Balloons, Airships, and Flying Machines — A Reader’s Guide

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Bacon, Gertrude, 1874-1949 Project Gutenberg 2017
Balloons; Aeronautics; Airships Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Gertrude Bacon's 1905 survey of aeronautical history traces ballooning from the Montgolfiers' paper-bag experiments through gas balloons, scientific ascents, wartime use, and early airships and flying machines, with vivid accounts of the Siege of Paris pigeon post.
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all craft which carried man into the sky--the Hot-Air or Montgolfier Balloon. To this day large hot-air balloons inflated by the same methods employed a hundred years ago occasionally take passengers aloft. Indeed, there now seems a likelihood that the use of the Montgolfier balloon will be largely revived for military purposes, since, with modern improvements, it would appear to be more quickly and easily inflated than a gas balloon in time of warfare. With miniature hot-air balloons we are all familiar, for every schoolboy has made them for himself of coloured papers, and watched them float away on the breeze with as much admiration and delight as the two brothers of Annonay watched their bag first float upwards to the ceiling.

But almost before the invention of the hot-air balloon had been completed, and before Pilâtre de Rozier had made his ascent, a rival craft had appeared upon the scene, to which we must more specially refer in the next chapter.

THE COMING OF THE GAS BALLOON

During the time of which we are speaking there was living in London a famous chemist named Henry Cavendish. He was the son of a nobleman, and a very rich man; but he shut himself up entirely from the world, and devoted his whole time and energies to the study of science. So afraid was he of being interrupted in his work that he lived the life of a hermit, commanding his servants to keep out of his sight on pain of dismissal, and ordering his dinner daily by means of a note placed on the hall table. In the year 1760--twenty-two years before the Montgolfier brothers began their experiments--this eccentric man had discovered what was then known as “inflammable air,” but what we now call hydrogen gas.

Cavendish’s experiments proved that hydrogen is the lightest of all known substances, being about fourteen times lighter than atmospheric air; and soon after he had made known his researches, it occurred to a certain Dr. Black of Edinburgh that if a sufficiently thin and light bladder were filled with this “inflammable air” it would rise upwards. Dr. Black even went so far as to order a special bladder to be prepared for the purpose; but by the time it was ready he was busy with other work, and the experiment was never made; otherwise it is extremely probable that the honour of inventing the balloon would have been won for this country, and not for France.

A little later Tiberius Cavallo, an Italian chemist living in England, came yet nearer to the great invention, for he filled a number of soap-bubbles with the newly discovered gas, and saw them float high into the air. He did not, however, think at the time that his experiments would lead to any practical result, and so the matter dropped entirely, until the world was suddenly electrified by the tidings of the wonderful hot-air balloon invented by the brothers Montgolfier at Annonay.

The news of this discovery recalled to the minds of many the almost forgotten experiments of the past, and it was forthwith suggested that balloons might be inflated with hydrogen gas more successfully than with hot air. It was resolved immediately to put this theory to the test. A large subscription to defray expenses was raised in Paris without difficulty, for men’s minds were keen on the new-found art of sailing the sky; and M. Charles, Professor of Experimental Philosophy, and two brothers, the Messrs. Roberts, well-known mechanicians, were appointed to construct a suitable balloon and inflate it by the new method.

But they were immediately confronted with a difficulty. Hydrogen being the lightest and most subtle of gases, they were at a loss to know of what material to make their balloon, to prevent the gas escaping. After several failures they eventually constructed a bag of a special kind of silk, and coated it all over with a varnish made of indiarubber dissolved in turpentine. As they found great difficulty in manufacturing large quantities of hydrogen, they were forced to make their bag a comparatively small one, about thirteen feet in diameter. On the 25th of August 1783 the bag was successfully filled, and the ascent was made in Paris in the presence of an enormous crowd. The little balloon rose upwards with immense rapidity, until it was lost to sight in the clouds. Ascending yet higher, it presently burst, and came to the earth in a village, fifteen miles away, after a voyage of three-quarters of an hour.

In the field where the balloon fell a party of peasants were at work; at its approach they fled in abject terror. From a safe distance they watched the strange new monster settle to earth and lie prone, and then they cautiously drew nearer to inspect it. The silk still heaved with the escaping gas, and the countrymen were fully convinced that an actual living creature of mysterious nature lay before them. One man seized his gun and fired full at it, and then supposing it to be mortally wounded, they all rushed in with flails and pitchforks to complete its destruction, finally tying it to the tail of a horse, who galloped with it all over the country, tearing it to shreds. It was small wonder that after such an occurrence the French Government issued a proclamation to the people, telling them that these aeronautical experiments were to be repeated, and warning them not to be alarmed if they saw a balloon in the air, since it was a perfectly harmless machine filled with gas, and incapable of injuring any one.

This event took place about three months after the first public ascent of the hot-air balloon. The new craft was immediately called a “Charlier,” after its inventor, and to distinguish it from the “Montgolfier.” There followed various exhibitions of the rival airships, and after the voyage of Pilâtre de Rozier and the Marquis D’Arlandes, Messrs. Charles and Roberts resolved also to hazard an ascent in a balloon inflated with hydrogen.

A new machine was therefore constructed, which differed in many important details from all others which had previously been made. It was twenty-seven feet in diameter, of varnished silk, and over it was spread a net of cordage. Instead of a gallery to carry the passengers, as in the “Montgolfier,” a car shaped like a boat was suspended from the net with ropes and hung a few feet below the balloon. A valve to let out the gas was also provided, and the voyagers carried in their car ballast and a barometer to indicate their height. It will thus be seen that this new balloon was in all practical details the same as the balloon of the present day.

The ascent took place on the 17th of December in Paris. Stephen Montgolfier was present, and launched a small hot-air balloon, which amused the onlookers and indicated the direction of the wind. Then MM. Charles and Roberts stepped into the car, and the balloon being liberated, they were immediately carried up to a height of 6000 feet, where a glorious panorama of Paris and the adjacent country was spread out before their delighted vision. After staying aloft about a couple of hours they descended to earth again, and Roberts got out of the car. Charles decided to continue the voyage awhile by himself, and, lightened of his companion’s weight, the balloon this time rose to 10,500 feet. The sun had by this time set upon the earth, but at this height Charles saw it rise once more and set a second time. The thermometer fell far below freezing-point, and he was benumbed with cold and felt violent pains in his ears. When at his greatest elevation he was obliged to pull the valve to prevent the balloon from bursting, and eventually descended without mischance about seven miles from where Roberts had left him.

It would be well now to describe a little more fully the way in which the “Montgolfier” and “Charlier” balloons were inflated. Each of the rival methods had its advantages and also its disadvantages. In the case of the hot-air balloon a shallow pit was dug, in which a quick-burning fire of chopped wool and straw was lighted, and the bag simply suspended over it. The inflation was thus rapid, and its cost comparatively small; the great drawback being that as the bag was of very light material, it ran considerable risk of being ignited by the fire; and all the while it was filling it was the uncomfortable duty of an unfortunate attendant to stand actually inside, roasted with the heat and choked with the smoke, armed with a paddle with which to beat out the flames whenever the bag caught alight.

This danger of fire was done away with in the method of filling with hydrogen gas. The balloon, suspended from aloft as before, was connected by hose-pipes with a number of casks containing iron or zinc filings upon which dilute sulphuric acid was poured. The effect of mixing these substances together is to set up a brisk chemical action, in the course of which hydrogen gas is given off. In this case the hydrogen thus liberated came through the pipes and filled the balloon. The great disadvantages of this method of filling--which, it may here be mentioned, is occasionally employed at the present day--are the long time it occupies, the great labour entailed, and the enormous expense.

It is said that when Roberts and Charles returned from their adventurous voyage they were immediately arrested and thrown into prison by order of the King, who considered it his duty to put a stop to his subjects risking their lives in such dangerous enterprises. Public opinion was too strong for him, however, and the two heroes were quickly released, and Charles was rewarded by a pension of £200 a year for life. This newly discovered art of sailing the heavens had indeed fired popular imagination to an extraordinary degree. Probably no invention has ever aroused greater enthusiasm. Not only all France but all the civilised world went wild with excitement for the time. Most extravagant statements were made and written. A new kingdom, it was declared, had been given to mankind to conquer; voyages might be made to the moon and stars, and now it would even be possible to take Heaven itself by storm!

Ascent after ascent took place with the “Montgolfier” and the “Charlier,” both in France and in other countries; nor was it long before the balloon made its appearance in England. In August of the next summer (1784) a Mr Tytler of Edinburgh made some short voyages in a hot-air balloon of his own manufacture, and in the following month a much more adventurous attempt was successfully carried out in London by a young Italian of the name of Vincent Lunardi.

Lunardi was at this time secretary to the Neapolitan Ambassador. He was keenly interested in the subject of ballooning, and presently became fired with a desire to repeat in England those aerial experiments which were creating such a sensation on the Continent. He was only a poor man, and great difficulties stood in the way of accomplishing his object. He had to excite public interest in his venture, to collect subscriptions to defray the cost of his balloon, which was to be a “Charlier,” and to find a suitable site in London for the inflation and ascent. He met with disappointments and disasters enough to discourage a less enthusiastic man, but at length, after many troubles, on the 15th of September his balloon was ready and in process of filling in the grounds of the Honourable Artillery Company, in the city, where 150,000 people had assembled to witness the new wonder.

Still Lunardi’s trials were not at an end. The balloon was advertised to ascend at a certain hour; but the supply of gas was insufficient, so that when the time came it was only partially filled, and a long delay ensued. The vast crowd--more than half inclined to believe the whole thing an imposture--began to grow very impatient and unruly, and it was only the presence of the Prince of Wales, afterwards George the Fourth, which kept them in restraint for another hour while the filling continued.

Even then the balloon was not full; but Lunardi felt he could wait no longer. He left behind him the companion who was to have accompanied him, substituted a smaller and lighter car, jumped inside and severed the ropes. Instantly the balloon rose high over the delighted city, as the crowd, led by the Prince himself, rent the air with their cheers. Wild was the excitement in every quarter. At Westminster King George the Third was in conference with Mr. Pitt and his other chief Ministers of State, but when it was known that Lunardi was in the sky the King exclaimed, “Gentlemen, we may resume our deliberations at pleasure, but we may never see poor Lunardi again!” and with one accord they adjourned to watch his progress through telescopes. Tradesmen rushed out of their shops, business men from their offices, even judge and jury from their courts.

Lunardi continued his voyage over the town into the country beyond. His balloon apparently attained a considerable height, for he found that the condensed moisture round the neck had frozen, and the gas, which to begin with had only two-thirds filled the balloon, presently expanded so much that he was obliged to untie the mouth to relieve the strain. He had taken up with him as companions a dog and a cat. The cat was very ill at ease in the cold of the upper regions, and he resolved to put her out; so, coming down to the ground, he handed her to a country woman standing in a field. Throwing out ballast, he then rose again and continued his voyage for some distance, eventually descending in a meadow near Ware. Some labourers were at work on the spot, but they at first refused to come near him, and a young woman was the first whom he could induce to help him out of his car. A stone with a long inscription, set up in a meadow in the parish of Standon, near Ware, marks to this day the place where the first of all English balloons touched ground.

The following year witnessed a yet bolder enterprise. Blanchard, a French aeronaut, and Dr. Jeffries, an American, determined on an attempt to cross the Channel. On a winter’s day, early in 1785, they had their balloon inflated with hydrogen at Dover and boldly cast off to sea. The cold air appeared to chill the gas more than they had foreseen, and long before they were across the Channel their balloon began settling down upon the water. They threw out all their ballast, then a number of books they were carrying, then their anchor, extra ropes, and other gear. Still it seemed very doubtful whether they would reach the French coast, and as a last resort they began even to throw away their clothes to lighten the balloon. Fortunately at this moment the balloon shot up into the air again, and eventually brought them down in safety near the forest of Guiennes.

So far, although several hundred ascents had been made, and in spite of the many and great dangers of the new-found art and the inexperience of the early voyagers, no fatal accident had marred the delight of sailing the skies. Disasters, however, were soon to come. It is sad to relate that the earliest to fall a victim was the brave Pilâtre de Rozier himself, the first of all men to go aloft in a balloon. Fired with a desire to emulate Blanchard and Jeffries, he decided that he himself would cross the Channel, this time from France to England; and to avoid, as he imagined, the cooling of the gas, which had so nearly proved disastrous on the previous occasion, he hit on the extraordinary idea of combining the principles of both the “Montgolfier” and “Charlier” balloons, and suspending a fire balloon beneath another filled with hydrogen gas. It seems a remarkable thing to us now that no one in those days saw the awful danger of such a combination. The inevitable happened. When the balloon was high in the air the furnace of the hot-air machine set fire to the highly inflammable hydrogen, a fearful explosion followed, and De Rozier and his companion were dashed to pieces.

FAMOUS BALLOON VOYAGES OF THE PAST

Unfortunately the death of Pilâtre de Rozier was but the first of a series of fatal accidents which marred the early years of the history of ballooning. Shortly afterwards another French aeronaut, going up in too shallow a car, fell overboard when at a great height and was killed. A little later Count Zambeccari, an Italian, ascended in a hot-air balloon, which, on coming near the earth, became entangled in a tree. The furnace it carried set fire to the silk. To escape from the flames, the Count leapt to the ground and was killed on the spot. A few years after, Madame Blanchard, wife of the man who first crossed the English Channel, made a night ascent from Paris with a number of fireworks hung from the car. These, in some way, ignited the balloon, which fell to the ground, killing the unfortunate lady in its fall.

On the other hand, many miraculous escapes are on record. One of the earliest balloonists spent the night alone aloft in the midst of a terrific thunder-storm, with the lightning flashing all around him, and yet descended in safety when morning broke. M. Garnerin, a famous French aeronaut of this date, also was lost in a storm. His balloon became unmanageable, and borne to earth was dashed against a mountain side, the occupant losing consciousness, until the balloon, which had ascended again, brought him safely down once more many miles away.

A marvellous escape took place in 1808, when two Italians ascended in a gas balloon from Padua and attained a great height, estimated as approaching 30,000 feet. Here the balloon burst, and came precipitately to the ground; and yet, despite the terrific fall, the aeronauts escaped with their lives. The explanation of this seeming impossibility was, no doubt, the tendency which a balloon, emptied of its gas, possesses to form a natural parachute. During a rapid fall the lower part of the silk will, if loose, collapse into the upper portion to form a kind of open umbrella, and thus very effectually break the descent. Many balloonists have owed their safety in similar accidents to this fortunate fact.

The bursting of balloons when at high altitudes has already been referred to as happening on several previous occasions. It is a danger which is always present when a balloon is aloft, unless due precautions are taken, and the neglect of these precautions has probably led to more ballooning accidents than any other cause. The explanation is simply the varying pressure exerted upon the bag of gas by the weight of the atmosphere. When an inflated balloon is resting upon the ground, the vast ocean of air above it is pressing upon it with a weight of approximately fifteen pounds to the square inch, and it is this pressure which prevents the enclosed gas from expanding beyond a certain limit. The balloon then rises high into the air, where the weight of atmosphere pressing upon it is much diminished. The higher it rises the less the pressure becomes, and the gas it holds soon expands so much that, unless a vent is provided for it, the balloon will burst. At the present day the neck of a balloon is always left wide open when the balloon is in the air, to allow of the escape of the gas during the ascent.

A perilous adventure befell Mr. Sadler, an English aeronaut, in 1812, whilst attempting to cross the Irish Channel. He started from Dublin with a wind which he hoped would carry him to Liverpool, but had gone only a short distance when he discovered a rent, which seemed to be increasing, in the silk of his balloon. Climbing the rigging with difficulty, he contrived to tie up the hole with his neckcloth. He was by this time over the sea, and having passed near the Isle of Man, found himself, as evening was approaching, close to the coast of North Wales. Here he endeavoured to seek a landing, but just at the critical moment the wind shifted, as it frequently does in this treacherous Channel, and he was quickly blown out to sea again. There he remained for another hour vainly endeavouring to make the land, and then, despairing of the attempt and seeing five ships beneath him, he came boldly down on the water, trusting they would come to his assistance.

Gertrude Bacon opens her account of aeronautical history with a domestic scene: two brothers watching smoke-wreaths rise from a hearth in Annonay. That image—grey smoke curling up a chimney—becomes the seed of the Montgolfiers' first paper-bag experiment, and it sets the tone for a book that repeatedly moves between the homely and the heroic. Bacon, writing in 1905, structures her narrative as a chronological march from the first hot-air ascents to the dirigibles and flying machines of her own day, but she lingers on episodes that reveal the human drama behind technical progress: the widow who suggests fastening the chafing-dish to the bag, the astronomer who risks a siege balloon to observe an eclipse, the pigeons carrying microfilmed messages out of Paris.

From Hearth to Sky: The Montgolfier Spark

The book’s opening chapter anchors the entire history in a single, almost accidental observation. Stephen Montgolfier, watching smoke rise, asks: “What is the hidden power that makes those curling smoke-wreaths rise upwards?” Bacon presents the brothers’ subsequent experiments as a series of small, tangible steps—a paper bag held over a fire, a chafing-dish fastened to the bag’s mouth—rather than a sudden leap. The widow’s practical suggestion, which finally makes the bag rise to the ceiling, is given as much weight as any theoretical insight. This pattern of ad hoc ingenuity recurs throughout the book: Bacon consistently highlights the makeshift, the improvised, and the collaborative nature of early aeronautics.

Siege, Science, and the Pigeon Post

Bacon devotes considerable space to the balloons of the Siege of Paris (1870–71), and her account is rich with specific, almost logistical detail. She notes that between sixty and seventy balloons left the city, carrying nearly 200 people and two and a half million letters weighing about ten tons. But the most striking detail is the pigeon post: messages were photographed onto tiny scraps of film, each capable of holding 2,500 messages of twenty words, then attached to pigeons’ tail feathers in goose quills. One bird carried eighteen films containing 40,000 messages. Bacon does not merely list these facts; she uses them to illustrate the desperate ingenuity of the besieged Parisians. She also records the human cost: balloons blown out to sea, aeronauts captured, and the nightly ascents under enemy fire.

The Balloon as Instrument: Scientific Ascents

Bacon treats the balloon not only as a vehicle of adventure but as a tool for research. She describes early scientific ascents—some to study the atmosphere, others to observe celestial events—and emphasizes the risks taken by men like the astronomer Janssen, who smuggled his telescope out of Paris by balloon to observe a total eclipse in Algeria. The book’s structure, moving from origin stories to wartime use to scientific applications, mirrors the balloon’s own evolution from curiosity to instrument. Bacon’s prose remains grounded in the physical: the weight of a film (less than one gramme), the number of messages per bird, the cold and fog that prevented pigeons from returning. These concrete numbers anchor the narrative in verifiable fact.

Toward the Flying Machine: Airships and Prophecy

The final chapters shift from balloons to dirigibles and flying machines, though the excerpts provide only the chapter titles and a brief glimpse of the conclusion. Bacon’s 1905 vantage point places her at a moment when powered flight was still experimental; the Wright brothers’ first flights had occurred only two years earlier. The book’s structure—beginning with the Montgolfiers’ paper bag and ending with “The Flying Machine”—suggests a narrative of progress, but Bacon does not simply celebrate. She notes failures, accidents, and the bravery of “unskilled pilots” facing enemy fire. The closing chapter likely offers a cautious look forward, but the excerpts do not reveal its contents. Readers should note that Bacon writes as a contemporary observer, not a historian with hindsight.

Bacon’s book is best read as a document of its time: a 1905 survey that captures the excitement and peril of early aeronautics without the benefit of later knowledge. Her focus on concrete details—the weight of a message film, the number of balloons that escaped Paris—gives the narrative a documentary texture. Readers interested in the social and technological context of pre-WWI flight will find a wealth of specific, well-chosen anecdotes, though they should not expect a comprehensive technical treatise. The book’s strength lies in its human-scale stories, from the Montgolfiers’ fireside to the astronomer’s desperate gamble.

Carter Harris
2 weeks ago

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