Mention should be made in these pages of a night sail of a hundred
miles, boldly carried out in 1849 by M. Arban, which took the voyager
from Marseilles to Turin fairly over the Alps. The main summit was
reached at 11 p.m., when the "snow, cascades, and rivers were all
sparkling under the moon, and the ravines and rocks produced masses of
darkness which served as shadows to the gigantic picture." Arban was
at one time on a level with the highest point of Mont Blanc, the top of
which, standing out well above the clouds, resembled "an immense block
of crystal sparkling with a thousand fires."
In London, in the year of the Great Exhibition, and while the building
was still standing in Hyde Park, there occurred a balloon incident small
in itself, but sufficient to cause much sensation at the crowded spot
where it took place. The ascent was made from the Hippodrome by Mr. and
Mrs. Graham in very boisterous weather, and, on being liberated, the
balloon seems to have fouled a mast, suffering a considerable rent.
After this the aeronauts succeeded in clearing the trees in Kensington
Gardens, and in descending fairly in the Park, but, still at the mercy
of the winds, they were carried on to the roof of a house in Arlington
Street, and thence on to another in Park Place, where, becoming lodged
against a stack of chimneys, they were eventually rescued by the police
without any material damage having been done.
But this same summer saw the return to England of Henry Coxwell, and
for some years the story of the conquest of the air is best told by
following his stirring career, and his own comments on aeronautical
events of this date. We find him shortly setting about carrying out some
reconnoitring and signalling experiments, designed to be of use in time
of war. This was an old idea of his, and one which had, of course, been
long entertained by others, having, indeed, been put to some practical
test in time of warfare. It will be well to make note of what attention
the matter had already received, and of what progress had been made both
in theory and practice.
We have already made some mention in Chapter IV. of the use which the
French had made of balloons in their military operations at the end of
the eighteenth and beginning of nineteenth the century. It was, indeed,
within the first ten years after the first invention of the balloon
that, under the superintendence of the savants of the French Academy, a
practical school of aeronautics was established at Meudon. The names
of Guyton, De Morveau (a distinguished French chemist), and Colonel
Coutelle are chiefly associated with the movement, and under them some
fifty students received necessary training. The practising balloon had a
capacity of 17,000 cubic feet, and was inflated with pure hydrogen, made
by what was then a new process as applied to ballooning, and which will
be described in a future chapter. It appears that the balloon was kept
always full, so that any opportunity of calm weather would be taken
advantage of for practice. And it is further stated that a balloon was
constructed so sound and impervious that after the lapse of two months
it was still capable, without being replenished, of raising into the air
two men, with necessary ballast and equipment. The practical trial for
the balloon in real service came off in June, 1794, when Coutelle in
person, accompanied by two staff officers, in one of the four balloons
which the French Army had provided, made an ascent to reconnoitre the
Austrian forces at Fleurus. They ascended twice in one day, remaining
aloft for some four hours, and, on their second ascent being sighted,
drew a brisk fire from the enemy. They were unharmed, however, and the
successful termination of the battle of Fleurus has been claimed as due
in large measure to the service rendered by that balloon.
The extraordinary fact that the use of the balloon was for many
years discontinued in the French Army is attributed to a strangely
superstitious prejudice entertained by Napoleon. Las Cases (in his
"Private Life of Napoleon at St. Helena ") relates an almost miraculous
story of Napoleon's coronation. It appears that a sum of 23,500 francs
was given to M. Garnerin to provide a balloon ascent to aid in the
celebrations, and, in consequence, a colossal machine was made to ascend
at 11 p.m. on December 16th from the front of Notre Dame, carrying
3,000 lights. This balloon was unmanned, and at its departure apparently
behaved extremely well, causing universal delight. During the hours of
darkness, however, it seems to have acquitted itself in a strange and
well-nigh preternatural manner, for at daybreak it is sighted on the
horizon by the inhabitants of Rome, and seen to be coming towards their
city. So true was its course that, as though with predetermined purpose,
it sails on till it is positively over St. Peter's and the Vatican,
when, its mission being apparently fulfilled, it settles to earth, and
finally ends its career in the Lake Bracciano. Regarded from whatever
point of view, the flight was certainly extraordinary, and it is not
surprising that in that age it was regarded as nothing less than a
portent. Moreover, little details of the wonderful story were quickly
endowed with grave significance. The balloon on reaching the ground rent
itself. Next, ere it plunged into the water, it carefully deposited
a portion of its crown on the tomb of Nero. Napoleon, on learning
the facts, forbade that they should ever be referred to. Further,
he thenceforward discountenanced the balloon in his army, and the
establishment at Meudon was abandoned.
There is record of an attempt of some sort that was made to revive the
French military ballooning school in the African campaign of 1830, but
it was barren of results. Again, it has been stated that the Austrians
used balloons for reconnaissance, before Venice in 1849, and yet again
the same thing is related of the Russians at the time of the siege of
Sebastopol, though Kinglake does not mention the circumstance. In 1846
Wise drew up and laid before the American War Office an elaborate scheme
for the reduction of Vera Cruz. This will be discussed in its due place,
though it will be doubtless considered as chimerical.
On the other hand, eminently practical were the experiments co-ordinated
and begun to be put to an actual test by Mr. Coxwell, who, before he
could duly impress his project upon the military authorities, had to
make preliminary trials in private ventures. The earliest of these was
at the Surrey Zoological Gardens in the autumn of 1854, and it will be
granted that much ingenuity and originality were displayed when it
is considered that at that date neither wireless telegraphy, electric
flashlight, nor even Morse Code signalling was in vogue. According to
his announcement, the spectators were to regard his balloon, captive or
free, as floating at a certain altitude over a beleaguered fortress, the
authorities in communication with it having the key of the signals and
seeking to obtain through these means information as to the approach
of an enemy. It was to be supposed that, by the aid of glasses, a vast
distance around could be subjected to careful scrutiny, and a constant
communication kept up with the authorities in the fortress. Further,
the flags or other signals were supposed preconcerted and unknown to the
enemy, being formed by variations of shape and colour. Pigeons were also
despatched from a considerable height to test their efficiency
under novel conditions. The public press commented favourably on the
performance and result of this initial experiment.
Mr. Coxwell's account of an occasion when he had to try conclusions with
a very boisterous wind, and of the way in which he negotiated a very
trying and dangerous landing, will be found alike interesting and
instructive. It was an ascent from the Crystal Palace, and the morning
was fair and of bright promise outwardly; but Coxwell confesses to
have disregarded a falling glass. The inflation having been progressing
satisfactorily, he retired to partake of luncheon, entirely free from
apprehensions; but while thus occupied, he was presently sought out and
summoned by a gardener, who told him that his balloon had torn away, and
was now completely out of control, dragging his men about the bushes. On
reaching the scene, the men, in great strength, were about to attempt a
more strenuous effort to drag the balloon back against the wind, which
Coxwell promptly forbade, warning them that so they would tear all to
pieces. He then commenced, as it were, to "take in a reef," by gathering
in the slack of the silk, which chiefly was catching the wind, and by
drawing in the net, mesh by mesh, until the more inflated portion of the
balloon was left snug and offering but little resistance to the gale,
when he got her dragged in a direction slanting to the wind and under
the lee of trees.
Eventually a hazardous and difficult departure was effected, Mr.
Chandler, a passenger already booked, insisting on accompanying the
aeronaut, in spite of the latter's strongest protestations. And their
first peril came quickly, in a near shave of fouling the balcony of the
North Tower, which they avoided only by a prompt discharge of sand, the
crowd cheering loudly as they saw how the crisis was avoided. The car,
adds Mr. Coxwell in his memoirs, "was apparently trailing behind the
balloon with a pendulous swing, which is not often the case... In less
than two minutes we entered the lower clouds, passing through them
quickly, and noticing that their tops, which are usually of white,
rounded conformation, were torn into shreds and crests of vapour. Above,
there was a second wild-looking stratum of another order. We could
hear, as we hastened on, the hum of the West End of London; but we were
bowling along, having little time to look about us, though some extra
sandbags were turned to good account by making a bed of them at the
bottom ends of the car, which we occupied in anticipation of a rough
landing."
As it came on to rain hard the voyagers agreed to descend, and Coxwell,
choosing open ground, succeeded in the oft-attempted endeavour to drop
his grapnel in front of a bank or hedge-row. The balloon pulled up with
such a shock as inevitably follows when flying at sixty miles an hour,
and Mr. Coxwell continues:--"We were at this time suspended like a
kite, and it was not so much the quantity of gas which kept us up as the
hollow surface of loose silk, which acted like a falling kite, and the
obvious game of skill consisted in not letting out too much gas to
make the balloon pitch heavily with a thud that would have been awfully
unpleasant; but to jockey our final touch in a gradual manner, and yet
to do it as quickly as possible for fear of the machine getting adrift,
since, under the peculiar circumstances in which we were placed, it
would have inevitably fallen with a crushing blow, which might have
proved fatal. I never remember to have been in a situation when more
coolness and nicety were required to overcome the peril which here beset
us; while on that day the strong wind was, strange as it may sound,
helping us to alight easily, that is to say as long as the grapnel held
fast and the balloon did not turn over like an unsteady kite." Such
peril as there was soon terminated without injury to either voyager.
The same remark will apply to an occasion when Coxwell was caught in
a thunderstorm, which he thus describes in brief:--"On a second ascent
from Chesterfield we were carried into the midst of gathering clouds,
which began to flash vividly, and in the end culminated in a storm.
There were indications, before we left the earth, as to what might be
expected. The lower breeze took us in another direction as we rose, but
a gentle, whirling current higher up got us into the vortex of a highly
charged cloud.... We had to prove by absolute experience whether the
balloon was insulated and a non-conductor. Beyond a drenching, no
untoward incident occurred during a voyage lasting in all three-quarters
of an hour."
A voyage which Coxwell (referring, doubtless, to aerial travel over
English soil only) describes as "being so very much in excess of
accustomary trips in balloons" will be seen to fall short of one
memorable voyage of which the writer will have to give his own
experiences. Some account, however, of what the famous aeronaut has to
tell will find a fitting place here.
It was an ascent on a summer night from North Woolwich, and on this
occasion Coxwell was accompanied by two friends, one being Henry Youens,
who subsequently became a professional balloonist of considerable
repute, and who at this time was an ardent amateur. It was half an hour
before midnight when the party took their places, and, getting smartly
away from the crowd in the gala grounds, shot over the river, and
shortly were over the town of Greenwich with the lights of London
well ahead. Then their course took them over Kennington Oval, Vauxhall
Bridge, and Battersea, when they presently heard the strains of a Scotch
polka. This came up from the then famous Gardens of Cremorne, and, the
breeze freshening, it was but a few minutes later when they stood over
Kingston, by which time it became a question whether, being now clear
of London, they should descend or else live out the night and take what
thus might come their way. This course, as the most prudent, as well
as the most fascinating, was that which commended itself, and at that
moment the hour of midnight was heard striking, showing that a fairly
long distance had been covered in a short interval of time.
From this period they would seem to have lost their way, and though
scattered lights were sighted ahead, they were soon in doubt as to
whether they might not already be nearing the sea, a doubt that was
strengthened by their hearing the cry of sea-fowl. After a pause, lights
were seen looming under the haze to sea-ward, which at times resembled
water; and a tail like that of a comet was discerned, beyond which was a
black patch of considerable size.
The patch was the Isle of Wight, and the tail the Water from
Southampton. They were thus wearing more south and towards danger. They
had no Davy lamp with which to read their aneroid, and could only tell
from the upward flight of fragments of paper that they were descending.
Another deficiency in their equipment was the lack of a trail rope
to break their fall, and for some time they were under unpleasant
apprehension of an unexpected and rude impact with the ground, or
collision with some undesirable object. This induced them to discharge
sand and to risk the consequences of another rise into space, and as
they mounted they were not reassured by sighting to the south a ridge of
lighter colour, which strongly suggested the coast line.
But it was midsummer, and it was not long before bird life awakening was
heard below, and then a streak of dawn revealed their locality, which
was over the Exe, with Sidmouth and Tor Bay hard by on their left.
Then from here, the land jutting seawards, they confidently traversed
Dartmoor, and effected a safe, if somewhat unseasonable, descent near
Tavistock. The distance travelled was considerable, but the duration, on
the aeronaut's own showing, was less than five hours.
In the year 1859 the Times commented on the usefulness of military
balloons in language that fully justified all that Coxwell had
previously claimed for them. A war correspondent, who had accompanied
the Austrian Army during that year, asks pertinently how it had happened
that the French had been ready at six o'clock to make a combined
attack against the Austrians, who, on their part, had but just taken up
positions on the previous evening. The correspondent goes on to supply
the answer thus:--"No sooner was the first Austrian battalion out
of Vallegio than a balloon was observed to rise in the air from
the vicinity of Monsambano--a signal, no doubt, for the French in
Castiglione. I have a full conviction that the Emperor of the French
knew overnight the exact position of every Austrian corps, while the
Emperor of Austria was unable to ascertain the number or distribution of
the forces of the allies."
It appears that M. Godard was the aeronaut employed to observe the
enemy, and that fresh balloons for the French Army were proceeded with.
The date was now near at hand when Coxwell, in partnership with Mr.
Glaisher, was to take part in the classical work which has rendered
their names famous throughout the world. Before proceeding to tell of
that period, however, Mr. Coxwell has done well to record one
aerial adventure, which, while but narrowly missing the most serious
consequences, gives a very practical illustration of the chances in
favour of the aeronaut under extreme circumstances.
It was an ascent at Congleton in a gale of wind, a and the company of
two passengers--Messrs. Pearson, of Lawton Hall--was pressed upon him.
Everything foretold a rough landing, and some time after the start was
made the outlook was not improved by the fact that the dreaded county of
Derbyshire was seen approaching; and it was presently apparent that
the spot on which they had decided to descend was faced by rocks and
a formidable gorge. On this, Coxwell attempted to drop his grapnel in
front of a stone wall, and so far with success; but the wall went down,
as also another and another, the wicker car passing, with its great
impetus, clean through the solid obstacles, till at last the balloon
slit from top to bottom. Very serious injuries to heads and limbs were
sustained, but no lives were lost, and Coxwell himself, after being laid
up at Buxton, got home on crutches.