THE DEPARTURE
Our departure from Paris was fixed for the 28th of October, at nine in
the morning.
It was a beautifully fresh and clear day. The sky was cloudless and the
sun sent its fairest rays over the earth, while an icy wind swept the
calm and deserted streets of the capital. In spite of the early hour
there were already many people standing round the balloon, which was
being inflated. Two or three hundred of the curious had come to watch
our departure.
When I arrived the balloon was filling slowly and pompously. It
was already beginning to leave the ground, little by little and
majestically, like a giant rising out of the earth.
Its formidable mass was soon entirely upright, and balanced and shifted
as if impatient to take flight.
Now it has mounted and floats in the wind over its little “nacelle” or
car, the latter still firmly attached to the ground to allow its cargo
to be loaded.
The car was packed with five or six mail-bags full of correspondence
and _depêches_--thousands of little letters, on the fine paper invented
during the Siege of Paris for the needs of a new correspondence service
through the clouds--rare and impatiently expected messages which
distributed to France outside the solace of a written line and a living
signal from the beloved ones shut up within the ramparts.
When all was loaded, it was the passengers’ turn. Before going up it
was necessary to know the direction of the wind. As all the east of
France was already invested, balloons could only leave with some chance
of safety if the wind blew towards the west.
This was the only precaution taken in despatching balloons, which
were left literally to the mercy of the winds. Our party had not
even a compass to indicate the direction we were taking, as if the
winds always remained the same and never changed, and as if it were
sufficient to know its direction at departure in order also to know
where we should arrive.
Our departure was accordingly preceded by a “ballon d’essai,” which was
let up in order to explore the air and show the direction of the wind.
The direction was a good one, and the wind propitious--_obstrictis
aliis, praeter Iapiga_.--The wind showed itself from the east, and the
little pioneer balloon went off gaily, promptly to disappear over the
western horizon. Then came a solemn voice: “_Messieurs les voyageurs
en ballon!_” I shall never forget that voice; I can hear it in my ears
to-day.
_Messieurs les voyageurs, en ballon!_ A quick, last goodbye to one’s
friends, then up the little rope ladder which leads to the basket and a
last look back. A last handshake, and here we are, seated in our aerial
craft, bound for an unknown destination.
The unknown always contains an element of the fearsome, and without
being exactly anxious as regards the physical dangers of our journey,
we had a certain feeling of solemnity when the basket left the earth.
There were three passengers--M. Cassier, the Director of the French
pigeon-post--who had brought a number of his faithful messengers with
him; a sailor, who acted as an improvised aeronaut; and myself.
We all made ourselves as comfortable as possible on the little wicker
seats which were fitted inside the basket. There were two of these,
facing each other, and on each there was room for two persons. Piled up
at our feet at the bottom of the basket were the sacks of _depêches_
and letters, and the ballast. The anchor was firmly fastened to the
side of the basket, fastened even too firmly, and altogether too heavy
to be of use in case of accidents.
The whole thing might have weighed about a ton. As soon as we were
seated, the balloon began to tack about. Our departure was not effected
without difficulty. The balloon had to be guided so as to leave it a
free passage, in order that in its ascent it should not encounter and
demolish the roofs of the houses surrounding the open space of the
_Gare d’Orleans_. This was not an easy operation; it required time and
a certain amount of skill on the part of those who were holding on to
the balloon and watching its ascent, and who were only supposed to let
it entirely free when the basket had passed the tops of the houses.
These complicated manœuvres were long and gave us time to look around
us and think....
Suddenly we heard the sacramental words, “Let go.” The moment had
arrived.
All hands simultaneously let go of the ropes and quickly cut the
moorings. The balloon was free, and mounted swiftly, turning round its
axis, great and majestic as an eagle in flight. “_Bon voyage_, bold
travellers, _bon voyage_!” shouted the crowd, and everybody waved their
hands, handkerchiefs, and hats. There were even flags floating gaily in
the breeze. It was a touching thing to see all these arms held out to
us, and sending us a last goodbye from the beloved earth which we were
leaving.
It was a very short moment and passed like a flash. The balloon turned
on itself with dizzy swiftness. It went up, and up, and up, always
turning.
The _Gare d’Orleans_, the streets of Paris with their houses, the
monuments, the last lines of the city, the circle of fortifications,
the countryside with its fortresses, all appeared and disappeared with
maddening rapidity. The eye no longer saw and the intelligence ceased
in stupefaction, paralysed by this mad, gigantic dance, without purpose
and without end.
Where were we and where were we going? What was the meaning of this
continual turning? When would we stop and what would be the end of this
phenomenal journey?
The sun was radiant and the shadows were deep and clearly defined.
The wind whipped and hastened the spinning of our balloon. Contrasts
followed each other with such prodigious swiftness that it became
impossible to follow them. Sight and mind slid over this marvellous
ocean as if in a dream, no longer distinguishing shape or time or
space. Where were we? We did not know; one half-minute of the balloon’s
free course was enough to make us feel completely lost. If the balloon
had only proceeded in a straight line in the same way as any other
known craft, we should not have lost the bearing of our starting-point,
in spite of the swiftness of our progress; but the balloon twisted
ceaselessly and with terrible rapidity about its own axis. After a few
revolutions that were quicker than lightning, it was impossible to
recognise the direction in which we were going or to know our position.
Whither were we going? Left, right, south or north--it was impossible
to say.
A compass might have told us. But, as I have already said, our balloon
had no compass, a thing so necessary to every navigator. Our only
instrument was a little barometric scale which registered the height at
which the balloon was travelling. In addition the unfortunate sailor,
who was our improvised aeronaut and who was to direct our expedition,
had as much knowledge of the art of aerial navigation as an inhabitant
of the moon has of the mysteries of the Indian Brahmans. This will give
you an exact idea of the manner in which our journey was undertaken.
Our expedition went off, in a doubly true sense, at the mercy of chance
and the wind.