We will conclude this second part by giving a brief notice of some
of those who, in the early days of aerostation, fell martyrs to their
devotion to the new cause, and sometimes victims to their own want of
foresight and their inexperience.
First among these is Pilatre des Roziers, with whose courage and
ingenuity our readers are already familiar. After the passage of
Blanchard from England over to France this hero, who was the first to
trust himself to the wide space of the sky, resolved to undertake the
return voyage from France to England--a more difficult feat, owing to
the generally adverse character of the winds and currents. In vain did
Roziers’ friends attempt to make him understand the perils to which this
enterprise must expose him; his only reply was that he had discovered
a new balloon which united in itself all the necessary conditions of
security, and would permit the voyager to remain an unusually long time
in the air. He asked and obtained from government the sum of 40,000
livres, in order to construct his machine. It then became clear what
sort of balloon he had contrived. He united in one machine the two modes
previously made use of in aerostation. Underneath a balloon filled with
hydrogen gas, he suspended a Montgolfiere, or a balloon filled with
hot air from a fire. It is difficult to understand what was his precise
object in making this combination, for his ideas seem to have been
confused upon the subject. It is probable that, by the addition of a
Montgolfiere, he wished to free himself from the necessity of having to
throw over ballast when he wished to ascend and to let off this gas when
he wished to descend. The fire of the Montgolfiere might, he probably
supposed, be so regulated as to enable him to rise or fall at will.
This mixed system has been justly blamed. It was simply “putting fire
beside powder,” said Professor Charles to Roziers; but the latter would
not listen, and depended for everything on his own intrepidity and
scientific skill of which he had already given so many proofs. There
were, perhaps, other reasons for his unyielding obstinacy. The court
that had furnished him with the funds for the construction of the
balloon pressed him, and he himself was most ambitious to equal the
achievement of Blanchard, who was the first to cross the Channel, on the
7th of January, 1785.
The fact was that at this time the prevailing fear in France was, that
Great Britain should bear off all the honours and profits of aerostation
before any of these had been won by France. It was thus that with an
untried machine, and under conditions the most unfavourable for his
enterprise, Roziers prepared to risk his life in this undertaking, which
was equally dangerous and useless.
The double balloon was alternately inflated and emptied. While under
cover it was assailed by the rats that gnawed holes in it, and when
brought out of its place it was exposed to the tempests, so that the
longer the experiment was delayed, the worse chance there was of
getting through it successfully. At length Roziers went to Boulogne, and
announced the day of his departure; but, as if by a special Providence,
his attempt was delayed by unfavourable weather. For many weeks in
succession the little trial balloons thrown up to show the course of the
wind were driven back upon the shores of France. During all these trials
the impatient Roziers continued to chafe and torment himself.
At last, on the 13th and 14th of June, 1785, the Aero-Montgolfiere
remained inflated, waiting a favourable moment for departure. On the
15th at four in the morning, a little pilot balloon that had been
thrown up fell back on the spot from which it had been thrown free, thus
showing that there was no wind. Seven hours later Roziers, accompanied
by his brother Romain, one of the constructors of the balloon, appeared
in the gallery. A nobleman present threw a purse of 200 louis into the
car, and was preparing to follow it and join in the adventure. Roziers
forbade him to enter, gently but firmly.
“The experiment is too unsafe,” he said, “for me to expose to danger the
life of another.”
“Finally,” says a narrative of the time, “the Aero-Montgolfiere rose in
an imposing manner. The sound of cannon signalised the departure, the
voyagers saluted the crowd, who responded with loud shouts. The balloon
advanced until it began to traverse the sea, and every one with eyes
fixed upon the fragile machine, regarded it with fear. It had traversed
upwards of a league of its journey, and had reached the height of 700
feet above sea level, when a wind from the west drove it back toward the
shore, after having been twenty-seven minutes in the air.
“At this moment the crowd beneath perceived that the voyagers were
showing signs of alarm. They seemed suddenly to lower the grating of the
Montgolfiere. But it was too late. A violet flame appeared at the top
of the balloon, then spread over the whole globe, and enveloped the
Montgolfiere and the voyagers. “The unfortunate men were suddenly
precipitated from the clouds to the earth, in front of the Tour de Croy,
upwards of a league from Boulogne, and 300 feet from the sea beach.
“The dead body of Roziers was found burnt in the gallery, many of the
bones being broken. His brother was still breathing, but he was not able
to speak, and in a few minutes he expired.”
De Maisonfort, who, against his own will, was left on the earth, was
witness of this sad event. He has given the following explanation of
it:--
“Some minutes after their departure the voyagers were assailed by
contrary winds, which drove them back again upon the land. It is
probable that then, in order to descend and seek a more favourable
current of air, which would take them out again to sea, Roziers opened
the valve of the gas balloon; but the cord attached to this valve
was very long, it worked with difficulty, and the friction which it
occasioned tore the valve. The stuff of the balloon, which had suffered
much from many preliminary attempts, and from other causes, was torn to
the extent of several yards, and the valve fell down inside the balloon,
which at once emptied itself.”
According to this narrative, there was no conflagration of the gas in
the middle of the atmosphere, nor is it stated precisely whether the
grating of the Montgolfiere was lighted.
Maisonfort ran to the spot when the travellers fell, found them covered
with the cloth of the balloon, and occupying the same positions which
they had taken up on departing.
By a sad chance, that seems like irony, they were thrown down only a few
paces from the monument which marks the spot where Blanchard descended.
At the present day Frenchmen going to England via Calais do not fail to
visit at the forest of Guines the monument consecrated to the expedition
of Blanchard. A few paces from this monument the cicerone will point out
with his finger the spot where his rivals expired.
“Such was the end of the first of aeronauts, and the most courageous of
men,” says a contemporaneous historian. “He died a martyr to honour and
to zeal. His kindness, amiability, and modesty endeared him to all who
knew him. She who was dearest to him--a young English lady, who boarded
at a convent at Boulogne, and whom he had first met only a few days
prior to his last ascent--could not support the news of his death.
Horrible convulsions seized her and she expired, it is said, eight days
after the dreadful catastrophe. Roziers died at the age of twenty-eight
and a half years.”
Olivari perished at Orleans on the 25th of November, 1802. He had
ascended in a Montgolfiere made of paper, strengthened only by some
bands of cloth. His car, made of osiers, and loaded with combustible
matter, was suspended below the grating; and when at a great elevation
it became the prey of the flames. The aeronaut, thus deprived of his
support, fell, at the distance of a league from the spot from which he
had risen.
Mosment made his last ascent at Lille on the 7th of April, 1806. His
balloon was made of silk, and was filled with hydrogen gas. Ten minutes
after his departure he threw into the air a parachute with which he had
provided himself. It is supposed that the oscillations consequent on the
throwing off of the parachute were the cause of they aeronaut’s fall.
Some pretend that Mosment had foretold his death, and that it was caused
by a willful carelessness. However this may be, the balloon continued
its flight alone, and the body of the aeronaut was found partly buried
in the sand of the fosse which surrounds the town.
Bittorff made a great many successful ascents. He never used any machine
but the Montgolfiere. At Manheim, on the 17th of July, the day of his
death his balloon, which was of paper, sixteen metres in diameter, and
twenty in height, took fire in the air, and the aeronaut was thrown down
upon the town. His fall was mortal.
Harris, an old officer of the English navy, together with another
English aeronaut, named Graham, had made a great many ascents. He
conceived the idea of constructing a balloon upon an original plan; but
his alterations do not seem to have been improvements. In May, 1824, he
attempted an ascent from London, which had much apparent success, but
which terminated fatally. When at a great elevation, it seems, the
aeronaut, wishing to descend, opened the valve. It had not been well
constructed, and after being opened it would not close again. The
consequent loss of gas brought the balloon down with great force. Harris
lost his life with the fall; but the young lady who had accompanied him
received only a trifling wound.
Sadler, a celebrated English aeronaut, who, in one of his many
experiments, had crossed the Irish Channel between Dublin and Holyhead,
lost his life miserably near Bolton, on the 28th of September, 1824.
Deprived of his ballast, in consequence of his long sojourn in the air,
and forced at last to descend, at a late hour, upon a number of high
buildings, the wind drove him violently against a chimney. The force of
the shock threw him out of his car, and he fell to the earth and died.
His prudence and knowledge were unquestionable, and his death is to be
ascribed alone to accident. It was an aerial shipwreck.
Cocking had gone up twice in Mr. Green’s balloon as a simple amateur.
He took it into his head to go up a third time. He wished to attempt a
descent in a parachute of his own construction, which he believed was
vastly superior to the ordinary one. He altered the form altogether,
though that form had been proved to be satisfactory. In place of a
concave surface, supporting itself on a volume of air, Cocking used
an inverted cone, of an elaborate construction, which, instead of
supporting him in the air, only accelerated his fall. Unhappily, Green
participated in this experiment. The two made an ascent from Vauxhall,
on the 27th of September, 1836, Green having suspended Cocking’s
wretched contrivance from the car of his balloon. Cocking held on by a
rope, and at the height of from 1,000 to 1,200 feet the amateur,
with his patent parachute, were thrown off from the balloon. A moment
afterwards Green was soaring away safely in his machine, but Cocking was
launched into eternity.
“The descent was so rapid,” says one who witnessed it, “that the mean
rate of the fall was not less than twenty yards a second. In less than a
minute and a half the unfortunate aeronaut was thrown to the earth, and
killed by the fall.”
Madame Blanchard, thinking to improve upon Garnerin, who had decorated
the balloon which ascended in celebration of the coronation of Napoleon
I. with coloured lights, fixed fireworks instead to hers. A wire rope
ten yards long was suspended to her car; at the bottom of this wire
rope was suspended a broad disc of wood, around which the fireworks were
ranged. These consisted of Bengal and coloured lights. On the 6th
of July, 1819, there was a great fete at Tivoli, and a multitude had
assembled around the balloon of Madame Blanchard. Cannon gave the signal
of departure, and soon the fireworks began to show themselves. The
balloon rose splendidly, to the sound of music and the shoutings of the
people. A rain of gold and thousands of stars fell from the car as
it ascended. A moment of calm succeeded, and then to the eyes of the
spectators, still fixed on the balloon, an unexpected light appeared.
This light did not come from under the balloon, where the crown of
fireworks was already extinguished, but shone in the car itself. It
was evident that the lady aeronaut, although now so high above the
spectators, was busy about something. The light increased, then
disappeared suddenly; then appeared again, and showed itself finally at
the summit of the balloon, in the form of an immense jet of gas. The
gas with which the balloon was inflated had taken fire, and the terrible
glare which the light threw around was perceived from the boulevards,
and all the Quartier Montmartre.
It was at this moment--a frightful one for those who perceived what had
taken place--that a general sentiment of satisfaction and admiration
among the spectators found vent in cries of “Brava! Vive Madame
Blanchard!” &c. The people thought the lady was giving them an
unexpected treat. Meantime, by the light of the flame, the balloon was
seen gradually to descend. It disappeared when it reached the houses,
like a passing meteor, or a train of fire which a blast of wind suddenly
extinguishes. A number of workmen and other persons, who had perceived
that some accident had taken place, ran in the direction in which the
balloon appeared to descend. They arrived at a house in the Rue de
Provence. On the roof of this house the balloon had fallen, and the
unfortunate Madame Blanchard, thrown out of the car by the shock, was
killed by her fall to the earth.
This news spread rapidly from Tivoli, where it occasioned a stupefying
surprise. It was the first time that a fall of the kind had taken place
from the sky at Paris. Fireworks were from this time discontinued, the
fete came to an end, and a subscription was rapidly organised, producing
some thousands of francs, which shortly afterwards were employed in
erecting a monument to the lady, which is now to be seen in the cemetery
of Pere-la-Chaise.
Madame Blanchard had wished to surpass the ordinary spectacle of an
aerial ascent; she had really prepared a SURPRISE for the spectators.
She had prepared and she took with her a small parachute of about
two yards in diameter. After the extinction of the crown or star of
fireworks, she intended to throw this little parachute loose; and as it
was terminated by another supply of fireworks, it was supposed that the
effect would be as beautiful as surprising.
The unhappy lady was small in stature, and very light, and unfortunately
made use of a very small balloon. That of the 6th of July, 1819, was
only seven metres in diameter; and to make it ascend with the weight
it carried it had to be filled to the neck with inflammable air. In
quitting the earth some of this gas escaped, and rising above the
balloon, formed a train like one of powder, which would certainly flash
into a blaze the moment it came in contact with the fire. But on this
day it was she who with her own hand fired this train. At the moment
when, detaching the little parachute from her car, she took the light
for the fireworks in her other hand, she crossed this train with the
light and set it on fire. Then the brave woman, throwing away the
parachute and the match, strove to close the mouth of the balloon, and
to stifle the fire. These efforts being unavailing, Madame Blanchard was
distinctly seen to sit down in her car and await her fate.
The burning of the hydrogen lasted several minutes, during which time
the balloon gradually descended. Had it not been that it struck on the
roof of the house Madame Blanchard would have been saved. At the moment
of the shock she was heard to cry out, “A moi.” These were her last
words. The car, going along the roof of the house, was caught by an
iron bar and overturned, and the lady was thrown head foremost upon the
pavement.
When she reached the ground she immediately expired. Her head and
shoulders were slightly burnt, otherwise she exhibited no marks of the
fire which had destroyed the balloon.
PART III. Scientific Experiments--Applications of Ballooning.
Chapter I. Experiments of Robertson, Lhoest, Saccarof, &c.
Robertson is regarded by many as a sort of mountebank; yet such men as
Arago have put themselves to the trouble of examining the aerostatic
feats of this aeronaut, and of examining the results of his
observations.
“The savant Robertson,” says Arago, “performed at Hamburg on the 18th
of July, 1803, with his countryman, Lhoest, the first aeronautic voyage
from which science has been able to draw useful deductions. The two
aeronauts remained suspended in the air during five hours, and came
down near Hanover, twenty-five leagues from the spot from which they set
off.”
The first time that Robertson appears in the annals of aerostation is in
1802, on the occasion of the sale of the balloon used at the battle
of Fleurus, of which mention will be made in the chapter on military
aerostation. But three years previously he had been instructed to make
a balloon of an original form, which should ascend in honour of the
Turkish ambassador at the garden of Tivoli. The fete was completely
successful. Turks, Chinese, Persians, and Bedouins will always be
welcome, as on this occasion, at Paris, appearing as they do only at
rare intervals, and for a short time.
The fete took place on the 2nd of July. Robertson presented himself at
the house of Esseid-Ali, to obtain his autograph. The Turkish ambassador
willingly granted the request, and wrote his name in letters, each of
which was two inches in height, on a sheet of paper. He then offered the
aeronaut coffee and comfits, and promised to be present to witness the
balloon ascent. His name was painted in large characters on a balloon
fifteen feet in diameter, and on the form of which was the figure of a
crescent. The experiment delighted the ambassador, and was well received
by the public.
Jacques Garnerin, when he came to make his debut as an aeronaut, made an
attempt with the parachute, the following August, at the garden of the
Hotel de Biron. The ambassador was asked to honour the fete, but he
declined, saying that he had “made up his mind that man was not intended
for flying--Mahomet had not so willed it.”
Of one of Robertson’s more interesting ascents he himself has left us
the following sketch:--
“I rose in the balloon at nine a.m., accompanied by my fellow-student
and countryman, M. Lhoest. We had 140 lbs. of ballast. The barometer
marked twenty-eight inches; the thermometer sixteen degrees Reaumur. In
spite of some slight wind from the north-west, the balloon mounted so
perpendicularly that in all the streets each of the spectators believed
we were mounting straight up above his head. In order to quicken our
ascent I discharged a parachute made of silk, and weighted in a way to
prevent oscillations. The parachute descended at the rate of two feet
per second, and its descent was uniform. From the moment when the
barometer began to sink we became very careful of our ballast, as we
wished to test from experience the different temperatures through which
we were about to pass.
“At 10.15, the barometer was at nineteen inches, and the thermometer
at three above zero. We now felt all the inconvenience of an extremely
rarefied atmosphere coming upon us, and we commenced to arrange some
experiments in atmospheric electricity. Our first attempts did not
succeed. We threw over part of our ballast, and mounted up till the
cold and the rarefaction of the air became very troublesome. During
our experiments we experienced an illness throughout our whole system.
Buzzing in the cars commenced, and went on increasing. The pain we felt
was like that which one feels when he plunges his head in water. Our
chests seemed to be dilated, and failed in elasticity. My pulse was
quickened, M. Lhoest’s became slower; he had, like me, swelled lips and
bleeding eyes; the veins seemed to come out more strongly on the hands.
The blood ran to the head, and occasioned a feeling as if our hats were
too tight. The thermometer continued to descend, and, as we ascended,
our illness increased, and we could with difficulty keep awake. Fearing
that my travelling companion might go to sleep, I attached a cord to my
thigh and to his, and we held the extremities of the cord in our hands.
Thus trammelled, we had to commence the experiments which I had proposed
to make.
“At this elevation, the glass, the brimstone, and the Spanish wax were
not electrified in a manner to show any signs under friction--at least,
I obtained no electricity from the conductors or the electrometer.
“I had in my car a voltaic pile, consisting of sixty couples--silver
and zinc. It worked very well on the occasion of our departure from the
earth, and gave, without the condenser, one degree to the electrometer.
At our great elevation, the pile gave only five-sixths of a degree to
the same electrometer. The galvanic flame seemed more active at this
elevation than on the earth.
“I took two birds with me on coming into the balloon--one of these was
now dead, the other appeared stupefied. After having placed it upon the
brink of the gondola, I tried to frighten it to make it take to flight.
It moved its wings, but did not leave the spot; then I left it to
itself, and it fell perpendicularly and with great rapidity. Birds are
certainly not able to maintain themselves at such elevations.
“It is notable that the atmosphere, which was of a perfect purity near
the earth, was grey and misty above our heads, and the beautiful blue
sky seen from the surface did not exist for us, although the weather was
calm and serene, and the day the most beautiful that could be. The sun
did not seem dazzling to us, and its heat was diminished owing to our
elevation.
“At half-past eleven, the balloon was no longer visible from Hamburg.
The heavens were so pure beneath us that everything was distinctly seen
by us, though very much diminished by distance. At 11.40, the town of
Hamburg seemed only a red point in our eyes; the Elbe looked like
a straight ribbon. I wished to make use of an opera-glass, but what
surprised me was that when I lifted it up it was so cold that I had to
wrap my handkerchief around it to enable me to hold it.
“Not being able to support our position any longer, we descended, after
having used up much gas and ballast. Our descent caused that degree
of terror among the inhabitants which the size of our balloon was
calculated to inspire in a country where such machines had never before
been seen. We descended above a poor village called Radenburg, a place
amid the heaths of Hanover. Our appearance caused great alarm, and even
the beasts of the field fled from us.
“While our balloon rapidly approached the earth, we waved our hats and
flags, and shouted to the inhabitants, but our voices only increased
their terror. The villagers rushed away with cries of terror, leaving
their herds, whose bellowings increased the general alarm. When the
balloon touched the ground, every man had shut himself up in his own
house. Having appealed in vain, and fearing that the villagers might do
us some injury, we resolved to re-ascend.
“In making this second ascent, we threw over all our ballast; but in
this we were imprudent, for after sailing about at a great height, and
having lost much gas, I perceived that our descent would be very
rapid, and to provide against accident, I gathered together all the
instruments, the bread, the ropes, and even such money as we had with
us, and placed them in three sacks, to which I attached a rope of a
hundred feet in length. This precaution saved us a shock. The weight,
amounting to thirty pounds, reached the ground before us, and the
balloon, thus lightened, came softly to the ground between Wichtenbech
and Hanover, after having run twenty-five leagues in five and a half
hours.”
After this ascent Robertson became acquainted with some savants of
Hamburg, and amongst others with Professor Pfaff, who was interested
in aerial travelling as a means of settling certain meteorological
problems. Some days after Robertson’s ascent, the professor wrote to
him--
“You speak of a certain height at which the hydrogen gas will find
itself in equilibrium in the air of the atmosphere. I believe that this
height is the extremity of the atmosphere itself; for as the gas has an
elasticity much greater than that of the air, it will go on dilating as
it mounts into the higher regions of the atmosphere, and its specific
weight will diminish as the weight of atmospheric air diminishes; and it
will not cease to mount until it rises above the atmosphere itself, if
two conditions be completely fulfilled--1, the condition that the gas
may be allowed to dilate without leaving the balloon as it rises; 2,
the condition that the gas shall not be allowed to mix at all with the
atmospheric air.”
Another ascent was arranged for the 14th of August, in which Robertson
was to be accompanied by the professor, but the latter, yielding to the
entreaties of his family, did not go. “I went up with my friend Lhoest,”
says Robertson, “at forty-two minutes past twelve midday. In a minute or
two we rose up between two masses of cloud, which seemed to open up and
offer us a passage. The upper surfaces of these clouds are not uniformly
level, like the under sides seen from the earth, but they are of a
conical or pyramidal shape. These imposing masses seem to precipitate
themselves upon the earth, as if to engulf it, but this optical illusion
was due to the apparent immobility of the balloon, which at the moment
was rising at the rate of about twenty feet per second.
“The fear of losing the view of the Baltic, which we perceived between
the clouds at intervals, obliged us to renounce the project of rising as
high as on the last occasion. The barometer was at fifteen inches, and
the thermometer one degree below zero, when I let off two pigeons.
“One descended in a diagonal direction, its wings half open but not
moving, with a swiftness which seemed that of a fall. The other flew
for an instant, and then placed itself upon the car, and did not wish to
quit us. Acting on the hint of Dr. Reimarus, I tried the same experiment
with butterflies, but the air was too much rarefied for them; they
attempted in vain to raise themselves by their wings, but they did not
forsake the car.
“The wind continuing to carry me towards the sea, I resolved to bring
my observations to an end. I effected my descent in a meadow, near the
village of Rehorst, in Holstein, after having run sixteen leagues from
France in sixty-five minutes.”
At the commencement of the year 1804, Laplace, at the Institute,
proposed to take advantage of the means offered by aerostation to verify
at great heights certain scientific points--as, for example, those which
concern magnetism. This proposition was made at a favourable time, and
was, so far, carried out in the best possible way. The aeronauts who
were appointed to carry out the expedition were Biot and Gay-Lussac, the
most enthusiastic aeronauts of the period.
The following is their report:--
“We observed the animals we had with us at all the different heights,
and they did not appear to suffer in any manner. For ourselves, we
perceived no effect any more then a quickening of the pulse. At 10,000
feet above the ground we set a little green-finch at liberty. He flew
out at once, but immediately returning, settled upon our cordage;
afterwards, setting out again, he flew to the earth, describing a very
tortuous line in his passage. We followed him with our eyes till he was
lost in the clouds. A pigeon, which we set free at the same elevation,
presented a very curious spectacle. Placed at liberty on the edge of the
car, he remained at rest for a number of instants, as if measuring the
length of his flight; then he launched himself into space, flying about
irregularly, as if to try his wings. Afterwards he began his descent
regularly, sweeping round and round in great circles, ever reaching
lower, until he also was lost in the clouds.”
As to the voyagers themselves, this is how they speak of their situation
at the height of 3,000 yards:--
“About this elevation we observed our animals. They did not appear
to suffer from the rarity of the air, yet the barometer was at twenty
inches eight lines.. We were much surprised that we did not suffer from
the cold; on the contrary, the sun warmed us much. We had thrown aside
the gloves which had been put on board, and which were of no use to us.
Our pulses were very quick; that of M. Gay-Lussac, which is 62 in the
minute on ordinary occasions, now gave 80; and mine, which is ordinarily
89, gave 111. This acceleration was felt by both of us in nearly the
same proportion. Nevertheless, our respiration was in no way interfered
with, we experienced no illness, and our situation seemed to us
extremely agreeable.”
The following is their report to the Galvanic Society--
“We have known for a long time that no animal can with safety pass into
an atmosphere much more dense or much more rare than that to which it
has been accustomed. In the first case it suffers from the outer air,
which presses upon it severely; in the second case there are liquids or
fluids in the animal’s body which, being less pressed against than
they should be, become dilated, and press against their coverings or
channels. In both cases the symptoms are nearly the same--pain, general
illness, buzzing in the ears, and even haemorrhage. The experience of
the diving-bell has long made us familiar with what aeronauts suffer.
Our colleague (Robertson), and his companion, have experienced these
effects in great intensity. They had swelled lips, their eyes bled,
their veins were dilated, and, what is very remarkable, they both
preserved a brown or red tinge which astonished those that had seen them
before they made the ascent. This distension of the blood-vessels would
necessarily produce an inconvenience and a difficulty in the muscular
action.”
Chapter II. Ascent of M. Gay-Lussac Alone--Excursions of MM. Barral and
Bixio.
Respecting this ascent, Arago states that M. Gay-Lussac has reduced to
their proper value the narratives of the physical pains which aeronauts
say they suffer in lofty aerial ascents.
M. Gay-Lussac says:--“Having arrived at the most elevated point of
my ascent, 21,000 feet above sea level, my respiration was rendered
sensibly difficult, but I was far from experiencing any illness of a
kind to make me descend. My pulse and my breathing were very quick;
breathing very frequently in an extremely dry atmosphere, I should not
have been surprised if my throat had been so dry as to make it painful
to swallow bread.”
After having finished his observations, which referred chiefly to the
magnetic needle, with all the tranquillity of a doctor in his study,
Gay-Lussac descended to the earth between Rouen and Dieppe, eighty
leagues from Paris.
After the names of Robertson, Gay-Lussac, and Biot, science has
registered those of Barral and Bixio, two men whose aeronautic
achievements have enriched meteorology with more important discoveries,
perhaps, than any we have yet mentioned.
These gentlemen had conceived the project of rising by means of a
balloon to a great height, in order to study, with the assistance of the
very best instruments in use in their day, a multitude of phenomena then
imperfectly known. The subjects to which they were specially to direct
their attention, were the law of the decrease of temperature in progress
upwards, the discovery of whether the chemical composition of the
atmosphere is the same throughout all its parts, the comparison of the
strength of the solar rays in the higher regions of the atmosphere
and on the surface of the earth, the ascertaining whether the light
reflected and transmitted by the clouds is or is not polarised, &c.
All the preparations having been made in the garden of the Observatory
at Paris, the ascent took place on the 29th of June, 1850, at 10.27
a.m., the balloon being filled with hydrogen gas. The first ascent was a
signal failure. It was found that the weather being bad, the envelope
of the balloon was torn in several places, and had to be mended in all
haste. Immediately preceding the moment of ascent, a torrent of rain
fell. But the voyagers were determined to ascend. They placed themselves
in the car, and, when thrown off from the fastenings, they rose through
the air with the speed of an arrow. The height to which the balloon
reached made it suddenly dilate, and the network, which was much too
small, was stretched to the utmost. The balloon was forced down upon
them by the dilation, and one of them, in the endeavour to work the
valve, made a rent in the lower part of the globe, from which the gas
escaping almost over the heads of the travellers, nearly choked them.
The escape of the gas had the usual result--the balloon descended
rapidly, and fell in a vineyard near Lugny, where they were found by
the peasants holding on to the trees by their legs and arms, and thus
attempting to stop the horizontal advance of the car. They had risen to
the height of over 17,000 feet, and they had descended from this height
in from four to five minutes.
For all practical purposes, the ascent was a failure, and the aeronauts
immediately commenced preparations for a new voyage, which took place a
month afterwards. They rose to very great altitudes, but experienced no
illness from the rarefied air. M. Bixio did not feel the sharp pains in
the ears from which he had suffered on the former occasion. They passed
through a mass of cloud 15,000 feet in thickness, and they had not yet
passed quite through it, when at the height of over 21,000 feet from the
ground, they began to descend, their descent being caused by a rent in
the envelope of the balloon, from which the gas escaped. They might, in
throwing out the last of their ballast, have, perhaps, prolonged for a
little their sojourn in space, but the circumstances in which they were
placed did not permit them to make many more scientific observations
than those they had made, and thus they were obliged to submit to their
fate. When they had reached their greatest height, there seemed to open
up in the midst of the vaporous mass a brilliant space, from which they
could see the blue of heaven. The polariscope, directed towards this
region, showed an internal polarisation, but, when pointed to the side
where the mist still prevailed, there was no polarisation.
An optical phenomenon of a remarkable kind was witnessed when the
voyagers had attained their highest point. They saw the sun through the
upper mists, looking quite white, as if shorn of its strength; and, at
the same time, below the horizontal plane, below their horizon, and at
an angular distance from the plane equal to that of the sun above it,
they saw a second sun, which resembled the reflection of the actual sun
in a sheet of water. It is natural to suppose that the second sun was
formed by the reflection of the sun’s rays upon the horizontal faces of
the ice crystals floating in this high cloud.
Chapter III. Ascents of the Mssrs. Welsh, Glaisher and Coxwell.
The most recent balloon ascents in England deserving attention have been
undertaken for scientific objects, and in this country, more than in
any other, it may be said that the conquest of the air has been made to
serve a practical end.
In July, 1852, the Committee of the Kew Observatory resolved to
undertake a number of balloon voyages. This resolution was approved
of by the British Association for the Advancement of Science, and the
necessary instruments for making a number of meteorological observations
were prepared. The balloon employed was that of Mr. Green, who was
accompanied in his ascents by Mr. Welsh. The greatest height to which
Mr. Welsh rose was on the fourth ascent which took place on the 10th of
November, 1852. The balloon rose 22,930 feet, and the lowest temperature
observed was 26 degrees below zero.
It is to Mr. Glaisher and Mr. Coxwell, however, that the highest
honours of scientific aerostation belong. The ascents made by these
gentlemen--Mr. Glaisher being the scientific observer, and Mr. Coxwell
the practical aeronaut--have become matters of history. Not only did
they, in the course of a large number of ascents undertaken under the
auspices of the British Association, succeed in gathering much valuable
meteorological information, but they reached a greater height than that
ever gained on any previous or subsequent occasion, and penetrated into
that distant region of the skies in which it has been satisfactorily
proved that no life can be long maintained. It was on the 5th of
September, 1862, that Mr. Glaisher and Mr. Coxwell made the famous
ascent in which they reached the greatest height ever attained by an
aeronaut, and were so nearly sacrificed to their unselfish daring. Mr.
Glaisher has given an admirable account of this ascent, which took place
from Wolverhampton. He says:--“Our ascent had been delayed, owing to the
unfavourable state of the weather. It commenced at three minutes past
one p.m., the temperature of the air being 59 degrees, and the dew-point
48 degrees. At the height of one mile the temperature was 41 degrees
and the dew-point 38 degrees. Shortly after wards clouds were entered
of about 1,100 feet in thickness. Upon emerging from them at seventeen
minutes past one, I tried to take a view of their surface with the
camera, but the balloon was ascending too rapidly and spiraling too
quickly to allow me to do so. The height of two miles was reached at
twenty-one minutes past one. The temperature of the air had fallen to
32 degrees and the dew-point to 26 degrees. The third mile was passed
at twenty-eight minutes past one, with an air temperature of 18 degrees,
and a dew-point of 13 degrees. The fourth mile was passed at thirty-nine
minutes past one, with an air temperature of 8 degrees, and a dew-point
of minus 6 degrees and the fifth mile about ten minutes later, with an
air temperature minus 5 degrees, and a dew-point minus 36 degrees.
“Up to this time I had experienced no particular inconvenience. When at
the height of 26,000 feet I could not see the fine column of the mercury
in the tube; then the fine divisions on the scale of the instrument
became invisible. At that time I asked Mr. Coxwell to help me to read
the instruments, as I experienced a difficulty in seeing them. In
consequence of the rotary motion of the balloon, which had continued
without ceasing since the earth was left, the valve line had become
twisted, and he had to leave the car, and to mount into the ring above
to adjust it. At that time I had no suspicion of other than temporary
inconvenience in seeing. Shortly afterwards I laid my arm upon the
table, possessed of its full vigour; but directly after, being
desirous of using it, I found it powerless. It must have lost its power
momentarily. I then tried to move the other arm, but found it powerless
also. I next tried to shake myself, and succeeded in shaking my body. I
seemed to have no legs. I could only shake my body. I then looked at the
barometer, and whilst I was doing so my head fell on my left shoulder. I
struggled, and shook my body again, but could not move my arms. I got
my head upright, but for an instant only, when it fell on my right
shoulder; and then I fell backwards, my back resting against the side of
the car, and my head on its edge. In that position my eyes were directed
towards Mr. Coxwell in the ring. When I shook my body I seemed to have
full power over the muscles of the back, and considerable power over
those of the neck, but none over my limbs. As in the case of the arms,
all muscular power was lost in an instant from my back and neck. I dimly
saw Mr. Coxwell in the ring, and endeavoured to speak, but could not
do so; when in an instant intense black darkness came over me, and the
optic nerve lost power suddenly. I was still conscious, with as active a
brain as whilst writing this. I thought I had been seized with asphyxia,
and that I should experience no more, as death would come unless we
speedily descended. Other thoughts were actively entering my mind when I
suddenly became unconscious, as though going to sleep. I could not
tell anything about the sense of hearing: the perfect stillness of the
regions six miles from the earth--and at that time we were between six
and seven miles high--is such that no sound reaches the ear. My last
observation was made at 29,000 feet, about fifty-four minutes past
one. I suppose two or three minutes elapsed between my eyes becoming
insensible to seeing the fine divisions and fifty-four minutes past one,
and that other two or three minutes elapsed before I became unconscious;
therefore I think that took place about fifty-six or fifty-seven
minutes past one. Whilst powerless I heard the words ‘temperature,’ and
‘observation,’ and I knew Mr. Coxwell was in the car, speaking to me,
and endeavouring to rouse me; and therefore consciousness and hearing
had returned. I then heard him speak more emphatically, but I could not
speak or move. Then I heard him say, ‘Do try; now do!’ Then I saw the
instruments dimly, next Mr. Coxwell, and very shortly I saw clearly. I
rose in my seat and looked round, as though waking from sleep, and said
to Mr. Coxwell, ‘I have been insensible.’ He said, ‘Yes; and I too, very
nearly.’ I then drew up my legs, which had been extended out before
me, and took a pencil in my hand to note my observations. Mr. Coxwell
informed me that he had lost the use of his hands, which were black, and
I poured brandy over them. I resumed my observations at seven minutes
past two. I suppose three or four minutes were occupied from the time of
my hearing the words ‘temperature’ and ‘observation,’ until I began to
observe. If so, then returning consciousness came at four minutes past
two, and that gives about seven minutes of total insensibility. Mr.
Coxwell told me that in coming from the ring he thought for a moment
that I had laid back to rest myself; that he spoke to me without
eliciting a reply; that he then noticed that my legs projected, and my
arms hung down by my side. That my countenance was serene and placid,
without earnestness or anxiety, he had noticed before going into the
ring. It then struck him that I was insensible. He wished then to
approach me, but could not, and he felt insensibility coming over
himself. He became anxious to open the valve, but, in consequence of
having lost the use of his hands, he could not; and ultimately he did
so by seizing the cord with his teeth and dipping his head two or three
times. No inconvenience followed our insensibility. When we dropped it
was in a country where no accommodation of any kind could be obtained,
so that we had to walk between seven and eight miles. At the time of
ceasing our observations the ascent was at the rate of 1,000 feet per
minute, and on resuming observations the descent was at the rate of
2,000 feet per minute. These two positions must be connected, having
relation to the interval of time which elapsed between them; and they
can scarcely be connected at a point less than 36,000 or 37,000 feet
high. Again, a very delicate minimum thermometer was found to read
minus 12 degrees, and that reading would indicate an elevation exceeding
36,000 feet. There cannot be any doubt that the balloon attained the
great height of seven miles--the greatest ever reached. In this ascent
six pigeons were taken up. One was thrown out at three miles. It
extended its wings, and dropped like a piece of paper. A second at four
miles, and it flew with vigour. A third between four and five miles, and
it fell downwards. A fourth was thrown out at four miles in descending,
and it alighted on the top of the balloon. Two were brought to the
ground. One was dead, and the other was ill, but recovered so as to fly
away in a quarter of an hour.”
The results gathered by Mr. Glaisher from his numerous ascents are very
interesting. He found that in no instance did the temperature of the air
decrease uniformly with the increase of height. In fact, the decrease
in the first mile is double that in the second, and nearly four times as
great as the change of temperature in the fifth mile. The distribution
of aqueous vapour in the air is no less remarkable. The temperature
of the dew-point on leaving the earth decreases less rapidly than
the temperature of the air; so that the difference between the two
temperatures becomes less and less, till the vapour or cloud plane is
reached, when they are usually together, and always most nearly approach
each other, and that point is usually at about the height of one mile.
On leaving the upper surface of cloud, the dew point decreases more
rapidly than the air, and at extremely high situations the difference
between the two temperatures is wonderfully great, indicating an
extraordinary degree of dryness, and an almost entire absence of water.
Under these circumstances, the presence of cirrus clouds far above this
dry region, apparently as much above as when viewed from the earth, is
very remarkable, and leads to the conclusion that they are not composed
of water.
In the propagation of sound, M. Glaisher made many curious experiments.
In one ascent (July 17th) he found, when at a distance of 11,800 feet
above the earth, that a band was heard; at a height of 22,000 feet, a
clap of thunder was heard; and at a height of 10,070 feet, the report of
a gun was heard. On one occasion, he heard the dull hum of London at
a height of 9,000 feet above the city, and on another occasion, the
shouting of many thousands of persons could not be heard at the height
of 4,000 feet.
Chapter IV. Balloons Made Useful in Warfare.
Wars of the French Republic--Company of “Ballooneers”--
Battle of Fleurus--The Balloons of Egypt--Napoleon--Modern
Services War in Italy--War in America--Conclusion.
We will conclude our work with a glance at aerostation as applied to
warfare. Scarcely had the first ascents astonished the world, than the
more adventurous spirits began to use the new discovery for a thousand
purposes directly useful to man. The first point of view in which
aerostation was regarded, was in that of its practical utility If one
refers to the pre-occupations of the time--to the great events then
occurring in the history of France, one will easily understand that the
Committee of Public Safety soon thought of employing balloons in the
observation of the forces and the movements of hostile troops. In
1794, the idea was practically carried out, and the French armies were
provided with two companies of aeronauts. The command of one of these
companies was given to Captain Coutelle, a young physicist of great
talent, who rendered memorable services at the battle of Fleurus. The
balloons were not thrown free, but were retained attached by means
of long cords. In this way they took up, so to speak, aerial posts of
observation. Placed in his car, the captain transmitted his instructions
to his men below by means of coloured flags. Coutelle has left us a
lively narrative of certain incidents connected with one of the grand
days of the old Republic. He had been commissioned by the Committee of
Public Safety to go to Maubeuge, where Jourdan’s army was encamped,
and to offer him the use of his balloon. The representative to whom the
young doctor presented his commission, knew nothing about balloons,
and not being able to understand the order of the Committee of Public
Safety, it suddenly dawned upon him that Coutelle, with his trumpery
forgery about balloons, was nothing else than a spy, and he was about to
have him shot. The genuineness of the order from the Committee, however,
was proved, and Coutelle’s case was listened to.
“The army was at Beaumont,” says Coutelle, “and the enemy, placed at a
distance of only three miles, could attack at any moment. The general
told me this fact, and engaged me to return and communicate it to the
Committee. This I did. The Commission then felt the necessity of making
an experiment with a balloon that could raise two persons, and the
minister placed at my service the garden and the little mansion of
Meudon. Many of the members of the Commission came to witness the first
ascent of a balloon held in hand, like a kite, by means of two cords.
The Commissioners ordered me to place myself in the car, and instructed
me as to a number of signals which I must repeat, and observations which
I must make. I raised myself to the full length of the cord, a height
of 1,500 feet, and at this height, with the help of a glass, I could
distinctly see the seven bends of the river Seine. On returning to the
earth, I received the compliments of the Commission.
“Arrived at Maubeuge, my first care was to find a suitable spot to erect
my furnace, and to make every preparation for the arrival of my balloon
from Meudon. Each day my observations contained something new either in
the works which the Austrians had thrown up during the night, or in the
arrangement of their forces. On the fifth day a piece of cannon had been
brought to bear upon the balloon, and shots were fired at me as soon as
I appeared above the ramparts. None of the shots took effect, and on the
following day the piece was no longer in position. Experience enforced
upon me the necessity of forming some provision against these unexpected
attacks. I employed the night in fixing cords all round the middle of my
balloon. Each of the aerostiers had charge of one of the ropes, and
by means of them I could easily move about, and thus get myself out
of range of any gun that had been trained to bear against me. I was
afterwards ordered to make a reconnaissance at Mayence, and I posted
myself between our lines and the enemy at half range of cannon. When the
wind, which was tempestuous at first, became calmer, I was able to count
the number of cannon on the ramparts, as well as the troops that marched
through the streets and in the squares.
“Generally the soldiers of the enemy, all who saw the observer watching
them and taking notes, came to the idea that they could do nothing
without being seen. Our soldiers were of the same opinion, and
consequently they regarded us with great admiration and trust. On the
heavy marches they brought us prepared food and wine, which my men were
hardly able to get for themselves, so closely did they require to attend
to the ropes. We were encamped upon the banks of the Rhine at Manheim
when our general sent me to the opposite bank to parley. As soon as the
Austrian officers were made aware that I commanded the balloon, I was
overwhelmed with questions and compliments.
“What causes an impression which, till one is accustomed to it, is very
alarming, is the noise which the balloon makes when it is struck by
successive gales of wind. When the wind has passed, the balloon, which
has been pressed into a concave form by the wind, suddenly resumes its
globular form with a loud noise heard at a great distance. The silk of
the balloon would often burst in a case of this kind, were it not for
the restraining power of the network.”
After the days of Coutelle we do not read that balloons were made much
use of in warfare. The only ascent in the Egypt campaign was that of
a tricolor balloon thrown up to commemorate a fete. That Napoleon knew
full well the value of the scientific discoveries of his time is clear
from the following conversation with a learned Mohammedan, which took
place in the great pyramid of Cheops:--
Mussamed. “Noble successor of Alexander, honour to shine invincible
arms, and to the unexpected lightning with which your warriors are
furnished.”
Bonaparte. “Do you believe that that lightning is the work of the
children of men? Allah has placed it in our hands by means of the genius
of war.”
Mussamed. “We recognised by your arms that it is Allah that has sent
you--the Delta and all the neighbouring countries are full of thy
miracles. But would you be a conqueror if Allah did not permit you?”
Bonaparte. “A celestial body will point by my orders to the dwelling of
the clouds, and lightning will descend towards the earth, along a rod of
metal from which I can call it forth.”
Napoleon did not favour the use of balloons in war. Perhaps it was
because he himself had such a splendid genius for war that he depended
alone upon himself, and scorned assistance. Perhaps it was because if
balloons were discovered to be of real utility, his enemies might make
use of them as well as himself, and France retain no special advantage
in them. But however this may be, on his return from Egypt he sold
the balloon of Fleurus to Robertson. The company of ballooneers was
dissolved, and the balloons themselves disappeared in smoke.
During the war in America, the role which the balloon played was a more
important one. The Government of the United States conferred the title
of aeronautic engineer upon Mr. Allan, of Rhode Island, who originated
the idea of communicating by a telegraphic wire from the balloon to
the camp. The first telegraphic message which was transmitted from
the aerial regions is that of Professor Love, at Washington, to the
President of the United States. The following is this despatch:--
“WASHINGTON, Balloon the ‘Enterprise.’
“SIR,--The point of observation commands an extent of nearly fifty miles
in diameter. The city, with its girdle of encampments, presents a superb
scene. I have great pleasure in sending you this despatch--the first
that has been telegraphed from an aerial station--and to know that I
should be so much encouraged, from having given the first proof that the
aeronautic science can render great assistance in these countries.”
In the month of September, 1861, one of the most hardy aeronauts (La
Mountain) furnished important information to General M’Clellan. The
balloon of La Mountain, which arose from the northern camp upon the
Potomac, passed above Washington. La Mountain then cut the cord that
connected his balloon with the earth, and rising rapidly to the height
of a mile and a half, he found himself directly above his enemies’
lines. There he was able to observe perfectly their position and their
movements. He then threw over ballast, and ascended to the height of
three miles. At this height he encountered a current which carried him
in the direction of Maryland, where he descended in safety. General
M’Clellan was so much satisfied with the observations taken in the
balloon, that, at his request, the order was given to the War Department
to construct four new balloons.
If this volume of “The Library of Wonders” had not had for its single
object “balloons and their history,” we would have devoted a chapter
to the numerous attempts made to steer balloons. We shall only say here
that aerial navigation should be divided into two kinds with balloons,
and without balloons. In the first case, it is limited to the study of
aerial currents, and to the art of rising to those currents which suit
the direction of the voyage undertaken. The balloon is not the master
of the atmosphere; on the contrary, it is its powerless slave. In the
second case, the discovery of Montgolfier is useless; and the question
is, to find out a new machine capable of flying in the air, and at
the same time heavier than the air. Birds are, without doubt, the best
models to study. But with what force shall we replace LIFE? The air-boat
of M. Pline seems to us one of the best ideas; but the working of it
presents many difficulties. Let us find a motive power at once light
and powerful (aluminium and electricity, for example), and we will have
definitively conquered the empire of the air.
End of Project Gutenberg’s Wonderful Balloon Ascents, by Fulgence Marion