WONDERS AND EVENTS OF AN AERIAL VOYAGE
We were, however, all three very glad and proud of our journey. We were
in excellent spirits, and our hearts beat more rapidly at the thought
of doing something for the wonderful defence of the great besieged city
and of taking our share in the common effort.
We did not even think of danger, and not one of us would have stopped
to consider for a moment the defective equipment and slightly
precarious nature of our conveyance. We were entirely given up to our
enterprise and to the magnificent spectacle which rolled, renewing
itself every moment, before our astonished eyes. It mattered little to
us where we were or where we were going; we were at least sure of not
stopping on the way.
Suddenly our attention was awakened by a singular and characteristic
sound which struck our ears and informed us, in no uncertain manner,
of our whereabouts. We were crossing the lines of the besieging army,
and the latter were presenting their compliments by shooting at us with
rifles. But their bullets were unable to hit us. Though we heard them
whistling, that did not prevent the balloon from continuing its swift
course towards unassailable altitudes.
We soon rose out of the range of their marksmen, and the rifle fire
ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Our attention was then again drawn
to the wonders and surprises of our aerial voyage.
This is a thing I cannot describe, and even to-day, after the lapse
of twenty-eight years, I cannot find words to give any idea of the
prodigious spectacle ceaselessly rolling at our feet, or of the deep
and ineffacable impression which it produced on us. Only those who have
made the ascent of high mountains can realise feebly what is a journey
in the air at a height of two or three thousands yards.
Who is there who has not once in his life enjoyed that experience, who
does not know the imposing calm and the absolute silence that reign
over the eternal glaciers, the effect of which, in conjunction with the
immense panorama which these almost inaccessible heights unfold, is to
fill the spirit of the traveller with sublime admiration and a species
of poetic delirium? Well, the impression left on me by this aerial
journey far outstrips the fairy memories of mountain glaciers.
There was the same calm, the same absolute and grandiose silence, the
same majestic response, as if at the approach of the Divinity, but the
horizon was wider and the view more varied. The balloon floated on, and
the horizon changed every minute with the rapidity of its course. The
subdued tints of the far distance served as a sort of border to the
fresher and more accentuated colours of those tracts of country that
were nearer and bathed in light. Valleys and mountains followed each
other and mingled like the ever-renewed waves of the sea.
The waves of the sea are an exact comparison, for there was always
an immense ocean under our eyes, an ocean such as no mariner has
ever beheld. It comprised and blended together all things--plain and
mountain, earth and river, cities and countryside, meadows and forests.
Every possible contrast was linked together, every colour and every
tone stood out and was reflected, and on this great, glistening ocean
under a cloudless sky the gigantic shadow of the balloon travelled like
the image of some unknown spectre, striding across the universe.
I can find no further words, and think that no human speech is able to
describe the fascination of the amazing scene that sprang as it were
from an unknown world before our dazzled eyes.
As the balloon continued its course, sometimes slowly, as if cradled
by the zephyrs, and sometimes violently agitated by the breath of
the storm which was already threatening, we became accustomed to the
grandeur of the ceaselessly changing spectacle.
Once recovered from our amazement, it seemed to us natural to be thus
transported in an aerial vessel two thousand yards above our ordinary
habitations, and we tried to make ourselves as comfortable as we could
in the car. The air was fresh, and although the sun was veiled by no
trace of clouds, the temperature at these altitudes was very chilly.
Our first need, therefore, was to protect ourselves against the cold
and to cover ourselves from the icy atmosphere with everything we could
find. Our second preoccupation was hunger.
We had left Paris before nine in the morning. The fresh air had set
our blood in motion and awakened our appetites. At half-past ten the
crew of the “Vauban”--that was the name of the balloon--simultaneously
remarked, “Luncheon.”
No sooner said than done. We had not far to go to find the restaurant,
nor did our meal require great preparations.
We each drew out of our pockets the provisions we had brought, and
these provisions were by no means extravagant. At this period Paris was
already under rations as far as meat was concerned, and if my memory
serves me aright, I think that everyone in Paris had at that time the
right to four ounces of beef, whose only connection with that succulent
comestible was its name, given it under false pretences and in order to
deceive the palates of the Parisians.
But if our repast was modest and meagre, the wine which washed it down
was excellent and our appetites were first-rate.... Moreover, the view
from the balcony of our dining-room was enough to make us forget the
frugality of our repast and transform the simplest menu into a feast.
When we had finished eating and drinking we sent a telegram to M. Jules
Favre.
A telegram from a balloon? Yes, a real telegram.
You have not forgotten that M. Cassier, Director of the French Pigeon
Post, was with me, and that he had brought a score of pigeons with him.
One of these graceful birds was charged with a message for M. Jules
Favre. I had promised to inform him as well as I could of the events
of our journey. The most hazardous part seemed to me to be already
accomplished.
This was far from being the case, as will be seen later, but that is
what I thought at the moment. We had been crossing the enemy’s lines
for a considerable time and our balloon had not ceased moving with very
great and noticeable rapidity and without changing its direction. We
therefore had reason to suppose that we were not far from those western
latitudes where we were to descend. This was the sense of my message.
I added a few notes on the regions we had traversed and the different
altitudes to which we had attained--for it is interesting to remark
that our balloon, without apparent reason, often rose to a height of
two thousand yards or more, and afterwards, again without reason, fell
to one hundred and fifty yards and less.
When I had finished my note, I rolled up tightly the square of paper
on which it had been written and tied it up. M. Cassier concealed the
little roll under the pigeon’s wings by skilfully attaching it to the
upper part of one of the bird’s legs. And then “_Bon voyage_ for Paris!”
It was curious to see the departure of our messenger. The little bird
seemed to share our own uncertainty as to the direction we were taking
and did not appear to know its bearings. But its embarrassment did not
last as long as ours: once it had left the balloon it flew two or three
times round it, always coming back on its traces as if to find out
where it was and seeking its route, and sheltering itself near us as
long as it felt uncertain. But suddenly it lifted its delicate little
head, gave a cry of joy, and flew off like an arrow in a straight line,
without deviating or looking to the left or right. It had found its way
and was going straight back to its nest in Paris.