Aërial Navigation A Popular Treatise on the Growth of Air Craft and on Aëronautical Meteorology — A Reader’s Guide

les, in the favorable breeze then blowing. To their surprise, the atmosphere seemed to grow lighter as they advanced over the water, letting them sink too freely. As they approached mid-channel they were compelled to discharge all their ballast in order to maintain their level. But the balloon still descended, seemingly attracted by the water. Then they ejected a parcel of books to gain a moment’s relief. When three-fourths across the Channel they sighted the French Coast, which now they yearned to see at closer range; for the balloon was contracting and sinking rapidly. They threw out from the boat everything available, wings, anchors, cords, provisions; yet they saw the vessel persistently approaching the sea. Finally they cast off part of their clothing, fastened themselves to the cords suspended from the balloon-ring, and prepared to cut away the boat. But presently approaching the coast near Calais, they began to rise; then ascended rapidly, soaring in a magnificent arch above the high grounds. At last they descended gradually above the forest of Guines, seized the branches of a tree to stop their flight, and at three o’clock were happily landed. It was a thrilling voyage of two hours, and made a profound impression at the time. As a mark of appreciation the King presented Blanchard a sum of 12,000 francs and a pension of 1,200 francs per year. The people erected a monument on the place of landing to commemorate this extraordinary voyage.

This splendid achievement incited two Frenchmen to attempt a counter voyage which ended disastrously. On June 15, 1785, Pilâtre de Rozier and M. Romain set out from Boulogne on a voyage from France to England, in a compound balloon composed of a hydrogen balloon forty feet in diameter, below which was suspended a fire balloon ten feet in diameter. They hoped by judicious stoking of the lower balloon to obviate the sinking tendency suffered by Blanchard and Jeffries. But the smaller globe proved a fatal auxiliary. Scarcely a quarter of an hour after launching, the whole apparatus was aflame at an altitude of 3,000 feet, and presently fell in charred and hideous fragments upon the seashore. M. Romain still showed some signs of life, but Pilâtre de Rozier was completely dead and all his bones were broken. They were the first martyrs in the cause of the new science. Poor De Rozier knew on starting that his apparatus was in bad condition, but he had received for the purpose a sum of money from a distinguished patron, and therefore felt obliged in honor to attempt the voyage. He was twenty-eight years old and engaged to be married to a young lady in the convent at Boulogne, who eight days after the catastrophe which robbed her of her fiancé, died brokenhearted and in convulsions.

PRACTICAL DEVELOPMENT OF PASSIVE BALLOONS

The next important advance in practical ballooning was made by the substitution of coal gas for hydrogen. This was England’s contribution to an art which previously had not greatly flourished west of the Channel. It was a contribution following the natural growth of science; for in 1814 coal gas began generally to be used for lighting London, and seven years later for inflating balloons. This valuable innovation was made by the famous aëronaut, Charles Green, on the occasion of his first ascension, made July 19, 1821, the coronation day of George IV. The new method largely superseded the old, extending throughout the world with the spread of gas lighting; and it gave a powerful stimulus to aëronautics by rendering inflation cheap and convenient. Mr. Green himself made 526 ascensions during his life, or at the rate of one cruise a month for nearly forty-four years. In due time, every country had its professional aëronauts, and finally its amateurs, who, forming themselves into aëro clubs, devoted themselves to racing in free balloons, inflated quite usually from a city gas supply.

In 1836 Mr. Robert Holland organized an expedition designed to test the utmost capabilities of the balloon of his day, particularly in points of endurance and control. Engaging as pilot the first aëronaut of the age, Mr. Charles Green, and employing the largest gas balloon that ever had been constructed, stocked with provisions enough to last three men a fortnight, he invited a third person, Mr. Monck Mason, to join them on a cruise from London to wherever the wind would take them, but preferably to land near Paris, as the balloon was to be delivered there after the voyage.

The vessel selected for that famous cruise was _The Great Balloon of Nassau_, then recently built by Mr. Green and representing all that his skill and experience could devise. It was of pear shape, formed of the finest crimson and white silk, “spun, wove and dyed expressly for the purpose,” and comprising when distended a volume of 85,000 cubic feet. From its stout balloon-ring six feet in diameter was suspended a wicker car measuring nine feet long by four wide, having a seat across either end, and a cushioned bottom to serve as a bed, if such should be needed. Across the middle of the car was a plank supporting a windlass for raising or lowering the guide-rope, that is a heavy rope which could be trailed over land, or water, to keep the balloon at a nearly constant level without expenditure of ballast, and to check its speed on landing. This valuable device invented by Mr. Green in 1820, was now to receive adequate trial, which, indeed, formed one of the chief purposes of the cruise. Other paraphernalia of the voyage were food and drink, warm clothing, lamps, trumpets, telescopes, barometers, a quicklime coffee-heater, a grapnel and cable, and a ton of sand ballast in bags.

The voyage proved well worthy of the elaborate preparations. At one-thirty o’clock on November 7th, the three navigators arose from London, in presence of a mighty multitude, and drifted in a southeasterly direction traversing the cultivated plains of Kent, and in two hours passed the environs of Canterbury. Here they dropped a parachute with a letter for the Mayor, which he duly received. Continuing their journey they floated leisurely above the tree tops, talking to the inhabitants of the country, startling the fleet-winged quail, terrifying a colony of rooks, and finally reaching Dover at sundown, where they again dropped a letter for the Mayor of the city, which also was duly delivered.

Without a moment’s pause they drifted over the Channel into the gathering darkness. Before them rose a huge wall of vapor and black clouds standing on the bosom of the sea; behind them the twinkling lights and the music of breakers rolling on a hospitable shore. Presently they were immersed in a region of absolute silence and impenetrable darkness. At times this deep stratum would slowly dissolve, revealing a glimpse of the dusky ocean and a passing ship; then some huge wreath of vapor would involve them in bottomless gloom, without perspective, without apparent motion, without a sound to cheer or mark their dubious course. Now to avoid the risk of settling too near the sea, as Blanchard and Jeffries had done, they were preparing to let down the guide-rope with floating ballast attached, when suddenly they emerged from the pall of darkness, and were greeted by the glittering lights of Calais, and the gentle sound of waters dashing upon the beach. They had crossed the Channel in one hour, and were soaring serenely three thousand feet above the ocean, not having to lower the guide-rope to preserve their elevation.

Now came the preparations for a night voyage over an obscurely defined land route. A simple rope one thousand feet long without ballast was allowed to trail beneath them. A lamp was lit. Coffee was heated by the slacking of quicklime. An ample store of viands and wine was spread on the board in the middle of the car. The strenuous period of thought and labor was past, and now three hungry men sat leisurely at dinner, after a fast of twelve long hours. However sparing of bones and bottles, which later might serve as ballast, they were not economical of food and wine that evening. For the present they had only to live and be happy as bachelors. Muffled in soft garments, well fed, abundantly served with divine beverages, hot or cold; what finer picture of masculine comfort and delight?

They were now floating tranquilly in the vast solitude of heaven, over a teeming continent mantled in night and mystery. Far along earth’s sable surface gleam the scattered fires of many villages; and above it the lovelier fires of a moonless sky. Unseen, unsuspected, they survey kingdoms and cities, trailing their long rope serpent-like over woodland, field and quiet homestead. Now on the horizon before them looms a greater fire, like a distant conflagration, widening as they approach. Gradually it expands into a model city, shooting out long lines of illuminated streets; here the public squares, markets and theatres; there the rumbling iron mills with blazing furnaces. They are above Liege at her festive hour, murmuring with animation and busy life. Again they drift into the dark regions of slumber, lapped in silence and deep tranquillity, where the lights of men are extinguished, and the stars, redoubling their lustre, gleam whitest silver in heaven’s jetty dome. Midnight involves the world; an abyss of darkness enfolds it; their solitary lamp seems to melt its way through solid space of blackest marble. For hours they undulate over the rolling hills, rising and falling a thousand cubits, held always to earth by the trailing rope. At times they are so near as to trace the landscape dimly; here a white tract covered lightly with snow, here a dark valley or forest, here a tortuous river, probably the Rhine, with its multitudinous thunder of waters. But in all that weird and obscure wandering no joyous note of human or animal life ascends ere dawn to cheer their solitary course in the sky.

At last the paling of the morning star, and a faint tingeing of the eastern cumuli, announce the expected day. With sudden bound the great ship mounts aloft twelve thousand feet, into the glory of the blazing sun, new risen among clouds of amber and purple. Far below, twilight and mist still mantle the half-awakened world, presenting a stupendous panorama, vast as an empire. Presently down they plunge into the vaporous and obscure atmosphere, drifting carelessly, but soon reascending into the splendor of morning. Thus after making the sun rise three times and set twice, they float contentedly along the misty landscape, marveling what region lies below them, whether a barren wilderness, or the abode of civilized life, with human comforts and a ready means of transportation. A hot breakfast would be very welcome now; for they had accidentally dropped the lime pot and had spent the latter half of the night without warm beverage in a region where oil and water had frozen.

At length through the clearing vapor they perceive the country well tilled and populous; a good place to land to shorten their route to Paris, and avoid the wide plains of Poland or Russia. They raise the guide-rope, lower the cable and anchor, open the valve, and descend in a grassy field near Weilburg, in the Duchy of Nassau. It is now seven-thirty o’clock, just eighteen hours since starting; and they have traveled five hundred miles, the longest aërial voyage thus far recorded. Very soon they are surrounded by a wondering crowd of pipe-puffing, shaggy-headed, German peasants, by whose willing aid they finally deflate the balloon, pack it in the bottom of the car, and mount it on a one-horse cart for Weilburg. Thence the aëronauts, after a week of festivities in their honor, and distinguished attentions from the highest officials of the town, embarked with their balloon for Paris. This famous craft now bore its permanent title; for a few days previously the lovely daughter of the Baron de Bibra, with seven other young ladies and Mr. Green, had stood within the air-inflated vessel, poured a generous libation of wine, and christened the hardy cruiser _The Great Balloon of Nassau_.

It was in truth a great balloon in various ways; in solidity and strength, in workmanship, in completeness of appointment, in endurance and control. Having accomplished that long journey without a sign of weakness or defect, it was still in prime condition, proudly heading for the farthest verge of Europe. It had not, of course, the instrumental equipment of a modern balloon; but it did possess the elements essential for a long and hard cruise. Since the day of its launching many additions have been added to the art, but these, for the most part, are special adjuncts. The more important features of a good balloon are practically the same to-day as when they were first introduced by Professor Charles and sturdy old Mr. Green.

A still more elaborate and colossal air ship was the _Geant_, constructed in 1863, for A. Nadar of Paris. It was made of a double layer of white silk, had a volume of 215,000 cubic feet and a buoyancy of 4½ tons. The car was a wicker cabin 13 feet wide by 7 feet high, with a wicker balcony round the top so that the roof could be used as an observation deck—a delightful place to loll in the starlight, or watch the morning sun “flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye.” The closed car comprised two main rooms with a hallway between them, one containing the captain’s bed and baggage, the other having three superposed berths for passengers. Minor divisions of the car were reserved for provisions, a lavatory, photography and a printing press, the latter to be used for the dissemination of news from the sky, as the navigators floated from state to state. A compensator balloon of 3,500 cubic feet, just below the main bag and connected with it, received the escaping gas during expansion with increase of temperature or altitude, and gave it back on contraction. In fact as well as in name, Nadar’s vessel was a giant. Curiously enough, he called it the “last balloon,” for he expected to realize enough money by exhibiting it, to inaugurate successful flying by means of the helicopter, and thus banish ballooning from the world of futile effort to the domain of bygone dreams and chimæras.

The first ascension, made on Sunday, October 4, 1863, was one of magnificent promise. In the midst of a vast holiday throng on the Champ de Mars, the great globe towered aloft nearly two hundred feet, held to earth by one hundred men and twice as many sand bags. In the car were fifteen notable passengers including one lady, the fair young Princess de la Tour d’Auvergne, in morning toilet and a pretty hat. “Lachez tout!” shouts Captain Nadar, the effervescent photographer of Paris. Away they soar, heading for St. Petersburg, with provisions enough to sail beyond the polar sea.

The captain was now in supreme control, with the key to the victual and liquor room in his pocket, and his twelve commandments duly signed by all aboard. They had pledged themselves not to gamble, not to carry inflammable materials, not to smoke unduly, not to throw bottles overboard, not to quit the balloon without permission, but to descend if so ordered, etc. They had sailed at five o’clock in the evening and all was going merrily. But presently trouble came. The valve rope gave way, the vessel was sailing in the dark, and the Godards declared she was drifting to sea, whereas she was drifting in quite the opposite direction. To be on the safe side they threw out the anchors by permission of the commander. One anchor broke, but the other took hold and checked the balloon in spite of the strong wind blowing. At last after three violent bumps on the ground they landed near Meaux at nine o’clock in the evening, one passenger sustaining a broken knee, the others various bruises. It was a grand adventure and all were pleased.

Two weeks later a second voyage was begun in similar style, and again from the Champ de Mars, this time in the presence of the King of France and the young King George of Greece; but now Nadar took along, not the Princess with the pretty hat, but Madame Nadar, his wife. To entertain the crowd before starting, thirty-two persons were first sent aloft 300 feet and drawn back to earth. Finally at five o’clock Sunday evening, October 18th, a party of nine passengers soared proudly northward, well provisioned as before, and eager for a long voyage. They disappeared in the gathering night, leaving their friends much concerned for their safety and ultimate destination. At half past eight they were over Compiegne, seventy-eight miles away, drifting near the ground to say “All goes well” and have the good tidings transmitted to Paris. At nine they crossed the Belgian frontier; at midnight they were over Holland; at sunrise they skirted the Zuyder Zee and entered Hanover; at eight they were coursing headlong toward Nienburg and the North Sea in the current of a swift west wind.

They were now in great peril. If they went to sea they might all be drowned; if they came to earth at such horizontal speed they should be terribly pounded. Choosing the latter evil, they opened the valve and threw down the grappling irons. “To the ropes,” shouted the Godard brothers. Assembling on deck all clung to the suspension ropes to mitigate the shock of landing. Nadar put his arm about his wife to protect her. The anchors snatching a tree, uprooted and dragged it along; then caught and tore off the roof of a house; threshed into a telegraph line pulling down the wires and poles; struck into some firmer obstacle and broke off completely, leaving the huge monster to sweep unchecked in the violent ground current. Owing to trouble with the valve, the gas could not be liberated quickly; the great vessel again and again plunged to earth and rebounded high in air, its ponderous basket crashing through heavy timber, and breaking down whatever opposed its course. For nine miles they pounded over the plain by Nienburg toward the sea, dashing into pools, bogs and thickets, their limbs sprained or broken, their bodies bruised, their faces splashed with mud. Presently through loss of gas the rebounding ceased, the basket dragged along the earth squeezing some of the passengers beneath it, and dumping others out on the ground, leaving them behind. Those remaining tried to assist Madam Nadar to land, but they were tumbled out and she was caught under the basket from which she was extricated with much difficulty, when the balloon was finally halted. Thus their memorable voyage of seventeen hours, covering 750 miles, had a terrific, though not fatal ending. One had a broken femur, another a dislocated thigh, others numerous scratches and contusions. But no complaint was uttered; for the afflictions were regarded as natural concomitants to such interesting sport. After some days tender nursing by the Germans, and solicitous inquiries from the King of Hanover, they returned to Paris; some indeed on their backs, but for all that, none the less admired by their countrymen, as survivors of a marvelous adventure.

Another valiant English leader in aërostation was James Glaisher, member of the British Association for the Advancement of Science. As one of a committee of twelve appointed by that body in 1861, to explore the higher strata of the atmosphere by means of the balloon, he volunteered his services as an observer, when no other capable man could offer to do so. With a professional aëronaut, Mr. Coxwell, and a new balloon specially constructed for the work, cubing 90,000 feet, he made eleven ascensions for the society, four from Wolverhampton, seven from Woolwich. Incidentally he made seventeen other ascents of various altitude; not at the expense of the committee, but as a scientific passenger in public balloon ascents advertised beforehand.