Not a few of our readers will remember the ascent of Nadar’s colossal
balloon from Paris, on Sunday, the 18th of October, 1863. This balloon
was remarkable as having attached to it a regular two-story house for a
car. Its ascent was witnessed by nearly half a million of persons. The
balloon, after passing over the eastern part of France, Belgium, and
Holland, suffered a disastrous descent in Hanover the day after it
started on its perilous journey. It was a fool-hardy enterprise to
construct such a gigantic and unmanageable balloon, presenting such an
immense surface to the atmosphere, and being so susceptible to adverse
aerial currents as to become the helpless prey of the elements; and it
was still more fool-hardy to place the lives of its passengers at the
mercy of such terrible and ungovernable forces. A large section of the
public laboured under the delusion that Nadar’s balloon was one capable
of being steered. In reality, however, the ‘Geant’ was unquestionably
the most rebellious and unruly specimen of its class that has been made
since the days of Montgolfier. The object in view when this formidable
monster was designed and constructed was to create the means to collect
sufficient funds to form a “Free Association for Aerial Navigation
by means of MACHINES HEAVIER THAN AIR,” and for the construction of
machines on this principle. The receipts from the exhibition of the
“Geant” were intended to form the first capital of the association. The
hopes, however, of the promoters have not been realised in this respect;
for while the expenses of the construction of the balloon have amounted,
directly and indirectly, to the sum of L8,300, its two ascents in Paris
and its exhibition in London produced only L3,300.
Space forbids us to enter at length on the various stages of the idea of
aerial navigation by means of an apparatus heavier than the atmosphere.
The idea is not, however, by any means so absurd as it appears at first
sight. Those who, like Arago, declare that the word “impossible”
does not exist, except in the higher mathematics, and those who look
hopefully to the future instead of resting content with the past, will
join in applauding the spirit which dictated the manifesto of aerial
locomotion to the founder of the association which we are about to
describe. M. Babinet, speaking on this subject before the French
Polytechnic Association, said: “It is absurd to talk of guiding
balloons. How will you set about it? How is it possible that a
balloon--say, for instance, like the Flesselles, whose diameter measures
120 feet--can resist and manoeuvre against opposing winds or currents
of air? It would require a power equal to 400 horses for the sails of a
ship to struggle on equal terms with the wind. Suppose an impossibility,
namely, that a balloon could carry with it a force equal to 400
horse-power; this result would be of little use, for under the immense
weight the fragile covering of the balloon would instantly collapse. If
all the horses of a regiment were harnessed to the car of a balloon by
means of a long rope, the result would be that the balloon would fly
into shivers, being too fragile to withstand these two opposing forces.
Man must seek to raise himself in the air by another mode of operation
altogether, if he wish to guide himself at the same time. Some time
ago I bought a play thing, very much in vogue at that time, called a
Stropheor. This toy was composed of a small rotating screw propeller,
which revolved on its own support when the piece of string wound round
it was pulled sharply. The screw was rather heavy, weighing nearly a
quarter of a pound, and the wings were of tin, very broad and thick.
This machine, however, was rather too eccentric for parlour use, for its
flight was so violent that it was continually breaking the pier glass,
if there was one in the room; and, failing this, it next attacked the
windows. The ascending force of this machine is so great that I have
seen one of them fly over Antwerp Cathedral, which is one of the highest
edifices in the world. The air from underneath the machine is exhausted
by the action of the screw, which, passing under the wings, causes a
vacuum, while the air above it replenishes and fills this void, and
under the influence of these two causes the apparatus mounts from the
earth. But the problem is not solved by means of this plaything, whose
motive power is exterior to it. Messrs. Nadar, Ponton, D’Amecourt, and
De la Landelle teach us better than this, although the wings of their
different models are entirely unworthy of men who desire to demonstrate
a truth to short-lived mortals. We have only arrived as yet at the
infancy of the process, but we have made a good beginning, for, having
once proved that a machine capable of raising itself in the air, wholly
unaided from without, can be made, we have overcome with this apparently
small result the whole difficulty. The principle of propulsion by means
of a screw is by no means a novelty. It was first utilised in windmills,
whose sails are nothing more nor less than an immense screw which is
turned by the action of the wind on its surface. In the case of turbine
water-wheels, where perhaps 970 cubic feet of water are utilised by
means of a mechanism not larger than a hat, we see another illustration
of it, with this difference, that water takes the place of wind as the
motive power.
“The aerial screw is beset with great difficulties, but if we can
succeed through its agency in raising even the smallest weight, we may
be confident of being able to raise a heavier one, for a large machine
is always more powerful in proportion to its size than a small one.
“Mlle. Garnerin once made a bet that she would guide herself in her
descent from a considerable altitude towards a fixed spot on the earth
at some distance, with no other help than the parachute; and she was
really able to guide herself to within a few feet of the specified spot,
by simply altering the inclination of the parachute.
“From observations in mountainous districts, where large birds of prey
may be seen to the best advantage hovering with outstretched wings, I
have come to the conclusion that they first of all attain the requisite
height and then, extending their wings in the form of a parachute,
let themselves glide gradually towards the desired spot. Marshal Niel
confirms this opinion by his experience in the mountains of Algeria.
It is, therefore, clear from these examples that we should possess the
power of transporting ourselves from place to place if we could only
discover a means of raising a weight perpendicularly in the air, which
would then act as a capital of power, only requiring to be expended at
will.”
From the foregoing remarks we may gather an idea of the importance which
may be attached to aerial locomotion notwithstanding the successive
failures of all those who have hitherto taken up the subject. We come
now to the description of the memorable ascent of the ‘Geant.’
We learn from the very interesting account of the ‘Geant,’ published at
the time, all the mishaps and adventures it outlived from the time of
the first stitch in its covering to its final inflation with gas. We
must, however, be content to take up the narrative at the point at which
the ‘Geant,’ with thirteen passengers on board, had, in obedience to
the order to “let go,” been released from the bonds which held it to
the earth. The narrative is, as our readers will perceive, written in
somewhat exaggerated language:--
“The ‘Geant’ gave an almost imperceptible shake on finding itself
free, and then commenced to rise. The ascent was slow and gradual at
first--the monster seemed to be feeling its way. An immense shout rose
with it from the assembled multitude. We ascended grandly, whilst the
deafening clamour of two hundred thousand voices seemed to increase.
We leant over the edge of the car, and gazed at the thousands of faces
which were turned towards us from every point of the vast plain, in
every conceivable angle of which we were the common apex. We still
ascended. The summits of the double row of trees which surround the
Champ de Mars were already under us. We reached the level of the cupola
of the Military School. The tremendous uproar still reached us. We
glided over Paris in an easterly direction, at the height of about six
hundred feet. Every one took up the best possible position on the six
light cane stools, and on the two long bunks at either end of the car,
and contemplated the marvellous panorama spread out under us, of which
we never grew weary.
“There is never any dizziness in a balloon, as is often erroneously
supposed, for in it you are the only point in space without any
possibility of comparison with another, and therefore the means of
becoming giddy are not at hand.”
A very experienced aeronaut, who numbers his ascents by hundreds, has
assured me that he never knew of a single case of dizziness.
“The earth seems to unfold itself to our view like an immense and
variegated map, the predominant colour of which is green in all its
shades and tints. The irregular division of the country into fields made
it resemble a patchwork counterpane. The size of the houses, churches,
fortresses, was so considerably diminished as to make them resemble
nothing so much as those playthings manufactured at Carlsruhe. This was
the effect produced by a microscopic train, which whistled very faintly
to attract our attention, and which seemed to creep along at a snail’s
pace, though doubtless going at the rate of thirty miles an hour, and
was enveloped in a minute cloud of smoke. What a lasting impression this
microscopic neatness makes on us! What is that white puff I see down
there? the smoke of a cigar? No: it is a cloud of mist. It must be a
perfect plain that we are looking at, for we cannot distinguish between
the different altitudes of a bramble-bush and an oak a hundred years
old!
“It is one of the delights of an aeronaut to gaze on the familiar scenes
of earth from the immense height of the car of a balloon! What earthly
pleasure can compare with this! Free, calm, silent, roving through this
immense and hospitable space, where no human form can harm me, I despise
every evil power; I can feel the pleasure of existence for the first
time, for I am in full possession, as on no other occasion, of perfect
health of mind and body. The aeronauts of the ‘Geant’ will scarcely
condescend to pity those miserable mortals whom they can only faintly
recognise by their gigantic works, which appear to them not more
dignified than ant-hills!
“The sun had already set behind the purple horizon in our rear. The
atmosphere was still quite clear round the ‘Geant,’ although there was
a thick haze underneath, through which we could occasionally see lights
glimmering from the earth. We had attained a sufficient altitude to be
only just able to hear noises from villages that we left beneath us, and
were beginning to enjoy the delicious calm and repose peculiar to aerial
ascents.
“There is, however, a talk about dinner, or rather supper, and night is
now fast approaching. Every one eats with the best possible appetite.
Hams, fowls and dessert only appear to disappear with an equal
promptitude, and we quench our thirst with bordeaux and champagne. I
remind our companions of the pigeons we brought with us, and which are
hanging in a cage outside the railing. I knew there was no danger of
their flying away, so fearlessly opened the cage. The three or four
birds I had put in the car seemed struck with terror. They flew
awkwardly towards the centre of our party, tumbling among the plates and
dishes and under our feet. It was not a case of hunger with them, and I
ought to have remembered that their feeding time was long since past. I
replaced them in their cage.
“Meanwhile, the sun has left us for some time. Our longing gaze followed
it behind the dark clouds in the horizon, whose edges it tipped with a
glorious purple. Its last rays shone on us, and then came a bluish-grey
twilight. Suddenly we are enveloped in a dense fog. We look around,
above us. Everything has disappeared in the mist. The balloon itself is
no longer visible. We can see nothing except the ropes which suspend
us, and these are only visible for a few feet above our heads, when they
lose themselves in the fog. We are alone with our wickerwork house in an
unfathomable vault.
“We still ascend, however, through the compact and terrible fog, which
is so solid-looking as to seem capable of being carved into forms with
a knife. As we were without a moon, and had no light at all, in fact,
we were unable to distinguish nicely the different shades of colour in
these thick clouds. Now and then, when the clouds seemed to be
lighter, they had a bluish tinge; but the thicker ones were dirty and
muddy-looking. Dante must have seen some like these.
“Water trickled down our faces, hands, and clothes, and the ropes and
sides of our car.
“The water did not fall in rain-drops or in flakes, as it sometimes
does in the tropics; but we were as completely saturated by this heavy,
penetrating mist as if we had been under a waterfall. We still continued
to traverse these rainy regions. The thick fog which the balloon
dislodged in forcing a passage closed immediately after it. At one
moment I thought I felt something press against my cheek, which could
only be compared to the points of a thousand needles, or to floating
particles of ice. We were all of us too much absorbed with our situation
to think of the hour or of the height to which we had attained. Suddenly
the Prince of Wittgenstein, who was standing at my left hand, cried out
under his breath--
“‘Look at the balloon, sir! look at the balloon!’
“I raised my eyes, in company with several others, and shall never
forget the magnificent sight which awaited them. I saw the balloon,
for which I had been searching in vain a few minutes before. It had
undergone a transformation. It looked now as if coated with silver,
and floating in a pale phosphorescent glimmer. All the ropes and cords
seemed to be of new, bright, and liquid silver, like mercury, caused
by the mist which had rested on them becoming suddenly congealed. Two
luminous arcs intervened between us, in a sea of mother-of-pearl and
opal, the lower one being the colour of red ochre and the upper one
orange. Both of them, blinding in their brilliancy, seemed about to
embrace one another.
“‘How far are they off?’ thought I to myself. ‘Can I touch them with
my hand, or are they separated from me by an immense space?’ We are not
capable of forming ideas of perspective, floating as we are in the midst
of such a glimmering splendour.
“Above and around us are nothing but thick fogs and enormous black
clouds, whose ragged edges and backs are relieved by a pale silver
coating. They undulate ceaselessly to and fro, and either usurp
quietly the place of others, or disappear only to be superseded by more
formidable ones. But the last ray of reflected light has died out, and
we plunge into this chaos of dreadful forms. Monsters seem to wish to
approach us, and to envelop us in their dark embraces. One of them, on
my right hand, looks like a deformed human arm in a menacing attitude,
writhing its jagged top like a blind serpent feeling its way. The vague
monster has disappeared; but the momentary splendour being followed
by the original gloom, we plunge once more into a darkness that can be
felt.
“The water which had collected on the balloon during its ascent now
began to take effect, and caused it to descend with such rapidity into
the dark abyss that the ballast, which was immediately thrown overboard,
was overtaken in its descent and fell on our heads again.
“I hear exclamations and voices near me. My companions are evidently
agitated, and with good reason, too; for the lights which we could see a
long way below us approach with terrible rapidity. We reached the earth
rather quicker than we left it.
“Suddenly we feel a dreadful shock, followed by ominous crackings. The
car has grounded. The ‘Geant’ has made its descent. But in what part of
the habitable globe, and under what zone? At Meaux!”
To employ an expression of M. Nadar’s it seems that these gentlemen
never before experienced such a “knock-down blow.”
After all these preparations, all this trouble, all the energy employed
in the undertaking--sufficient, indeed, wherewith to attempt to cross
the Atlantic--to “descend at Meaux!”
The ‘Geant,’ however, had its revenge. Its second ascent gave it this
revenge. We shall be as brief as possible in relating this voyage; but
the details are all so very interesting that we regret extremely our
being unable to give more than extracts from the narrative.
Our travellers committed themselves again to the mercy of the air.
The Emperor, following the example of a former King of France, took
considerable interest in the construction of this aerial monster, and
wished the aeronaut “Bon voyage” at starting. The passengers endeavoured
to pass the night as comfortably as possible, having first instituted a
four hours’ watch, as on board ship.
The aerial vessel glided rapidly through the air. “We repeatedly,” said
Nadar, “passed over some manufacturing centre, whose lights were not yet
extinguished. I either hailed them with my speaking-trumpet or rang our
two bells. Sometimes we received a reply from below, in the shape of a
shout, for, although we still had no moon, the night was occasionally
clear enough for people to distinguish us; and sometimes we heard a peal
of laughter from out of the atmosphere in which we were travelling. It
was another party of aeronauts in a smaller balloon, who left at the
same time as we did, and who would persist in keeping the ‘Geant’
company. We are passing over a small town; we hear the usual shouting
and the report of a gun. Our first thoughts are--Was it loaded with shot
or ball? The inhuman brute who fired will say, ‘Certainly not;’ but as
balloons have often been damaged in this way, we may be confident there
was more than powder in this one. It would be satisfactory, at any rate,
if the name of the person could be ascertained who favoured us with this
welcome. But it is rather late to make inquiries on this subject. It was
between a quarter and half-past nine o’clock when this occurred. ‘The
sea!’ cried Jules; ‘look at the revolving lights of the lighthouses.
There: one has just disappeared: it will flash out again in a
moment!’ But what is this? Before us, as far as our eyes can reach,
we distinguish faint lights, which in this case are neither lamps nor
torches. As we continue to draw nearer we get a better view of these
numerous, violent, and smoking furnaces. Loud and ringing sounds strike
on our ear at the same time. Am I right in my conjectures? Is this not
that splendid country I love more than ever now? It must be Erquelines!
And the dignified Custom-house official, had it been possible, would
have added thereto ‘Belgium!’
“We still continue to pass over fires, forges, tall chimneys, and coal
mines at frequent intervals. Not long after we distinguish a large town
on our right hand, which, by its size and brilliant lighting by gas,
we recognise as Brussels. There could be no mistake, for close by, more
modest in size and appearance, we see Catholic Malines. We have left it
behind us.
“Onward! Onward! Behind us the fires fade gradually away, and disappear
one after another. Before us nothing at present visible. We seemed to
drift on for about one hundred or one hundred and fifty yards more. We
cannot distinguish a single point in front of us on which to fix our
gaze. But we still continue our course in silence.
“This mournful darkness, this endless shroud, in which we can discover
neither rent nor spangle, still continues. Where are we? Over what
strange country, possessing neither cities, towns, nor villages, are
we hovering in the tomb-like silence of this interminable darkness? We
seem, indeed, to have been carried by a puff of wind towards the west.
“But something seems to approach us. What are those pale rays of light
which we can faintly see a long, long way before us--rays pale and soft,
quite unlike those flaming fires we have left behind us? Surely these
do not denote the presence of human activity! As we continue to advance,
these pale flakes of light--resembling nothing so much in appearance as
molten lead--which at first were scanty and isolated, gradually expand,
and leave only narrow strips of darkness to divide them into fantastic
shapes. By their help we discovered we were passing over the immense
marshes of Holland, which extended to and lost themselves in the hazy
horizon. On our right hand we hear a deep moan, still distant, but
rapidly approaching every moment. It is undoubtedly the rushing of the
wind. A fresh breeze for five minutes would bring us to the sea.
“We experienced another shock not less formidable than the first. The
‘Geant’ is trembling from its effects. The cable of our first anchor
has just broken like a piece of thread. We could not hope for a better
result. The violence of the wind which is carrying us along seems to be
redoubled. A bump: another and another--then shock after shock.
“‘The second dead men!’
“Our swift pace was shock after shock.
“‘The anchor is lost,’ cries Jules; ‘we are all dead men!
“This truth is too palpable to all of us to require expressing in so
many words, for we are just commencing that furious, tearing course
called ‘trailing.’
“Our swift pace was considerably accelerated by the lower part of
the balloon, which--limp, empty, and forming nearly a third of the
whole--had been set free at the first shock, and flapped against the
distended part, acting as a sail. The shocks continued to multiply so
fast that it was impossible to count them. The car continued to rebound
from these shocks to the height of five, ten, sometimes thirty, forty,
and even fifty feet, for all the world like an India-rubber ball from
the hands of an indefatigable player. Unfortunately, all our human
freight, terror stricken and without advice, had crowded into one side
of the car; and as this happened to be the side on which we invariably
bumped, we experienced all the worst effects of the joltings.
“What a dizzy whirl! What a succession of breathless shocks! What a
strain on both muscles and nerves! By the least negligence or slip,
or by the loss of presence of mind for one moment, we should have been
thrown out and dashed to atoms.
“Every collision tries our muscles and strains our wrists or our
shoulders; and every rebound dashes us one against the other,
constituting each individual a tormentor and victim at the same time.
Our flight is so rapid that we can only distinguish an occasional
glimpse of anything. Far, far in the distance we distinguish an isolated
tree. We approach it like lightning, and we break it as though it were a
straw.
“Two terrified horses, with manes and tails erect, endeavour to fly from
us. But we consume distances; we leave them behind immediately. We skip
over a flock of affrighted sheep in one of our bounds. But now comes the
real danger.
“At this moment, when we were perfectly benumbed with fear, and had lost
all power of articulation, we saw a locomotive, drawing two carriages,
running along an embankment at right angles to our course. A few more
revolutions of the wheels, and it will be all over with us, for we seem
to be fated to meet with geometrical precision at one spot!
“What will happen?
“Travelling at our present hurricane pace, we shall undoubtedly lift
up and overturn the machine and what it is drawing. But shall we not be
crushed ourselves? A few paces still intervene between us and our foe,
and we give vent to a shout of terror.
“It is heard, and the locomotive answers it by a whistle, then slackens
its pace, and after seeming to hesitate an instant backs quickly and
only just in time to give us a free passage, whilst the driver, waving
his cap, salutes us with--
“‘Look out for the wires!’
“The caution was well timed, for we had not noticed the four telegraph
wires which we rapidly approached. We energetically ducked our heads on
seeing them, but fortunately we escaped any more damage than having two
or three of our ropes cut. These we continued to drag after us like the
tail of a ragged comet, having the telegraph-wires and the posts which
lately supported them attached to us.”
After having been dragged thus for some time at the mercy of a hurricane
which they ought to have been able to avoid, these aerial navigators at
last got entangled in the outskirts of a wood near Rethem, in Hanover.
A few broken arms and legs paid for their temerity in meddling with this
monster, and one and all of the passengers have reason to be thankful
that it will be unnecessary for us to proclaim their virtues and their
fate in our next chapter.