During certain years which now follow it will possibly be thought that
our history, so far as incidents of special interest are concerned,
somewhat languishes. Yet it may be wrong to regard this period as one of
stagnation or retrogression.
Before passing on to later annals, however, we must duly chronicle
certain exceptional achievements and endeavours as yet unmentioned,
which stand out prominently in the period we have been regarding as also
in the advancing years of the new century Among these must in justice
be included those which come into the remarkable, if somewhat pathetic
subsequent career of the brilliant, intrepid Lunardi.
Compelling everywhere unbounded admiration he readily secured the means
necessary for carrying out further exploits wherever he desired while
at the same time he met with a measure of good fortune in freedom from
misadventure such as has generally been denied to less bold adventurers.
Within a few months of the time when we left him, the popular hero and
happy recipient of civic and royal favours, we find him in Scotland
attempting feats which a knowledge of practical difficulties bids us
regard as extraordinary.
To begin with, nothing appears more remarkable than the ease,
expedition, and certainty with which in days when necessary facilities
must have been far harder to come by than now, he could always fill his
balloon by the usually tedious and troublesome mode attending hydrogen
inflation. We see him at his first Scottish ascent, completing the
operation in little more than two hours. It is the same later at
Glasgow, where, commencing with only a portion of his apparatus, he
finds the inflation actually to proceed too rapidly for his purpose,
and has to hold the powers at his command strongly in check. Later, in
December weather, having still further improved his apparatus, he makes
his balloon support itself after the inflation of only ten minutes.
Then, as if assured of impunity, he treats recognised risks with a
species of contempt. At Kelso he hails almost with joy the fact that
the wind must carry him rapidly towards the sea, which in the end he
narrowly escapes. At Glasgow the chances of safe landing are still
more against him, yet he has no hesitation in starting, and at last the
catastrophe he seemed to court actually overtook him, and he plumped
into the sea near Berwick, where no sail was even in sight, and a
winter's night coming on. From this predicament he was rescued by a
special providence which once before had not deserted him, when in a
tumult of violent and contrary currents, and at a great height to boot,
his gallery was almost completely carried away, and he had to cling on
to the hoop desperately with both hands.
Then we lose sight of the dauntless, light-hearted Italian for
one-and-twenty years, when in the Gentleman's Magazine of July 31,
1806, appears the brief line, "Died in the convent of Barbadinas, of a
decline, Mr. Vincent Lunardi, the celebrated aeronaut."
Garnerin, of whom mention has already been made, accomplished in the
summer of 1802 two aerial voyages marked by extreme velocity in the
rate of travel. The first of these is also remarkable as having been
the first to fairly cross the heart of London. Captain Snowdon, R.N.,
accompanied the aeronaut. The ascent took place from Chelsea Gardens,
and proved so great an attraction that the crowd overflowed into the
neighbouring parts of the town, choking up the thoroughfares with
vehicles, and covering the river with boats. On being liberated, the
balloon sped rapidly away, taking a course midway between the river
and the main highway of the Strand, Fleet Street, and Cheapside, and so
passed from view of the multitude. Such a departure could hardly fail
to lead to subsequent adventures, and this is pithily told in a letter
written by Garnerin himself: "I take the earliest opportunity of
informing you that after a very pleasant journey, but after the most
dangerous descent I ever made, on account of the boisterous weather and
the vicinity of the sea, we alighted at the distance of four miles from
this place and sixty from Ranelagh. We were only three-quarters of an
hour on the way. To-night I intend to be in London with the balloon,
which is torn to pieces. We ourselves are all over bruises."
Only a week after the same aeronaut ascended again from Marylebone, when
he attained almost the same velocity, reaching Chingford, a distance of
seventeen miles, in fifteen minutes.
The chief danger attending a balloon journey in a high wind, supposing
no injury has been sustained in filling and launching, results not so
much from impact with the ground on alighting as from the subsequent
almost inevitable dragging along the ground. The grapnels, spurning the
open, will often obtain no grip save in a hedge or tree, and even then
large boughs will be broken through or dragged away, releasing the
balloon on a fresh career which may, for a while, increase in mad
impetuosity as the emptying silk offers a deeper hollow for the wind to
catch.
The element of risk is of another nature in the case of a night ascent,
when the actual alighting ground cannot be duly chosen or foreseen.
Among many record night ascents may here, somewhat by anticipation
of events, be mentioned two embarked upon by the hero of our last
adventure. M. Garnerin was engaged to make a spectacular ascent from
Tivoli at Paris, leaving the grounds at night with attached lamps
illuminating his balloon. His first essay was on a night of early
August, when he ascended at 11 p.m., reaching a height of nearly three
miles. Remaining aloft through the hours of darkness, he witnessed the
sun rise at half-past two in the morning, and eventually came to earth
after a journey of some seven hours, during which time he had covered
considerably more than a hundred miles. A like bold adventure carried
out from the same grounds the following month was attended with graver
peril. A heavy thunderstorm appearing imminent, Garnerin elected to
ascend with great rapidity, with the result that his balloon, under the
diminished pressure, quickly became distended to an alarming degree, and
he was reduced to the necessity of piercing a hole in the silk, while
for safety's sake he endeavoured to extinguish all lamps within reach.
He now lost all control over his balloon, which became unmanageable in
the conflict of the storm. Having exhausted his ballast, he presently
was rudely brought to earth and then borne against a mountain side,
finally losing consciousness until the balloon had found anchorage three
hundred miles away from Paris.
A night ascent, which reads as yet more sensational and extraordinary,
is reported to have been made a year or two previously, and when it is
considered that the balloon used was of the Montgolfier type the account
as it is handed down will be allowed to be without parallel. It runs
thus: Count Zambeccari, Dr. Grassati of Rome, and M. Pascal Andreoli of
Antona ascended on a November night from Bologna, allowing their balloon
to rise with excessive velocity. In consequence of this rapid transition
to an extreme altitude the Count and the Doctor became insensible,
leaving Andreoli alone in possession of his faculties. At two o'clock in
the morning they found themselves descending over the Adriatic, at
which time a lantern which they carried expired and was with difficulty
re-lighted. Continuing to descend, they presently pitched in to the sea
and became drenched with salt water. It may seem surprising that the
balloon, which could not be prevented falling in the water, is yet
enabled to ascend from the grip of the waves by the mere discharge of
ballast. (It would be interesting to inquire what meanwhile happened to
the fire which they presumably carried with them.) They now rose into
regions of cloud, where they became covered with hoar frost and also
stone deaf. At 3 a.m. they were off the coast of Istria, once more
battling with the waves till picked up by a shore boat. The balloon,
relieved of their weight, then flew away into Turkey.
However overdrawn this narrative may appear, it must be read in the
light of another account, the bare, hard facts of which can admit of
no question. It is five years later, and once again Count Zambeccari is
ascending from Bologna, this time in company with Signor Bonagna. Again
it is a Montgolfier or fire balloon, and on nearing earth it becomes
entangled in a tree and catches fire. The aeronauts jump for their
lives, and the Count is killed on the spot. Certainly, when every
allowance is made for pardonable or unintentional exaggeration, it
must be conceded that there were giants in those days. Giants in the
conception and accomplishment of deeds of lofty daring. Men who came
scathless through supreme danger by virtue of the calmness and courage
with which they withstood it.
Among other appalling disasters we have an example of a terrific descent
from a vast height in which the adventurers yet escape with their lives.
It was the summer of 1808, and the aeronauts, MM. Andreoli and Brioschi,
ascending from Padua, reach a height at which a barometer sinks to eight
inches, indicating upwards of 30,000 feet. At this point the balloon
bursts, and falls precipitately near Petrarch's tomb. Commenting on
this, Mr. Glaisher, the value of whose opinion is second to none, is not
disposed to question the general truth of the narrative. In regard to
Zambeccari's escape from the sea related above, it should be stated that
in the case of a gas-inflated balloon which has no more than dipped its
car or gallery in the waves, it is generally perfectly possible to raise
it again from the water, provided there is on board a store of ballast,
the discharge of which will sufficiently lighten the balloon. A case in
point occurred in a most romantic and perilous voyage accomplished by
Mr. Sadler on the 1st of October, 1812.
His adventure is one of extraordinary interest, and of no little value
to the practical aeronaut. The following account is condensed from Mr.
Sadler's own narrative. He started from the grounds of Belvedere House,
Dublin, with the expressed intention of endeavouring to cross over the
Irish Channel to Liverpool. There appear to have been two principal
air drifts, an upper and a lower, by means of which he entertained fair
hopes of steering his desired course. But from the outset he was menaced
with dangers and difficulties. Ere he had left the land he discovered
a rent in his silk which, occasioned by some accident before leaving,
showed signs of extending. To reach this, it was necessary to
extemporise by means of a rope a species of ratlins by which he
could climb the rigging. He then contrived to close the rent with his
neckcloth. He was, by this time, over the sea, and, manoeuvring his
craft by aid of the two currents at his disposal, he was carried to the
south shore of the Isle of Man, whence he was confident of being able,
had he desired it, of landing in Cumberland. This, however, being
contrary to his intention, he entrusted himself to the higher current,
and by it was carried to the north-west of Holyhead. Here he dropped
once again to the lower current, drifting south of the Skerry Lighthouse
across the Isle of Anglesea, and at 4.30 p.m. found himself abreast of
the Great Orme's Head. Evening now approaching, he had determined to
seek a landing, but at this critical juncture the wind shifted to the
southward, and he became blown out to sea. Then, for an hour, he appears
to have tried high and low for a more favourable current, but without
success; and, feeling the danger of his situation, and, moreover,
sighting no less than five vessels beating down the Channel, he boldly
descended in the sea about a mile astern of them. He must for certain
have been observed by these vessels; but each and all held on their
course, and, thus deserted, the aeronaut had no choice but to discharge
ballast, and, quitting the waves, to regain his legitimate element. His
experiences at this period of his extraordinary voyage are best told in
his own words. "At the time I descended the sun was near setting Already
the shadows of evening had cast a dusky hue over the face of the ocean,
and a crimson glow purpled the tops of the waves as, heaving in the
evening breeze, they died away in distance, or broke in foam against the
sides of the vessels, and before I rose from the sea the orb had sunk
below the horizon, leaving only the twilight glimmer to light the vast
expanse around me. How great, therefore, was my astonishment, and how
incapable is expression to convey an adequate idea of my feelings when,
rising to the upper region of the air, the sun, whose parting beams I
had already witnessed, again burst on my view, and encompassed me with
the full blaze of day. Beneath me hung the shadows of even, whilst the
clear beams of the sun glittered on the floating vehicle which bore me
along rapidly before the wind."
After a while he sights three more vessels, which signify their
willingness to stand by, whereupon he promptly descends, dropping
beneath the two rear-most of them. From this point the narrative of the
sinking man, and the gallant attempt at rescue, will rival any like tale
of the sea. For the wind, now fast rising, caught the half empty balloon
so soon as the car touched the sea, and the vessel astern, though in
full pursuit, was wholly unable to come up. Observing this, Mr. Sadler,
trusting more to the vessel ahead, dropped his grappling iron by way of
drag, and shortly afterwards tried the further expedient of taking off
his clothes and attaching them to the iron. The vessels, despite these
endeavours, failing to overhaul him, he at last, though with reasonable
reluctance, determined to further cripple the craft that bore him so
rapidly by liberating a large quantity of gas, a desperate, though
necessary, expedient which nearly cost him his life.
For the car now instantly sank, and the unfortunate man, clutching at
the hoop, found he could not even so keep himself above the water, and
was reduced to clinging, as a last hope, to the netting. The result of
this could be foreseen, for he was frequently plunged under water by the
mere rolling of the balloon. Cold and exertion soon told on him, as he
clung frantically to the valve rope, and when his strength failed him he
actually risked the expedient of passing his head through the meshes
of the net. It was obvious that for avail help must soon come; yet the
pursuing vessel, now close, appeared to hold off, fearing to become
entangled in the net, and in this desperate extremity, fainting from
exhaustion and scarcely able to cry aloud, Mr. Sadler himself seems to
have divined the chance yet left; for, summoning his failing strength,
he shouted to the sailors to run their bowsprit through his balloon.
This was done, and the drowning man was hauled on board with the life
scarcely in him.
A fitting sequel to the above adventure followed five years afterwards.
The Irish Sea remained unconquered. No balloonist had as yet ever
crossed its waters. Who would attempt the feat once more? Who more
worthy than the hero's own son, Mr. Windham Sadler?
This aspiring aeronaut, emulating his father's enterprising spirit,
chose the same starting ground at Dublin, and on the longest day of
1817, when winds seemed favourable, left the Porto Bello barracks at
1.20 p.m. His endeavour was to "tack" his course by such currents as he
should find, in the manner attempted by his father, and at starting the
ground current blew favourably from the W.S.W. He, however, allowed his
balloon to rise to too high an altitude, where he must have been taken
aback by a contrary drift; for, on descending again through a shower of
snow, he found himself no further than Ben Howth, as yet only ten miles
on his long journey. Profiting by his mistake, he thenceforward, by
skilful regulation, kept his balloon within due limits, and successfully
maintained a direct course across the sea, reaching a spot in Wales not
far from Holyhead an hour and a half before sundown. The course taken
was absolutely the shortest possible, being little more than seventy
miles, which he traversed in five hours.
From this period of our story, noteworthy events in aeronautical history
grow few and far between. As a mere exhibition the novelty of a balloon
ascent had much worn off. No experimentalist was ready with any new
departure in the art. No fresh adventure presented itself to the minds
of the more enterprising spirits; and, whereas a few years previously
ballooning exploits crowded into every summer season and were not
neglected even in winter months, there is now for a while little to
chronicle, either abroad or in our own country. A certain revival of the
sensational element in ballooning was occasionally witnessed, and not
without mishap, as in the case of Madame Blanchard, who, in the summer
of 1819, ascending at night with fireworks from the Tivoli Gardens,
Paris, managed to set fire to her balloon and lost her life in her
terrific fall. Half a dozen years later a Mr., as also Mrs., Graham
figure before the public in some bold spectacular ascents.
But the fame of any aeronaut of that date must inevitably pale before
the dawning light shed by two stars of the first magnitude that were
arising in two opposite parts of the world--Mr. John Wise in America,
and Mr. Charles Green in our own country. The latter of these, who has
been well styled the "Father of English Aeronautics," now entered on a
long and honoured career of so great importance and success that we must
reserve for him a separate and special chapter.