entering Vauxhall, was his brother, who looked amazed at seeing him,
but observed a certain pallor and other indications of something being
out of order.
“Good gracious, Albert,” he said, “I could have declared I saw you go
in the balloon.”
“So you did,” was the reply, “don’t be alarmed, an accident happened,
but no one is hurt. Come and tell Mr. Wardell particulars.”
After Mr. Gypson and I had returned with the luggage on top of a cab,
a consultation was held as to the cause of the rupture; one thought
the valve was broken, and another that the balloon was struck with the
electric fluid, but the proprietor, as well as myself, knew the precise
cause of the burst, and when an examination was made on the following
morning, the valve line was found not to have been pulled, so the rent
could clearly have been prevented had the valve been opened in time.
Divested in this way of a great deal of the horror associated with the
stormy state of the weather, the accident assumed a more simple and
comprehensible form.
No wonder, therefore, that after talking these points over, Mr. Gypson
and I agreed, that in order to demonstrate that the balloon was not
wanting in strength, it would be well to make another ascent by night
with fireworks. Mr. Albert Smith was again invited, but a certain
pressure, exercised perhaps wisely, by his friends prevented him from
ascending again.
Mr. Pridmore, too, although as brave as need be, did not join us; but
that very night week, with double the weight of fireworks, we ascended
again with the restored balloon, and this time all went well, and we
came down at Acton, having with us a third voyager, in the person of a
captain, who had accompanied us under circumstances characteristic of
an Englishman, and, perhaps, worth narrating.
Some little time before starting the said captain applied for a seat
in the car, and I was asked to negotiate for him, in doing which I
thought it but right to explain that an accident had happened the week
previously and that Mr. Gypson was by no means desirous of taking a
third person on the present occasion.
After I had again alluded in unmistakable terms to the perilous
descent, the captain, in no way discouraged, said:
“Well sir, you are taking a great deal of trouble to inform me of that
which is patent to everybody who reads, but I suppose the odds are that
to-night there will be no smash.”
“Just so,” I added encouragingly, when the gallant gentleman stepped
forward and took his place.
After the balloon was packed up at Acton I fancied that our companion
looked as if he was happy and self-satisfied, he begged of us to go
with him to his club, adding that he could well afford to offer an
entertainment as he had made a wager of one hundred pounds that he
would ascend that night, a decided opinion having prevailed at his club
that he dare not do so, as a terrible catastrophe would be sure to take
place, and so thought the public apparently, for Vauxhall was filled
to such an extent that the garden officials described the crowd as so
thick that one might have walked on people’s heads.
During the winter of 1847 Lieutenant Gale found that the expenses
of establishing himself in popular favour were heavier than he had
anticipated. He was associated with two other gentlemen in the
proprietorship of his balloon, but his individual responsibilities
caused a split, so that the aëronaut and his partners separated.
When Gale lost or threw up all controlling power over the balloon,
the then sole owners having as they said a considerable amount of
confidence in my judgment, called upon me, and proposed that as I had
ascended so frequently and had encountered so many dangers, that I
should make a series of ascents on my own and on their account, and
that if I would manage the balloon that was styled Gale’s, but which
was really theirs, I should have every facility for doing so, as Gale
would have nothing more to do with it.
Such a thought never having entered my head, and being moreover
engaged as a dentist, I at once declined, but not without explaining
that my relatives had always discountenanced my balloon ascents, and
would raise most positively a great outcry if ever my name appeared in
a public capacity as a professed aëronaut.
Shortly after this refusal we again met in company with several of the
admirers of aërostation, and whether by design or casual conversation
I know not, but certain it was that gossip turned upon my former
aërial adventures, and upon the advisability of my making it at once
a business affair as well as a pastime. All the arguments I raised
against the proposal were swept away by overwhelming opinions as to my
aptitude and so forth.
“Look,” said one, “you are certainly risking your life without any
profit, and the chances are you frequently dip your hand pretty deeply
into your pocket minus any return.”
“Again,” said another, “look at the hair-breath escapes you have had,
perhaps if you were to run alone these would be diminished.”
“And then,” suggested a third, “by being your own pilot you might
attain to success and honour.”
This last inducement proved more weighty and seductive than the two
former, and when the question was simply put whether if I would mind
a run over to Brussels, just to put them right there for one or two
ascents, I consented, but had no idea at the time that I was doing an
act which would lead to my becoming a practical balloonist.
In the spring of 1848, therefore, I agreed to manage the said balloon,
but before ascending I christened it the “Sylph,” and that word was
painted three times in giant characters round the equator, so that
wherever it appeared, or whichever way it turned, the name was always
prominent.
My first ascent, as director in the Belgian capital, was to take place
in the month of May, but a voyage by private arrangement was set on
foot by way of a trial trip, and one of the owners, a Mr. S----, was to
entrust his life to my care, and we were to go whither the winds blew
us, on a sort of pleasure trip. The “Sylph” received a good supply of
gas at the Independent Gas-works at Haggerston, London, on April 10th;
early in the afternoon we ascended, and after being nearly three hours
aloft came down near Colchester, passing directly over the county town
of Essex.
This led on our way back to a call at Chelmsford, and as I knew several
persons in that town who now learnt that I was commanding officer of
the good craft “Sylph,” nothing would satisfy them but getting up an
ascent there, and although I was averse to any undertaking of the sort
in England, still I was over persuaded, and the rumour rapidly gained
circulation that I should make a public ascent from the gas-yard of
the town shortly, and that as it would be the first thing of the kind
from Chelmsford for seventeen years, the inhabitants would hail such an
exhibition with much pleasure and good attendance.
The first of my two ascents from this town took place April 28th, 1848.
The weather was not exactly propitious, for the morning rose somewhat
sulky.
“And her sick head was bound about with clouds,
As if she threatened night e’er noon of day.”
In this state of things, a postponement was contemplated, but soon
after midday, the sun, “of this great world the eye and soul,”
scattered the clouds and revived the preparations; there was, in fact,
a complete revolution in the weather, and the curious began to gather
in and take up their positions, while the bright eyes of many Essex
ladies were directed, not to the six points of Chartism, just then
famous, but to the one point where the silken craft towered above
the adjoining buildings, as it was influenced by the breeze in the
gas-works.
The visitors having been treated with a series of partial ascents, at
six o’clock the balloon rose. In the car were Mr. Chas. Livermore, of
Felstead, and Mr. Isaac Livermore, of Dunmow, together with Mr. Church,
the engineer of the gas-works.
We were greeted in our course by thousands of applauding voices--
“Followed far by many a wond’ring eye,
They glide majestic ’twixt the earth and sky.”
The “Sylph” took a direction over the Hanning fields, and ultimately
descended near Rettendon Common.
On May the 5th, a second illustration was made from the same locality.
This time the atmosphere had all the sunshine and softness of balmy
spring, the visitors were far more numerous than on the former
occasion, and the reserved seats were filled principally with ladies,
many of them from the leading families of the neighbourhood.
Captive ascents were found to be impracticable this day, but at length
Mr. Ram, of Newland Hall, with two other gentlemen entered the car,
and we mounted over the irregular forces who garrisoned the housetops
in rapid style, and moved towards the Roothings.
Strange to say, the descent was made near Good Easter, where Mr. Ram
lived, and here I kept the balloon all night; the following morning,
soon after sunrise, I began taking people up, the length of the
cable, and after breakfast Mr. Ram’s daughters had a panoramic view
of the Hall and Park; the elder young lady would fain have ascended
altogether, but papa had made up his mind to do so once more himself,
so that soon after 11 o’clock we started again with the same gas, and
after being up nearly an hour, descended at Forth-end, near Felstead.
Before starting from the gas-works, on the 5th instant, I made the
following estimate of the weight of the “Sylph” and its appendages:--
Balloon, netting, and car 400 lbs.
Mr. Ram 160 ”
Two other gentlemen 304 ”
Myself 148 ”
Grapnel and rope 52 ”
Coats, instruments, &c. 30 ”
Ballast 160 ”
----------
Total 1254 lbs.
==========
being the weight which 32,000 feet of carburetted hydrogen gas would
sustain at a specific gravity of about 440.
The temperature of the air on the earth was sixty-two degrees; at the
greatest altitude, viz., three-quarters of a mile, forty-nine degrees.
Temperature of gas on the earth, as obtained by placing a thermometer
in the neck, sixty-three degrees; ditto in mid-air, forty-four degrees.
Force of expansion, as indicated by the pressure gauge, 5·10, or half
an inch; rate of travelling, twenty miles an hour; direction of wind,
N.W.
About the middle of the merry month of May Mr. S---- and I formed part
of a group of passengers at London Bridge Wharf, on our way to the
Antwerp steam-boat.
Everybody but ourselves was looking after the porters and their
luggage. We appeared to be gazing at the clouds, but were in reality
watching a large wicker basket which was suspended some thirty feet
under a crane, and was ready to be swung in on deck directly the mate
saw all clear below, and sung out “lower away.”
This basket, owing to its unusual size, attracted general attention,
a bystander, who took it for a large bread basket, observed that the
passengers would be well off for the “staff of life,” even if they
lacked delicacies. But the interest taken in the huge basket rather
increased than diminished when the mate, a little angry with the
seamen, cried out “bear a hand there, stow away that balloon.”
“Belongs to you Sir?” added the officer, directing a patronizing glance
towards me, whereupon a hundred eyes or more followed suit, and my
connection with the supposed bread basket was established beyond the
shadow of a doubt. Assuming, rather than feeling, the required amount
of nerve to endure this introduction to the ship’s crew, I nodded an
affirmative, and tried to suppress a rush of blood to the cheek, but
it would not do. I looked ashamed of this branch of publicity, and
proposed to go below and see after our berths.
The first person I met in the chief cabin was an acquaintance, but glad
enough was I to find that he had not noticed our luggage, and what
was more, that he was merely seeing a friend off to the continent. No
sooner had we deposited our portmanteaus in the sleeping berths than
I proposed to go on deck again, whispering to my friend as we went up
the companion ladder, “out of the frying-pan into the fire.” “That
gentleman,” I added, “knows my family well, and I would rather not be
identified with the big basket so uncommonly close to London Bridge.”
“That’s all a matter of taste,” observed Mr. S---- consolingly, “many
men would be proud of the position.”
“But you know I am not, and you are aware of my reasons for not caring
about being thought a professional aëronaut.”
“All right Mr. Coxwell, take it quietly and pass for an amateur.”
The vessel had not rounded the Isle of Dogs when we found ourselves in
earnest conversation with an elderly gentleman, who was much interested
in aërostation. It came out, too, that he had ascended himself, and
that he was intimate with some of the aëronautic celebrities of the
present century.
“Do you know,” said our communicative fellow-traveller, “I never could
thoroughly understand the cause of the fatal descent of that poor man
Cocking; being abroad at the time I had not the opportunity of keeping
pace with our home newspapers.”
In reply I said, “You are aware that the principle of his parachute was
diametrically opposite to Garnerin’s, which had descended successfully.
Cocking’s was a sort of inverted cone, while that previously employed
was more like an umbrella turned upside down with a weight appended to
the stick.”
“Exactly,” said our intelligent acquaintance, “and the tendency of a
rush of air was not to collapse but rather to keep it distended.”
I fully agreed, and added that “Two objectionable circumstances
attended the use of Garnerin’s parachute, namely, the length of time
which elapsed before it expanded, and the violent oscillating movement
which accompanied the descent. In order to obviate these deficiencies
a variety of plans had been proposed at different times, amongst which
was that of Cocking’s.” The inverted cone principle, however, was not
an idea originating with Cocking, although he had lectured on the
subject in 1814 before the Society of Arts.
“Towards the end of the last century this kind of parachute was
proposed in Paris, and revived by Sir George Cayley, and again more
fully developed by Mr. Kerr in the Encyclopædia Edinensis.”
“Pray,” inquired our friend, “do you happen to know the weight and
diameter of Cocking’s parachute?”
“Yes; the computations which appeared in the public press, previous to
the inquest, were loose and incorrect. They were to the effect that the
entire weight was 393 lbs., whereas, from the evidence taken before
the coroner, it appeared that the apparatus weighed 413 lbs., and Mr.
Cocking 170 lbs. The terminal velocity, therefore, would have been
nearly twenty feet in a second had the parachute not collapsed. Its
diameter was thirty-four feet.”
“Of course one of smaller dimensions on the concave plan would descend
less rapidly?”
“Oh, certainly a parachute on the Garnerin principle would bring a man
down at the rate of twenty feet in a second, even if it were fifteen
feet in diameter.”
“According to the most reliable tables of atmospheric resistances, a
weight of one pound under a square foot of sustaining surface would
cause it to descend at the rate of 1320 feet per second, or fifteen
miles an hour.”
“But as this is a far greater rate than is consistent with safety, the
diameter should be at least twenty-five feet.”
“Then how is it that scientific men and practical aëronauts did not
point out these faults?”
“They did; but poor Cocking was so confident and determined, that no
sooner was a large balloon built by the Vauxhall proprietors, Messrs.
Gye and Hughes, than he proposed appending a parachute to it, and he
threatened in the event of refusal, to construct another balloon and
offer opposition to Vauxhall.”
“Indeed, and I have no doubt that pecuniary inducements had their
weight. But what did Mr. Green say?”
“Green, to do him justice, never liked the experiment, and he has been
heard to say since, that for no amount of money would he repeat his
experience on July 24th, 1837.”
“He is said at first to have declined to connect his name with it, but
he was bound to ascend with the great balloon when called upon by the
proprietors, as there was a legal difficulty in evading the ascent.”
“It has been suggested, and with some show of practicability, that
he might by stratagem have brought Cocking down without allowing him
to descend with his parachute alone, but Mr. Green distinctly stated
on the other hand, that his individual impression was, that having
withstood the pressure of the atmosphere in the ascent, the parachute
would go down safely.”
“What with the danger to Mr. Green and his companion, Mr. E. Spencer,
owing to the loss of so great a weight, it is evident that it was an
ill-judged affair from first to last.”
“Most decidedly. Now please to tell me where this frail structure gave
way.”
“The upper circle was made only of tin hooping, soldered together, and
this broke before even the ascent was made.”
“It transpired, afterwards, that Cocking in all probability twisted the
cord round his wrist, the better to enable him to effect his liberation
by pulling hard at the trigger; in so doing it is conjectured that he
was jerked against the smaller circle at the apex of the cone, and that
his own body produced a fracture in the framework, which added to its
weakness.”
“This concussion may have deprived him of sensibility as well, a wound
found on his temple tends to confirm this view of the catastrophe.”
Thus ended our dissertation on parachutes; but long ere our further
chat had ceased, we had approached the mouth of Father Thames, where a
fresh breeze and a lively motion caused many passengers to go below,
and others to obey the steward’s call to dinner. _We_ responded, and
went through not only the ceremony, but the enjoyment of, a generous
repast, without feeling indisposed. On landing at Antwerp an Englishman
presented himself on the quay, whom we took, and rightly so, for a
gentleman who had entered into the balloon speculation at Brussels, and
who had in consequence engaged my services to ascend.
He was a red-haired, gaunt person, extremely short-sighted, and wore
a cap and close-fitting dress-coat, which had seen more sunny days
and was conspicuously short in the sleeves. But, notwithstanding his
optical infirmity, he was a match for the sharpest porter, and by tact
he was soon up with the steward and ascertained our names and errand
with astonishing sharpness.
In introducing himself, he brought his hand down upon the great basket,
or balloon car, with some degree of familiarity, saying, “Well, here
you are,” as if he had been intimately acquainted with us previously.
It was, however our first meeting, and was essentially of a business
character, but anything like a stiff commercial view of this
preliminary interview was soon removed by a jaunty nonchalance on his
part. He then drew out a showy cigar case, and almost immediately
replaced it, saying, “Wait a bit, we will go over to the hotel and
breakfast first,” which we decided to do, after his perceiving that the
cigar case was empty.
All doubt being then removed, Mr. S---- and I looked at each other, as
much as to say, perhaps he is a capital fellow, notwithstanding his
manner, looks, and short-comings.
After refreshment, our long-haired short-sighted, short-sleeved
countryman proposed, or rather peremptorily decided upon pushing on to
Brussels forthwith.
Matters were not quite so forward as he could wish, and although
the ascent was positively announced, and the king had promised his
patronage, still there was much to be done, and for his part he had
quite lost faith in Frenchmen and Belgians. What all this meant, we
could only surmise and think over privately.
On arriving at Brussels we found that the intended balloon ascent had
received such careless attention, that the prospect of its taking place
on the day announced was doubtful in the extreme.
It seemed that a company had been formed to carry out this little
enterprise, and that one Frenchman, two Belgians, a Dutchman, and
an Englishman, had united their abilities and purses to put it into
execution.
The Englishman was clearly neither the treasurer nor principal. The
Frenchman had chiefly to do with the Prado Gardens, whence the “Sylph”
was to rise; and whether the Dutchman or the Belgians were the sleeping
partners, or the capitalists, they deposed not, nor could we gather,
although it soon became evident that the relative positions of each
member of so complicated an association, required to be well and at
once understood by me, before proceeding further in the matter.
I said, therefore, to the British representative of this amalgamated
balloon company, that I was under the impression I was purely and
solely engaged by the lessee of the Prado to make these ascents, and
that he was a well-to-do and competent proprietor.
“So I thought,” observed the seedy Englishman.
“It appears to me that there are a prodigious number of cooks to
prepare this simple mess of broth, and I tell you candidly,” I
continued, “that unless the cash for the first ascent, and the
requisite supply of gas are forthcoming within twenty-four hours I
shall retire from Brussels but not without publicly alleging as a
reason, that I have been deceived by the party inviting us to come
over.”
On due inquiry, I ascertained that no pipes had been brought into the
gardens of adequate size for the inflation, and that it was intended,
without my approval or consent, to accomplish that all important task
at a distant gas-works, outside the capital, and then before daybreak,
to pass it over the housetops, and finally deposit it in the Prado,
until such time as the public had assembled.
Now, although this process is one which I have frequently accomplished
under favourable circumstances as to wind and locality, still to drag
a balloon through Brussels, and risk its contact with high houses and
chimneys, was an injudicious beginning, and I protested emphatically,
and indeed declined it altogether.
I had, however, stood out, according to the letter of my own request,
for cash and a supply of gas, and these terms, after no small
altercation, were agreed to.
The cash was to be paid just when my part of the contract was about to
be fulfilled; but the gas could not be delivered in the gardens, as the
cost would be enormous, no such large pipes as those required being in
the neighbourhood.
When the Englishman, with short sleeves and sight, first wrote to us in
London, I was assured that “all the customary facilities for filling
balloons would be found in the Vauxhall of Brussels,” and “that no
doubt or hesitation need be felt on that score.”
But surely such discordant bickerings and confusion of languages, as we
had, never before preceded the arrangements for this kind of work.
There was no money, no head, no gas, and no order in any step that had
been taken, until I personally superintended the whole affair.
A certain amount of pressure and decision, however, brought this
heterogeneous mixture of nationalities entirely to book, but they _had
me_ on one point, and at a tremendous advantage, namely, I was driven
to fill the “Sylph” at the gas-works, and endeavour to transport it
through the town.
This attempt was made in May, 1848, and on that occasion grey-eyed morn
broke in with a high dawn and a reddish sky, an appearance which was
interpreted as being very fine by those who assembled for an exciting
view before breakfast.
We soon beat to quarters, as nautical men say, and, although we had
“time by the forelock,” we were none too soon, as I was most anxious
to be moving before the morning breezes were astir; and, though I had
little time for noticing the barometer, still I had observed a decided
drop, and did not altogether admire present appearances.
No sooner was the gas turned on than the “Sylph” began to display its
proportions satisfactorily, and the lookers on threw themselves into
various postures indicative of approbation.
“_Ah! Monsieur Coxvel_,” said one of the party, stroking down his
beard, “_you vil hav vun vary fine day; no vind, no nothink. Your
transport vil no be difficile._”
Hereupon I glanced around the horizon, but returned the weather wise
Belgian no reply. He then looked with such a scrutinizing glance, as to
provoke an expression of discontent.