. The gas, as given off, was cooled and purified by being passed through a head of water kept cool and containing lime in solution. Contrasted with this, we find it estimated, according to the practice of this time, that a ton of good bituminous coal should yield 10,000 cubic feet of carburetted hydrogen fit for lighting purposes, and a further quantity which, though useless as an illuminant, is still of excellent quality for the aeronaut.
It would even seem from a statement of Mr. Monck Mason that the value of coke in his day largely compensated for the cost of producing coal gas, so that in a large number of Green's ascents no charge whatever was made for gas by the companies that supplied him.
Some, at least, of the methods formerly recommended for the management of free balloons must in these days be modified. Green, as we have seen, was in favour of a trail rope of inordinate length, which he recommended both as an aid to steering and for a saving of ballast. In special circumstances, and more particularly over the sea, this may be reckoned a serviceable adjunct, but over land its use, in this country at least, would be open to serious objection. The writer has seen the consternation, not to say havoc, that a trail rope may occasion when crossing a town, or even private grounds, and the actual damage done to a garden of hops, or to telegraph or telephone wires, may be very serious indeed. Moreover, the statement made by some early practitioners that a trail rope will not catch so as to hold fast in a wood or the like, is not to be relied on, for an instance could be mentioned coming under the writer's knowledge where such a rope was the source of so much trouble in a high wind that it had to be cut away.
The trouble arose in this way. The rope dragged harmlessly enough along the open ground. It would, likewise, negotiate exceedingly well a single tree or a whole plantation, catching and releasing itself with only such moderate tugs at the car as were not disturbing; but, presently, its end, which had been caught and again released by one tree, swung free in air through a considerable gap to another tree, where, striking a horizontal bough, it coiled itself several times around, and thus held the balloon fast, which now, with the strength of the wind, was borne to the earth again and again, rebounding high in air after each impact, until freedom was gained only by the sacrifice of a portion of the rope.
Wise recommends a pendant line of 600 or 800 feet, capable of bearing a strain of 100 lbs., and with characteristic ingenuity suggests a special use which can be made of it, namely, that of having light ribbons tied on at every hundred feet, by means of which the drifts of lower currents may be detected. In this suggestion there is, indeed, a great deal of sound sense; for there is, as will be shown hereafter, very much value to be attached to a knowledge of those air rivers that are flowing, often wholly unsuspected, at various heights. Small parachutes, crumpled paper, and other such-like bodies as are commonly thrown out and relied on to declare the lower drifts, are not wholly trustworthy, for this reason—that air-streams are often very slender, mere filaments, as they are sometimes called, and these, though setting in some definite direction, and capable of entrapping and wafting away some small body which may come within their influence, may not affect the travel of so big an object as a balloon, which can only partake of some more general air movement.
Wise, by his expedient of tying ribbons at different points to his trail rope, would obtain much more correct and constant information respecting those general streams through which the pendant rope was moving. A similar expedient adopted by the same ingenious aeronaut is worthy of imitation, namely, that of tying ribbons on to a rod projecting laterally from the car. These form a handy and constant telltale as to the flight of the balloon, for should they be fluttering upwards the sky sailor at once knows that his craft is descending, and that he must act accordingly.
The material, pure silk, which was universally adopted up to and after the period we are now regarding, is not on every account to be reckoned the most desirable. In the first place, its cost alone is prohibitive, and next, although lighter than any kind of linen, strength for strength, it requires a greater weight of varnish, which, moreover, it does not take so kindly as does fabric made of vegetable tissue. Further, paradoxical as it may appear, its great strength is not entirely an advantage. There are occasions which must come into the experience of every zealous aeronaut when his balloon has descended in a rough wind, and in awkward country. This may, indeed, happen even when the ascent has been made in calm. Squalls of wind may spring up at short notice, or after traversing only two or three counties a strong gale may be found on the earth, though such was absent in the starting ground. This is more particularly the case when the landing chances to be on high ground in the neighbourhood of the sea. In these circumstances, the careful balloonist, who will generally be forewarned by the ruffle on any water he may pass, or by the drift of smoke, the tossing of trees, or by their very rustling or "singing" wafted upwards to him, will, if possible, seek for his landing place the lee of a wood or some other sheltered spot. But, even with all his care, he will sometimes find himself, on reaching earth, being dragged violently across country on a mad course which the anchor cannot check. Now, the country through which he is making an unwilling steeplechase may be difficult, or even dangerous. Rivers, railway cuttings, or other undesirable obstacles may lie ahead, or, worse yet, such a death trap as in such circumstances almost any part of Derbyshire affords, with its stone walls, its precipitous cliffs, and deep rocky dells. To be dragged at the speed of an express train through territory of this description will presently mean damage to something, perhaps to telegraph poles, to roofs, or crops, and if not, then to the balloon itself. Something appertaining to it must be victimised, and it is in all ways best that this should be the fabric of the balloon itself. If made of some form, or at least some proportion of linen, this will probably rend ere long, and, allowing the gas to escape, will soon bring itself to rest. On the other hand, if the balloon proper is a silk one, with sound net and in good condition, it is probable that something else will give way first, and that something may prove to be the hapless passenger or passengers.
And here be it laid down as one first and all-important principle, that in any such awkward predicament as that just described, if there be more than one passenger aboard, let none attempt to get out. In the first place, he may very probably break a limb in so doing, inasmuch as the tangle of the ropes will not allow of his getting cut readily; or, when actually on the ground, he may be caught and impaled by the anchor charging and leaping behind. But, worse than all, he may, in any case, jeopardise the lives of his companions, who stand in need of all the available weight and help that the car contains up to the moment Of coming to final rest.
We have already touched on the early notions as to the means of steering a balloon. Oars had been tested without satisfactory result, and the conception of a rotary screw found favour among theorists at this time, the principle being actually tried with success in working models, which, by mechanical means, could be made to flit about in the still air of the lecture room; but the only feasible method advocated was that already alluded to, which depended on the undesirable action of a trail rope dragging over the ground or through water. The idea was, of course, perfectly practical, and was simply analogous to the method adopted by sailors, who, when floating with the stream but without wind, are desirous of gaining "steerage way." While simply drifting with the flood, they are unable to guide their vessel in any way, and this, in practice, is commonly effected by simply propelling the vessel faster than the stream, in which case the rudder at once becomes available. But the same result is equally well obtained by slowing the vessel, and this is easily accomplished by a cable, with a small anchor or other weight attached, dragging below the vessel. This cable is essentially the same as the guide-rope of the older aeronauts.
It is when we come to consider the impressions and sensations described by sky voyagers of bygone times that we find them curiously at variance with our own. As an instance, we may state that the earth, as seen from a highflying balloon, used to be almost always described as appearing concave, or like a huge basin, and ingenious attempts were made to prove mathematically that this must be so. The laws of refraction are brought in to prove the fact; or, again, the case is stated thus: Supposing the extreme horizon to be seen when the balloon is little more than a mile high, the range of view on all sides will then be, roughly, some eighty miles. If, then, a line were drawn from the aerial observer to this remote distance, that line would be almost horizontal; so nearly so that he cannot persuade himself that his horizon is otherwise than still on a level with his eye; yet the earth below him lies, as it seems, at the bottom of a huge gulf. Thus the whole visible earth appears as a vast bowl or basin. This is extremely ingenious reasoning, and not to be disregarded; but the fact remains that in the experience of the writer and of many others whom he has consulted, there is no such optical illusion as I have just discussed, and to their vision it is impossible to regard the earth as anything but uniformly flat.
Another impression invariably insisted on by early balloonists is that the earth, on quitting it, appears to drop away into an abyss, leaving the voyagers motionless, and this illusion must, indeed, be probably universal. It is the same illusion as the apparent gliding backwards of objects to a traveller in a railway carriage; only in this latter case the rattling and shaking of the carriage helps the mind to grasp the real fact that the motion belongs to the train itself; whereas it is otherwise with a balloon, whose motion is so perfectly smooth as to be quite imperceptible.
Old ideas, formed upon insufficient observations, even if erroneous, were slow to die. Thus it used to be stated that an upper cloud floor adapted itself to the contour of the land over which it rested, giving what Mr. Monck Mason has called a "phrenological estimate" of the character of the earth below; the clouds, "even when under the influence of rapid motion, seeming to accommodate themselves to all variations of form in the surface of the subjacent soil, rising with its prominences and sinking with its depressions." Probably few aeronauts of the present time will accept the statement.
It used commonly to be asserted, and is so often to this day, that a feeling as of sea-sickness is experienced in balloon travel, and the notion has undoubtedly arisen from the circumstances attending an ascent in a captive balloon. It were well, now that ballooning bids fair to become popular, to disabuse the public mind of such a wholly false idea. The truth is that a balloon let up with a lengthy rope and held captive will, with a fitful breeze, pitch and sway in a manner which may induce all the unpleasant feelings attending a rough passage at sea. It may do worse, and even be borne to earth with a puff of wind which may come unexpectedly, and considerably unsettle the nerves of any holiday passenger. I could tell of a "captive" that had been behaving itself creditably on a not very settled day suddenly swooping over a roadway and down into public gardens, where it lay incontinently along the ground, and then, before the astonished passengers could attempt to alight, it was seized with another mood, and, mounting once again majestically skyward, submitted to be hauled down with all becoming grace and ease. It is owing to their vagaries and want of manageability that, as will be shown, "captives" are of uncertain use in war. On the other hand, a free balloon is exempt from such disadvantages, and at moderate heights not the smallest feeling of nausea is ever experienced. The only unpleasant sensation, and that not of any gravity, ever complained of, is a peculiar tension in the ears experienced in a rapid ascent, or more often, perhaps, in a descent. The cause, which is trivial and easily removed, should be properly understood, and cannot be given in clearer language than that used by Professor Tyndall:—"Behind the tympanic membrane exists a cavity—the drum of the ear—in part crossed by a series of bones, and in part occupied by air. This cavity communicates with the mouth by means of a duct called the Eustachian tube. This tube is generally closed, the air space behind the tympanic membrane being thus cut off from the external air. If, under these circumstances, the external air becomes denser, it will press the tympanic membrane inwards; if, on the other hand, the air on the other side becomes rarer, while the Eustachian tube becomes closed, the membrane will be pressed outwards. Pain is felt in both cases, and partial deafness is experienced.... By the act of swallowing the Eustachian tube is opened, and thus equilibrium is established between the external and internal pressure."
Founded on physical facts more or less correct in themselves, come a number of tales of olden days, which are at least more marvellous than credible, the following serving as an example. The scientific truth underlying the story is the well-known expedient of placing a shrivelled apple under the receiver of an air pump. As the air becomes rarefied the apple swells, smooths itself out, and presently becomes round and rosy as it was in the summer time. It is recorded that on one occasion a man of mature years made an ascent, accompanied by his son, and, after reaching some height, the youth remarked on how young his father was looking. They still continued to ascend, and the same remark was repeated more than once. And at last, having now reached attenuated regions, the son cried in astonishment, "Why, dad, you ought to be at school!" The cause of this remark was that in the rarefied air all the wrinkles had come out of the old man's face, and his cheeks were as chubby as his son's.
This discussion of old ideas should not be closed without mention of a plausible plea for the balloon made by Wise and others on the score of its value to health. Lofty ascents have proved a strain on even robust constitutions—the heart may begin to suffer, or ills akin to mountain sickness may intervene before a height equal to that of our loftiest mountain is reached. But many have spoken of an exhilaration of spirits not inferior to that of the mountaineer, which is experienced, and without fatigue, in sky voyages reasonably indulged in—of a light-heartedness, a glow of health, a sharpened appetite, and the keen enjoyment of mere existence. Nay, it has been seriously affirmed that "more good may be got by the invalid in an hour or two while two miles up on a fine summer's day than is to be gained in an entire voyage from New York to Madeira by sea."
CHAPTER X. THE COMMENCEMENT OF A NEW ERA.
Resuming the roll of progressive aeronauts in England whose labours were devoted to the practical conquest of the air, and whose methods and mechanical achievements mark the road of advance by which the successes of to-day have been obtained, there stand out prominently two individuals, of whom one has already received mention in these pages.
The period of a single life is seldom sufficient to allow within its span the full development of any new departure in art or science, and it cannot, therefore, be wondered at if Charles Green, though reviving and re-modelling the art of ballooning in our own country, even after an exceptionally long and successful career, left that pursuit to which he had given new birth virtually still in its infancy.
The year following that in which Green conducted the famous Nassau voyage we find him experimenting in the same balloon with his chosen friend and colleague, Edward Spencer, solicitor, of Barnsbury, who, only nine years later, compiles memoranda of thirty-four ascents, made under every variety of circumstance, many being of a highly enterprising nature. We find him writing enthusiastically of the raptures he experienced when sailing over London in night hours, of lofty ascents and extremely low temperatures, of speeding twenty-eight miles in twenty minutes, of grapnel ropes breaking, and of a cross-country race of four miles through woods and hedges. Such was Mr. Spencer the elder, and if further evidence were needed of his practical acquaintance with, as well as personal devotion to, his adopted profession of aeronautics, we have it in the store of working calculations and other minutiae of the craft, most carefully compiled in manuscript by his own hand; these memoranda being to this day constantly consulted by his grandsons, the present eminent aeronauts, Messrs. Spencer Brothers, as supplying a manual of reliable data for the execution of much of the most important parts of their work.
In the terrific ordeal and risk entailed by the daring and fatal parachute descent of Cocking, Green required an assistant of exceptional nerve and reliability, and, as has been recorded, his choice at once fell on Edward Spencer. In this choice it has already been shown that he was well justified, and in the trying circumstances that ensued Green frankly owns that it was his competent companion who was the first to recover himself. A few years later, when a distinguished company, among whom were Albert Smith and Shirley Brooks, made a memorable ascent from Cremorne, Edward Spencer is one of the select party.
Some account of this voyage should be given, and it need not be said that no more graphic account is to be found than that given by the facile pen of Albert Smith himself. His personal narrative also forms an instructive contrast to another which he had occasion to give to the world shortly afterwards, and which shall be duly noticed. The enthusiastic writer first describes, with apparent pride, the company that ascended with him. Besides Mr. Shirley Brooks, there were Messrs. Davidson, of the Garrick Club; Mr. John Lee, well known in theatrical circles; Mr. P. Thompson, of Guy's Hospital, and others—ten in all, including Charles Green as skipper, and Edward Spencer, who, sitting in the rigging, was entrusted with the all-important management of the valve rope.
"The first sensation experienced," Albert Smith continues, "was not that we were rising, but that the balloon remained fixed, whilst all the world below was rapidly falling away; while the cheers with which they greeted our departure grew fainter, and the cheerers themselves began to look like the inmates of many sixpenny Noah's Arks grouped upon a billiard table.... Our hats would have held millions.... And most strange is the roar of the city as it comes surging into the welkin as though the whole metropolis cheered you with one voice.... Yet none beyond the ordinary passengers are to be seen. The noise is as inexplicable as the murmur in the air at hot summer noontide."
The significance of this last remark will be insisted on when the writer has to tell his own experiences aloft over London, as also a note to the effect that there were seen "large enclosed fields and gardens and pleasure grounds where none were supposed to exist by ordinary passengers." Another interesting note, having reference to a once familiar feature on the river, now disappearing, related to the paddle boats of those days, the steamers making a very beautiful effect, "leaving two long wings of foam behind them similar to the train of a table rocket." Highly suggestive, too, of the experiences of railway travellers in the year 1847 is the account of the alighting, which, by the way, was obviously of no very rude nature. "Every time," says the writer, "the grapnel catches in the ground the balloon is pulled up suddenly with a shock that would soon send anybody from his seat, a jerk like that which occurs when fresh carriages are brought up to a railway train." But the concluding paragraph in this rosy narrative affords another and a very notable contrast to the story which that same writer had occasion to put on record before that same year had passed.
"We counsel everybody to go up in a balloon... In spite of the apparent frightful fragility of cane and network nothing can in reality be more secure... The stories of pressure on the ears, intense cold, and the danger of coming down are all fictions.... Indeed, we almost wanted a few perils to give a little excitement to the trip, and have some notion, if possible, of going up the next time at midnight with fireworks in a thunderstorm, throwing away all the ballast, fastening down the valve, and seeing where the wind will send us."
The fireworks, the thunderstorm, and the throwing away of ballast, all came off on the 15th of the following October, when Albert Smith made his second ascent, this time from Vauxhall Gardens, under the guidance of Mr. Gypson, and accompanied by two fellow-passengers. Fireworks, which were to be displayed when aloft, were suspended on a framework forty feet below the car. Lightning was also playing around as they cast off. The description which Albert Smith gives of London by night as seen from an estimated elevation of 4,000 feet, should be compared with other descriptions that will be given in these pages:—
"In the obscurity all traces of houses and enclosures are lost sight of. I can compare it to nothing else than floating over dark blue and boundless sea spangled with hundreds of thousands of stars. These stars were the lamps. We could see them stretching over the river at the bridges, edging its banks, forming squares and long parallel lines of light in the streets and solitary parks. Further and further apart until they were altogether lost in the suburbs. The effect was bewildering."
At 7,000 feet, one of the passengers, sitting in the ring, remarked that the balloon was getting very tense, and the order was given to "ease her" by opening the top valve. The valve line was accordingly pulled, "and immediately afterwards we heard a noise similar to the escape of steam in a locomotive, and the lower part of the balloon collapsed rapidly, and appeared to fly up into the upper portion. At the same instant the balloon began to fall with appalling velocity, the immense mass of loose silk surging and rustling frightfully over our heads.... retreating up away from us more and more into the head of the balloon. The suggestion was made to throw everything over that might lighten the balloon. I had two sandbags in my lap, which were cast away directly.... There were several large bags of ballast, and some bottles of wine, and these were instantly thrown away, but no effect was perceptible. The wind still appeared to be rushing up past us at a fearful rate, and, to add to the horror, we came among the still expiring discharge of the fireworks which floated in the air, so that little bits of exploded cases and touch-paper, still incandescent, attached themselves to the cordage of the balloon and were blown into sparks.... I presume we must have been upwards of a mile from the earth.... How long we were descending I have not the slightest idea, but two minutes must have been the outside.... We now saw the houses, the roofs of which appeared advancing to meet us, and the next instant, as we dashed by their summits, the words, 'Hold hard!' burst simultaneously from all the party.... We were all directly thrown out of the car along the ground, and, incomprehensible as it now appears to me, nobody was seriously hurt."
But "not so incomprehensible, after all," will be the verdict of all who compare the above narrative with the ascents given in a foregoing account of how Wise had fared more than once when his balloon had burst. For, as will be readily guessed, the balloon had in this case also burst, owing to the release of the upper valve being delayed too long, and the balloon had in the natural way transformed itself into a true parachute. Moreover, the fall, which, by Albert Smith's own showing, was that of about a mile in two minutes, was not more excessive than one which will presently be recorded of Mr. Glaisher, who escaped with no material injury beyond a few bruises.
One fact has till now been omitted with regard to the above sensational voyage, namely, the name of the passenger who, sitting in the ring, was the first to point out the imminent danger of the balloon. This individual was none other than Mr. Henry Coxwell, the second, indeed, of the two who were mentioned in the opening paragraph of this chapter as marking the road of progress which it is the scope of these pages to trace, and to whom we must now formally introduce our readers.
This justly famous sky pilot, whose practical acquaintance with ballooning extends over more than forty years, was the son of a naval officer residing near Chatham, and in his autobiography he describes enthusiastically how, a lad of nine years old, he watched through a sea telescope a balloon, piloted by Charles Green, ascend from Rochester and, crossing the Thames, disappear in distance over the Essex flats. He goes on to describe how the incident started him in those early days on boyish endeavours to construct fire balloons and paper parachutes. Some years later his home, on the death of his father, being transferred to Eltham, he came within frequent view of such balloons as, starting from the neighbourhood of London, will through the summer drift with the prevailing winds over that part of Kent. And it was here that, ere long, he came in at the death of another balloon of which Green was in charge.
And from this time onwards the schoolboy with the strange hobby was constantly able to witness the flights and even the inflations of those ships of the air, which, his family associations notwithstanding took precedence of all boyish diversions.
His elder brother, now a naval officer, entirely failed to divert his aspirations into other channels, and it was when the boy had completed sixteen summers that an aeronautic enterprise attracted not only his own, but public attention also. It was the building of a mammoth balloon at Vauxhall under the superintendence of Mr. Green. The launching of this huge craft when completed was regarded as so great an occasion that the young Coxwell, who had by this time obtained a commercial opening abroad, was allowed, at his earnest entreaty, to stay till the event had come off, and fifty years after the hardened sky sailor is found describing with a boyish enthusiasm how thirty-six policemen were needed round that balloon; how enormous weights were attached to the cordage, only to be lifted feet above the ground; while the police were compelled to pass their staves through the meshes to prevent the cords cutting their hands. At this ascent Mr. Hollond was a passenger, and by the middle of the following November all Europe was ringing with the great Nassau venture.
Commercial business did not suit the young Coxwell, and at the age of one-and-twenty we find him trying his hand at the profession of surgeon-dentist, not, however, with any prospect of its keeping him from the longing of his soul, which grew stronger and stronger upon him. It was not till the summer of 1844 that Mr. Hampton, giving an exhibition from the White Conduit Gardens, Pentonville, offered the young man, then twenty-five years old, his first ascent.
In after years Coxwell referred to his first sensations in characteristic language, contrasting them with the experiences of the mountaineer. "In Alpine travels," he says, "the process is so slow, and contact with the crust of the earth so palpable, that the traveller is gradually prepared for each successive phase of view as it presents itself. But in the balloon survey, cities, villages, and vast tracts for observation spring almost magically before the eye, and change in aspect and size so pleasingly that bewilderment first and then unbounded admiration is sure to follow."
The ice was now fairly broken, and, not suffering professional duties to be any hindrance, Coxwell began to make a series of ascents under the leadership of two rival balloonists, Gale and Gypson. One voyage made with the latter he describes as leading to the most perilous descent in the annals of aerostation. This was the occasion, given above, on which Albert Smith was a passenger, and which that talented writer describes in his own fashion. He does not, however, add the fact, worthy of being chronicled, that exactly a week after the appalling adventure Gypson and Coxwell, accompanied by a Captain whose name does not transpire, and loaded with twice the previous weight of fireworks, made a perfectly successful night ascent and descent in the same balloon.
It is very shortly after this that we find Coxwell seduced into undertaking for its owners the actual management of a balloon, the property of Gale, and now to be known as the "Sylph." With this craft he practically began his career as a professional balloonist, and after a few preliminary ascents made in England, was told off to carry on engagements in Belgium.
A long series of ascents was now made on the Continent, and in the troubled state of affairs some stirring scenes were visited, not without some real adventure. One occasion attended with imminent risk occurred at Berlin in 1851. Coxwell relates that a Prussian labourer whom he had dismissed for bad conduct, and who almost too manifestly harboured revenge, nevertheless begged hard for a re-engagement, which, as the man was a handy fellow, Coxwell at length assented to. He took up three passengers beside himself, and at an elevation of some 3,000 feet found it necessary to open the valve, when, on pulling the cord, one of the top shutters broke and remained open, leaving a free aperture of 26 inches by 12 inches, and occasioning such a copious discharge of gas that nothing short of a providential landing could save disaster. But the providential landing came, the party falling into the embrace of a fruit tree in an orchard. It transpired afterwards that the labourer had been seen to tamper with the valve, the connecting lines of which he had partially severed.
Returning to England in 1852 Coxwell, through the accidents inseparable from his profession, found himself virtually in possession of the field. Green, now advanced in years, was retiring from the public life in which he had won so much fame and honour. Gale was dead, killed in an ascent at Bordeaux. Only one aspirant contested the place of public aeronaut—one Goulston, who had been Gale's patron. Before many months, however, he too met with a balloonist's death, being dashed against some stone walls when ascending near Manchester.
It will not be difficult to form an estimate of how entirely the popularity of the balloon was now reestablished in England, from the mere fact that before the expiration of the year Coxwell had been called upon to make thirty-six voyages. Some of these were from Glasgow, and here a certain coincidence took place which is too curious to be omitted. A descent effected near Milngavie took place in the same field in which Sadler, twenty-nine years before, had also descended, and the same man who caught the rope of Mr. Sadler's balloon performed the same service once again for a fresh visitor from the skies.
The following autumn Coxwell, in fulfilling one out of many engagements, found himself in a dilemma which bore resemblance in a slight degree to a far more serious predicament in which the writer became involved, and which must be told in due place. The preparations for the ascent, which was from the Mile End Road, had been hurried, and after finally getting away at a late hour in the evening, it was found that the valve line had got caught in a fold of the silk, and could not be operated. In consequence, the balloon was, of necessity, left to take its own chance through the night, and, after rising to a considerable height, it slowly lost buoyancy during the chilly hours, and, gradually settling, came to earth near Basingstoke, where the voyager, failing to get help or shelter, made his bed within his own car, lying in an open field, as other aeronauts have had to do in like circumstances.
Coxwell tells of a striking phenomenon seen during that voyage. "A splendid meteor was below the car, and apparently about 600 feet distant. It was blue and yellow, moving rapidly in a N.E. direction, and became extinguished without noise or sparks."
CHAPTER XI. THE BALLOON IN THE SERVICE OF SCIENCE.
At this point we must, for a brief while, drop the history of the famous aeronaut whose early career we have been briefly sketching in the last chapter, and turn our attention to a new feature of English ballooning. We have, at last, to record some genuinely scientific ascents, which our country now, all too tardily, instituted. It was the British Association that took the initiative, and the two men they chose for their purpose were both exceptionally qualified for the task they had in hand. The practical balloonist was none other than the veteran Charles Green, now in his sixty-seventh year, but destined yet to enjoy nearly twenty years more of life. The scientific expert was Mr. John Welsh, well fitted for the projected work by long training at Kew Observatory. The balloon which they used is itself worthy of mention, being the great Nassau Balloon of olden fame.
Welsh was quick to realise more clearly than any former experimentalist that on account of the absence of breeze in a free balloon, as also on account of great solar radiation, the indications of thermometers would, without special precautions, be falsified. He therefore invented a form of aspirating thermometer, the earliest to be met with, and far in advance of any that were subsequently used by other scientists. It consisted of a polished tube, in which thermometers were enclosed, and through which a stream of air was forced by bellows.
The difficulty of obtaining really accurate readings where thermometers are being quickly transported through varying temperatures is generally not duly appreciated. In the case of instruments carried m a balloon it should be remembered that the balloon itself conveys, clinging about it, no inconsiderable quantity of air, brought from other levels, while the temperature of its own mass will be liable to affect any thermometer in close neighbourhood. Moreover, any ordinary form of thermometer is necessarily sluggish in action, as may be readily noticed. If, for example, one be carried from a warm room to a cold passage, or vice versa it will be seen that the column moves very deliberately, and quite a long interval will elapse before it reaches its final position, the cause being that the entire instrument, with any stand or mounting that it may have, will have to adapt itself to the change of temperature before a true record will be obtained. This difficulty applies unavoidably to all thermometers in some degree, and the skill of instrument makers has been taxed to reduce the errors to a minimum. It is necessary, in any case, that a constant stream of surrounding air should play upon the instrument, and though this is most readily effected when instruments are carried aloft by kites, yet even thus it is thought that an interval of some minutes has to elapse before any form of thermometer will faithfully record any definite change of temperature. It is on this account that some allowance must be made for observations which will, in due place, be recorded of scientific explorers; the point to be borne in mind being that, as was mentioned in a former chapter, such observations will have to be regarded as giving readings which are somewhat too high in ascents and too low in descents. Two forms of thermometers at extremely simple construction, yet possessed of great sensibility, will be discussed in later chapters.
The thermometers that Welsh used were undoubtedly far superior to any that were devised before his time and it is much to be regretted that they were allowed to fall into disuse. Perhaps the most important stricture on the observations that will have to be recorded is that the observers were not provided with a base station, on which account the value of results was impaired. It was not realised that it was necessary to make observations on the ground to compare with those that were being made at high altitudes.
Welsh made, in all, four ascents in the summer and autumn of 1852 and in his report he is careful to give the highest praise to his colleague, Green, whose control over his balloon he describes as "so complete that none who accompanied him can be otherwise than relieved from all apprehension, and free to devote attention calmly to the work before him."
The first ascent was made at 3.49 p.m. on August the 17th, under a south wind and with clouds covering some three-quarters of the sky. Welsh's first remark significant, and will be appreciated by anyone who has attempted observational work in a balloon. He states naively that "a short time was lost at first in an attempt to put the instruments into more convenient order, and also from the novelty of the situation." Then he mentions an observation which, in the experience of the writer, is a common one. The lowest clouds, which were about 2,500 feet high and not near the balloon, were passed without being noticed; other clouds were passed at different heights; and, finally, a few star-shaped crystals of snow; but the sun shone almost constantly. Little variation occurred in the direction of travel, which averaged thirty-eight miles an hour, and the descent took place at 5.20 p.m. at Swavesey, near Cambridge.
The second ascent took place at 4.43 p.m. on August 26th, under a gentle east wind and a partially obscured sky. The clouds were again passed without being perceived. This was at the height of 3,000 feet, beyond which was very clear sky of deep blue. The air currents up to the limits of 12,000 feet set from varying directions. The descent occurred near Chesham at 7.45 p.m.
The third ascent, at 2.35 p.m. on October the 21st was made into a sky covered with dense cloud masses lying within 3,000 and 3,700 feet. The sun was then seen shining through cirrus far up. The shadow of the balloon was also seen on the cloud, fringed with a glory, and about this time there was seen "stretching for a considerable length in a serpentine course, over the surface of the cloud, a well-defined belt, having the appearance of a broad road."
Being now at 12,000 feet, Green thought it prudent to reconnoitre his position, and, finding they were near the sea, descended at 4.20 p.m. at Rayleigh, in Essex. Some important notes on the polarisation of the clouds were made.
The fourth and final voyage was made in a fast wind averaging fifty knots from the north-east. Thin scud was met at 1,900 feet, and an upper stratum at 4,500 feet, beyond which was bright sun. The main shift of wind took place just as the upper surface of the first stratum was reached. In this ascent Welsh reached his greatest elevation, 22,930 feet, when both Green and himself experienced considerable difficulty in respiration and much fatigue. The sea being now perceived rapidly approaching, a hasty descent was made, and many of the instruments were broken.
In summarising his results Welsh states that "the temperature of the air decreases uniformly with height above the earth's surface until at a certain elevation, varying on different days, decrease is arrested, and for the space of 2,000 or 3,000 feet the temperature remains nearly constant, or even increases, the regular diminution being again resumed and generally maintained at a rate slightly less rapid than in the lower part of the atmosphere, and commencing from a higher temperature than would have existed but for the interruption noticed." The analysis of the upper air showed the proportion of oxygen and nitrogen to vary scarcely more than at different spots on the earth.
As it is necessary at this point to take leave of the veteran Green as a practical aeronaut, we may here refer to one or two noteworthy facts and incidents relating to his eventful career. In 1850 M. Poitevin is said to have attracted 140,000 people to Paris to look at an exhibition of himself ascending in a balloon seated on horseback, after which Madame Poitevin ascended from Cremorne Gardens in the same manner, the exhibition being intended as a representation of "Europa on a Bull." This, however, was discountenanced by the authorities and withdrawn. The feats were, in reality, merely the repetitions of one that had been conceived and extremely well carried out by Green many years before—as long ago, in fact, as 1828, when he arranged to make an ascent from the Eagle Tavern, City Road, seated on a pony. To carry out his intention, he discarded the ordinary car, replacing it with a small platform, which was provided with places to receive the pony's feet; while straps attached to the hoop were passed under the animal's body, preventing it from lying down or from making any violent movement. This the creature seemed in no way disposed to attempt, and when all had been successfully carried out and an easy descent effected at Beckenham, the pony was discovered eating a meal of beans with which it had been supplied.
Several interesting observations have been recorded by Green on different occasions, some of which are highly instructive from a practical or scientific point of view. On an ascent from Vauxhall, in which he was accompanied by his friend Spencer and Mr. Rush, he recorded how, as he constantly and somewhat rapidly rose, the wind changed its direction from N.W. through N. to N.E., while he remained over the metropolis, the balloon all the while rotating on its axis. This continual swinging or revolving of the balloon Green considers an accompaniment of either a rapid ascent or descent, but it may be questioned whether it is not merely a consequence of changing currents, or, sometimes, of an initial spin given inadvertently to the balloon at the moment of its being liberated. The phenomenon of marked change which he describes in the upper currents is highly interesting, and tallies with what the writer has frequently experienced over London proper. Such higher currents may be due to natural environment, and to conditions necessarily prevailing over so vast and varied a city, and they may be able to play an all-important part in the dispersal of London smoke or fog. This point will be touched on later. In this particular voyage Green records that as he was rising at the moment when his barometer reached 19 inches, the thermometer he carried registered 46 degrees, while on coming down, when the barometer again marked 19 inches, the same thermometer recorded only 22 degrees. It will not fail to be recognised that there is doubtless here an example of the errors alluded to above, inseparable from readings taken in ascent and descent.
A calculation made by Green in his earlier years has a certain value. By the time he had accomplished 200 ascents he was at pains to compute that he had travelled across country some 6,000 miles, which had been traversed in 240 hours. From this it would follow that the mean rate of travel in aerial voyages will be about twenty-five miles per hour. Towards the end of his career we find it stated by Lieutenant G. Grover, R.E., that "the Messrs. Green, Father and Son, have made between them some 930 ascents, in none of which have they met with any material accident or failure." This is wonderful testimony, indeed, and we may here add the fact that the father took up his own father, then at the age of eighty-three, in a balloon ascent of 1845, without any serious consequences. But it is time that some account should be given of a particular occasion which at least provided the famous aeronaut with an adventure spiced with no small amount of risk. It was on the 5th of July, 1850, that Green ascended, with Rush as his companion, from Vauxhall, at the somewhat late hour of 7.50 p.m., using, as always, the great Nassau balloon. The rate of rise must have been very considerable, and they presently record an altitude of no less than 20,000 feet, and a temperature of 12 degrees below freezing. They were now above the clouds, where all view of earth was lost, and, not venturing to remain long in this situation, they commenced a rapid descent, and on emerging below found themselves sailing down Sea Reach in the direction of Nore Sands, when they observed a vessel. Their chance of making land was, to say the least, uncertain, and Green, considering that his safety lay in bespeaking the vessel's assistance, opened the valve and brought the car down in the water some two miles north of Sheerness, the hour being 8.45, and only fifty-five minutes since the start. The wind was blowing stiffly, and, catching the hollow of the half-inflated balloon, carried the voyagers rapidly down the river, too fast, indeed, to allow of the vessel's overtaking them. This being soon apparent, Green cast out his anchor, and not without result, for it shortly became entangled in a sunken wreck, and the balloon was promptly "brought up," though struggling and tossing in the broken water. A neighbouring barge at once put off a boat to the rescue, and other boats were despatched by H.M. cutter Fly, under Commander Gurling. Green and Rush were speedily rescued, but the balloon itself was too restive and dangerous an object to approach with safety. At Green's suggestion, therefore, a volley of musketry was fired into the silk' after which it became possible to pass a rope around it and expel the gas. Green subsequently relates how it took a fortnight to restore the damage, consisting of sixty-two bullet rents and nineteen torn gores.
Green's name will always be famous, if only for the fact that it was he who first adopted the use of coal gas in his calling. This, it will be remembered, was in 1821, and it should be borne in mind that at that time household gas had only recently been introduced. In point of fact, it first lighted Pall Mall in 1805, and it was not used for the general lighting of London till 1814.
We are not surprised to find that the great aeronaut at one time turned his attention to the construction of models, and this with no inconsiderable success. A model of his was exhibited in 1840 at the Polytechnic Institution, and is described in the Times as consisting of a miniature balloon of three feet diameter, inflated with coal gas. It was acted on by fans, which were operated by mechanism placed in the car. A series of three experiments was exhibited. First, the balloon being weighted so as to remain poised in the still air of the building, the mechanism was started, and the machine rose steadily to the ceiling. The fans were then reversed, when the model, equally gracefully, descended to the floor. Lastly, the balloon, with a weighted trail rope, being once more balanced in mid-air, the fans were applied laterally, when the machine would take a horizontal flight, pulling the trail rope after it, with an attached weight dragging along the floor until the mechanism had run down, when it again remained stationary. The correspondent of the Times continues, "Mr. Green states that by these simple means a voyage across the Atlantic may be performed in three or four days, as easily as from Vauxhall Gardens to Nassau."
We can hardly attribute this statement seriously to one who knew as well as did Green how fickle are the winds, and how utterly different are the conditions between the still air of a room and those of the open sky. His insight into the difficulties of the problem cannot have been less than that of his successor, Coxwell, who, as the result of his own equally wide experience, states positively, "I could never imagine a motive power of sufficient force to direct and guide a balloon, much less to enable a man or a machine to fly." Even when modern invention had produced a motive power undreamed of in the days we are now considering, Coxwell declares his conviction that inherent difficulties would not be overcome "unless the air should invariably remain in a calm state."
It would be tedious and scarcely instructive to inquire into the various forms of flying machines that were elaborated at this period; but one that was designed in America by Mr. Henson, and with which it was seriously contemplated to attempt to cross the Atlantic, may be briefly described. In theory it was supposed to be capable of being sustained in the air by virtue of the speed mechanically imparted to it, and of the angle at which its advancing under surface would meet the air. The inventor claimed to have produced a steam engine of extreme lightness as well as efficiency, and for the rest his machine consisted of a huge aero-plane propelled by fans with oblique vanes, while a tail somewhat resembling that of a bird was added, as also a rudder, the functions of which were to direct the craft vertically and horizontally respectively. Be it here recorded that the machine did not cross the Atlantic.
One word as to the instruments used up to this time for determining altitudes. These were, in general, ordinary mercurial barometers, protected in various ways. Green encased his instrument in a simple metal tube, which admitted of the column of mercury being easily read. This instrument, which is generally to be seen held in his hand in Green's old portraits, might be mistaken for a mariner's telescope. It is now in the possession of the family of Spencers, the grandchildren of his old aeronautical friend and colleague, and it is stated that with all his care the glass was not infrequently broken in a descent.
Wise, with characteristic ingenuity, devised a rough-and-ready height instrument, which he claims to have answered well. It consisted simply of a common porter bottle, to the neck of which was joined a bladder of the same capacity. The bottle being filled with air of the density of that on the ground, and the bladder tied on in a collapsed state, the expansion of the air in the bottle would gradually fill the bladder as it rose into the rarer regions of the atmosphere. Experience would then be trusted to enable the aeronaut to judge his height from the amount of inflation noticeable in the bladder.
CHAPTER XII. HENRY COXWELL AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES.
Mention should be made in these pages of a night sail of a hundred miles, boldly carried out in 1849 by M. Arban, which took the voyager from Marseilles to Turin fairly over the Alps. The main summit was reached at 11 p.m., when the "snow, cascades, and rivers were all sparkling under the moon, and the ravines and rocks produced masses of darkness which served as shadows to the gigantic picture." Arban was at one time on a level with the highest point of Mont Blanc, the top of which, standing out well above the clouds, resembled "an immense block of crystal sparkling with a thousand fires."
In London, in the year of the Great Exhibition, and while the building was still standing in Hyde Park, there occurred a balloon incident small in itself, but sufficient to cause much sensation at the crowded spot where it took place. The ascent was made from the Hippodrome by Mr. and Mrs. Graham in very boisterous weather, and, on being liberated, the balloon seems to have fouled a mast, suffering a considerable rent. After this the aeronauts succeeded in clearing the trees in Kensington Gardens, and in descending fairly in the Park, but, still at the mercy of the winds, they were carried on to the roof of a house in Arlington Street, and thence on to another in Park Place, where, becoming lodged against a stack of chimneys, they were eventually rescued by the police without any material damage having been done.
But this same summer saw the return to England of Henry Coxwell, and for some years the story of the conquest of the air is best told by following his stirring career, and his own comments on aeronautical events of this date. We find him shortly setting about carrying out some reconnoitring and signalling experiments, designed to be of use in time of war. This was an old idea of his, and one which had, of course, been long entertained by others, having, indeed, been put to some practical test in time of warfare. It will be well to make note of what attention the matter had already received, and of what progress had been made both in theory and practice.
We have already made some mention in Chapter IV. of the use which the French had made of balloons in their military operations at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of nineteenth the century. It was, indeed, within the first ten years after the first invention of the balloon that, under the superintendence of the savants of the French Academy, a practical school of aeronautics was established at Meudon. The names of Guyton, De Morveau (a distinguished French chemist), and Colonel Coutelle are chiefly associated with the movement, and under them some fifty students received necessary training. The practising balloon had a capacity of 17,000 cubic feet, and was inflated with pure hydrogen, made by what was then a new process as applied to ballooning, and which will be described in a future chapter. It appears that the balloon was kept always full, so that any opportunity of calm weather would be taken advantage of for practice. And it is further stated that a balloon was constructed so sound and impervious that after the lapse of two months it was still capable, without being replenished, of raising into the air two men, with necessary ballast and equipment. The practical trial for the balloon in real service came off in June, 1794, when Coutelle in person, accompanied by two staff officers, in one of the four balloons which the French Army had provided, made an ascent to reconnoitre the Austrian forces at Fleurus. They ascended twice in one day, remaining aloft for some four hours, and, on their second ascent being sighted, drew a brisk fire from the enemy. They were unharmed, however, and the successful termination of the battle of Fleurus has been claimed as due in large measure to the service rendered by that balloon.
The extraordinary fact that the use of the balloon was for many years discontinued in the French Army is attributed to a strangely superstitious prejudice entertained by Napoleon. Las Cases (in his "Private Life of Napoleon at St. Helena ") relates an almost miraculous story of Napoleon's coronation. It appears that a sum of 23,500 francs was given to M. Garnerin to provide a balloon ascent to aid in the celebrations, and, in consequence, a colossal machine was made to ascend at 11 p.m. on December 16th from the front of Notre Dame, carrying 3,000 lights. This balloon was unmanned, and at its departure apparently behaved extremely well, causing universal delight. During the hours of darkness, however, it seems to have acquitted itself in a strange and well-nigh preternatural manner, for at daybreak it is sighted on the horizon by the inhabitants of Rome, and seen to be coming towards their city. So true was its course that, as though with predetermined purpose, it sails on till it is positively over St. Peter's and the Vatican, when, its mission being apparently fulfilled, it settles to earth, and finally ends its career in the Lake Bracciano. Regarded from whatever point of view, the flight was certainly extraordinary, and it is not surprising that in that age it was regarded as nothing less than a portent. Moreover, little details of the wonderful story were quickly endowed with grave significance. The balloon on reaching the ground rent itself. Next, ere it plunged into the water, it carefully deposited a portion of its crown on the tomb of Nero. Napoleon, on learning the facts, forbade that they should ever be referred to. Further, he thenceforward discountenanced the balloon in his army, and the establishment at Meudon was abandoned.
There is record of an attempt of some sort that was made to revive the French military ballooning school in the African campaign of 1830, but it was barren of results. Again, it has been stated that the Austrians used balloons for reconnaissance, before Venice in 1849, and yet again the same thing is related of the Russians at the time of the siege of Sebastopol, though Kinglake does not mention the circumstance. In 1846 Wise drew up and laid before the American War Office an elaborate scheme for the reduction of Vera Cruz. This will be discussed in its due place, though it will be doubtless considered as chimerical.
On the other hand, eminently practical were the experiments co-ordinated and begun to be put to an actual test by Mr. Coxwell, who, before he could duly impress his project upon the military authorities, had to make preliminary trials in private ventures. The earliest of these was at the Surrey Zoological Gardens in the autumn of 1854, and it will be granted that much ingenuity and originality were displayed when it is considered that at that date neither wireless telegraphy, electric flashlight, nor even Morse Code signalling was in vogue. According to his announcement, the spectators were to regard his balloon, captive or free, as floating at a certain altitude over a beleaguered fortress, the authorities in communication with it having the key of the signals and seeking to obtain through these means information as to the approach of an enemy. It was to be supposed that, by the aid of glasses, a vast distance around could be subjected to careful scrutiny, and a constant communication kept up with the authorities in the fortress. Further, the flags or other signals were supposed preconcerted and unknown to the enemy, being formed by variations of shape and colour. Pigeons were also despatched from a considerable height to test their efficiency under novel conditions. The public press commented favourably on the performance and result of this initial experiment.
Mr. Coxwell's account of an occasion when he had to try conclusions with a very boisterous wind, and of the way in which he negotiated a very trying and dangerous landing, will be found alike interesting and instructive. It was an ascent from the Crystal Palace, and the morning was fair and of bright promise outwardly; but Coxwell confesses to have disregarded a falling glass. The inflation having been progressing satisfactorily, he retired to partake of luncheon, entirely free from apprehensions; but while thus occupied, he was presently sought out and summoned by a gardener, who told him that his balloon had torn away, and was now completely out of control, dragging his men about the bushes. On reaching the scene, the men, in great strength, were about to attempt a more strenuous effort to drag the balloon back against the wind, which Coxwell promptly forbade, warning them that so they would tear all to pieces. He then commenced, as it were, to "take in a reef," by gathering in the slack of the silk, which chiefly was catching the wind, and by drawing in the net, mesh by mesh, until the more inflated portion of the balloon was left snug and offering but little resistance to the gale, when he got her dragged in a direction slanting to the wind and under the lee of trees.
Eventually a hazardous and difficult departure was effected, Mr. Chandler, a passenger already booked, insisting on accompanying the aeronaut, in spite of the latter's strongest protestations. And their first peril came quickly, in a near shave of fouling the balcony of the North Tower, which they avoided only by a prompt discharge of sand, the crowd cheering loudly as they saw how the crisis was avoided. The car, adds Mr. Coxwell in his memoirs, "was apparently trailing behind the balloon with a pendulous swing, which is not often the case... In less than two minutes we entered the lower clouds, passing through them quickly, and noticing that their tops, which are usually of white, rounded conformation, were torn into shreds and crests of vapour. Above, there was a second wild-looking stratum of another order. We could hear, as we hastened on, the hum of the West End of London; but we were bowling along, having little time to look about us, though some extra sandbags were turned to good account by making a bed of them at the bottom ends of the car, which we occupied in anticipation of a rough landing."
As it came on to rain hard the voyagers agreed to descend, and Coxwell, choosing open ground, succeeded in the oft-attempted endeavour to drop his grapnel in front of a bank or hedge-row. The balloon pulled up with such a shock as inevitably follows when flying at sixty miles an hour, and Mr. Coxwell continues:—"We were at this time suspended like a kite, and it was not so much the quantity of gas which kept us up as the hollow surface of loose silk, which acted like a falling kite, and the obvious game of skill consisted in not letting out too much gas to make the balloon pitch heavily with a thud that would have been awfully unpleasant; but to jockey our final touch in a gradual manner, and yet to do it as quickly as possible for fear of the machine getting adrift, since, under the peculiar circumstances in which we were placed, it would have inevitably fallen with a crushing blow, which might have proved fatal. I never remember to have been in a situation when more coolness and nicety were required to overcome the peril which here beset us; while on that day the strong wind was, strange as it may sound, helping us to alight easily, that is to say as long as the grapnel held fast and the balloon did not turn over like an unsteady kite." Such peril as there was soon terminated without injury to either voyager.
The same remark will apply to an occasion when Coxwell was caught in a thunderstorm, which he thus describes in brief:—"On a second ascent from Chesterfield we were carried into the midst of gathering clouds, which began to flash vividly, and in the end culminated in a storm. There were indications, before we left the earth, as to what might be expected. The lower breeze took us in another direction as we rose, but a gentle, whirling current higher up got us into the vortex of a highly charged cloud.... We had to prove by absolute experience whether the balloon was insulated and a non-conductor. Beyond a drenching, no untoward incident occurred during a voyage lasting in all three-quarters of an hour."
A voyage which Coxwell (referring, doubtless, to aerial travel over English soil only) describes as "being so very much in excess of accustomary trips in balloons" will be seen to fall short of one memorable voyage of which the writer will have to give his own experiences. Some account, however, of what the famous aeronaut has to tell will find a fitting place here.
It was an ascent on a summer night from North Woolwich, and on this occasion Coxwell was accompanied by two friends, one being Henry Youens, who subsequently became a professional balloonist of considerable repute, and who at this time was an ardent amateur. It was half an hour before midnight when the party took their places, and, getting smartly away from the crowd in the gala grounds, shot over the river, and shortly were over the town of Greenwich with the lights of London well ahead. Then their course took them over Kennington Oval, Vauxhall Bridge, and Battersea, when they presently heard the strains of a Scotch polka. This came up from the then famous Gardens of Cremorne, and, the breeze freshening, it was but a few minutes later when they stood over Kingston, by which time it became a question whether, being now clear of London, they should descend or else live out the night and take what thus might come their way. This course, as the most prudent, as well as the most fascinating, was that which commended itself, and at that moment the hour of midnight was heard striking, showing that a fairly long distance had been covered in a short interval of time.
From this period they would seem to have lost their way, and though scattered lights were sighted ahead, they were soon in doubt as to whether they might not already be nearing the sea, a doubt that was strengthened by their hearing the cry of sea-fowl. After a pause, lights were seen looming under the haze to sea-ward, which at times resembled water; and a tail like that of a comet was discerned, beyond which was a black patch of considerable size.
The patch was the Isle of Wight, and the tail the Water from Southampton. They were thus wearing more south and towards danger. They had no Davy lamp with which to read their aneroid, and could only tell from the upward flight of fragments of paper that they were descending. Another deficiency in their equipment was the lack of a trail rope to break their fall, and for some time they were under unpleasant apprehension of an unexpected and rude impact with the ground, or collision with some undesirable object. This induced them to discharge sand and to risk the consequences of another rise into space, and as they mounted they were not reassured by sighting to the south a ridge of lighter colour, which strongly suggested the coast line.
But it was midsummer, and it was not long before bird life awakening was heard below, and then a streak of dawn revealed their locality, which was over the Exe, with Sidmouth and Tor Bay hard by on their left. Then from here, the land jutting seawards, they confidently traversed Dartmoor, and effected a safe, if somewhat unseasonable, descent near Tavistock. The distance travelled was considerable, but the duration, on the aeronaut's own showing, was less than five hours.
In the year 1859 the Times commented on the usefulness of military balloons in language that fully justified all that Coxwell had previously claimed for them. A war correspondent, who had accompanied the Austrian Army during that year, asks pertinently how it had happened that the French had been ready at six o'clock to make a combined attack against the Austrians, who, on their part, had but just taken up positions on the previous evening. The correspondent goes on to supply the answer thus:—"No sooner was the first Austrian battalion out of Vallegio than a balloon was observed to rise in the air from the vicinity of Monsambano—a signal, no doubt, for the French in Castiglione. I have a full conviction that the Emperor of the French knew overnight the exact position of every Austrian corps, while the Emperor of Austria was unable to ascertain the number or distribution of the forces of the allies."
It appears that M. Godard was the aeronaut employed to observe the enemy, and that fresh balloons for the French Army were proceeded with.
The date was now near at hand when Coxwell, in partnership with Mr. Glaisher, was to take part in the classical work which has rendered their names famous throughout the world. Before proceeding to tell of that period, however, Mr. Coxwell has done well to record one aerial adventure, which, while but narrowly missing the most serious consequences, gives a very practical illustration of the chances in favour of the aeronaut under extreme circumstances.
It was an ascent at Congleton in a gale of wind, a and the company of two passengers—Messrs. Pearson, of Lawton Hall—was pressed upon him. Everything foretold a rough landing, and some time after the start was made the outlook was not improved by the fact that the dreaded county of Derbyshire was seen approaching; and it was presently apparent that the spot on which they had decided to descend was faced by rocks and a formidable gorge. On this, Coxwell attempted to drop his grapnel in front of a stone wall, and so far with success; but the wall went down, as also another and another, the wicker car passing, with its great impetus, clean through the solid obstacles, till at last the balloon slit from top to bottom. Very serious injuries to heads and limbs were sustained, but no lives were lost, and Coxwell himself, after being laid up at Buxton, got home on crutches.
CHAPTER XIII. SOME NOTEWORTHY ASCENTS.
It was the year 1862, and the scientific world in England determined once again on attempting observational work in connection with balloons. There had been a meeting of the British Association at Wolverhampton, and, under their auspices, and with the professional services of Thomas Lythgoe, Mr. Creswick, of Greenwich Observatory, was commissioned to make a lofty scientific ascent with a Cremorne balloon. The attempt, however, was unsatisfactory; and the balloon being condemned, an application was made to Mr. Coxwell to provide a suitable craft, and to undertake its management. The principals of the working committee were Colonel Sykes, M.P., Dr. Lee, and Mr. James Glaisher, F.R.S., and a short conference between these gentlemen and the experienced aeronaut soon made it clear that a mammoth balloon far larger than any in existence was needed for the work in hand. But here a fatal obstacle presented itself in lack of funds, for it transpired that the grant voted was only to be devoted to trial ascents.
It was then that Mr. Coxwell, with characteristic enterprise, undertook, at his own cost, to build a suitable balloon, and, moreover, to have it ready by Midsummer Day. It was a bold, as well as a generous, offer; for it was now March, and, according to Mr. Coxwell's statement, if silk were employed, the preparation and manufacture would occupy six months and cost not less than L2,000. The fabric chosen was a sort of American cloth, and by unremitting efforts the task was performed to time, and the balloon forwarded to Wolverhampton, its dimensions being 55 feet in diameter, 80 feet in height from the ground, with a capacity of 93,000 cubic feet. But the best feature in connection with it was the fact that Mr. Glaisher himself was to make the ascents as scientific observer.
No time was lost in getting to work, but twice over the chosen days were unsuitable, and it was not till July 17th that the two colleagues, of whom so much is to be told, got away at 9.30 a.m. with their balloon only two-thirds full, to allow of expansion to take place in such a lofty ascent as was contemplated. And, when it is considered that an altitude of five miles was reached, it will be granted that the scientific gentleman who was making his maiden ascent that day showed remarkable endurance and tenacity of purpose—the all-important essential for the onerous and trying work before him. At 9.56 the balloon had disappeared from sight, climbing far into the sky in the E.N.E. The story of the voyage we must leave in Mr. Glaisher's hands. Certain events, however, associated with other aeronauts, which had already happened, and which should be considered in connection with the new drama now to be introduced, may fittingly here meet with brief mention.
The trouble arising from the coasting across country of a fallen and still half-inflated balloon has already been sufficiently illustrated, and needs little further discussion. It is common enough to see a balloon, when full and round, struggling restively under a moderate breeze with a score of men, and dragging them, and near a ton of sand-bags as well, about the starting ground. But, as has already been pointed out, the power of the wind on the globe is vastly increased when the silk becomes slack and forms a hollow to hold the wind, like a bellying sail. Various means to deal with this difficulty have been devised, one of these being an emergency, or ripping valve, in addition to the ordinary valve, consisting of an arrangement for tearing a large opening in the upper part of one of the gores, so that on reaching earth the balloon may be immediately crippled and emptied of so large a quantity of gas as to render dragging impossible. Such a method is not altogether without drawbacks, one of these being the confusion liable to arise from there being more than one valve line to reckon with. To obviate this, it has been suggested that the emergency line should be of a distinctive colour.
But an experiment with a safeguard to somewhat of this nature was attended with fatal consequence in the year 1824. A Mr. Harris, a lieutenant in the British Navy, ascended from the Eagle Tavern, City Road, with a balloon fitted with a contrivance of his own invention, consisting of a large hinged upper valve, having within it a smaller valve of the same description, the idea being that, should the operation of the smaller outlet not suffice for any occasion, then the shutter of the larger opening might be resorted to, to effect a more liberal discharge of gas.