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.



CHAPTER VI. CHARLES GREEN AND THE NASSAU BALLOON.

The balloon, which had gradually been dropping out of favour, had now been virtually laid aside, and, to all appearance, might have continued so, when, as if by chance concurrence of events, there arrived both the hour and the man to restore it to the world, and to invest it with a new practicability and importance. The coronation of George the Fourth was at hand, and this became a befitting occasion for the rare genius mentioned at the end of the last chapter, and now in his thirty-sixth year, to put in practice a new method of balloon management and inflation, the entire credit of which must be accorded to him alone.

From its very introduction and inception the gas balloon, an expensive and fragile structure in itself, had proved at all times exceedingly costly in actual use. Indeed, we find that at the date at which we have now arrived the estimate for filling a balloon of 70,000 cubic feet—no extraordinary capacity—with hydrogen gas was about L250. When, then, to this great outlay was added the difficulty and delay of producing a sufficient supply by what was at best a clumsy process, as also the positive failure and consequent disappointment which not infrequently ensued, it is easy to understand how through many years balloon ascents, no longer a novelty, had begun to be regarded with distrust, and the profession of a balloonist was doomed to become unremunerative. A simpler and cheaper mode of inflation was not only a desideratum, but an absolute necessity. The full truth of this may be gathered from the fact that we find there were not seldom instances where two or three days of continuous and anxious labour were expended in generating and passing hydrogen into a balloon, through the fabric of which the subtle gas would escape almost as fast as it was produced.

It was at this juncture, then, that Charles Green conceived the happy idea of substituting for hydrogen gas the ordinary household gas, which at this time was to be found ready to hand and in sufficient quantity in all towns of any consequence; and by the day of the coronation all was in readiness for a public exhibition of this method of inflation, which was carried out with complete success, though not altogether without unrehearsed and amusing incident, as must be told.

The day, July 18, was one of summer heat, and Green at the conclusion of his preparations, fatigued with anxious labour and oppressed by the crowding of the populace, took refuge within the car of his balloon, which was by that time already inflated, and only awaiting the gun signal that was to announce the moment for its departure. To allow of his gaining the refreshment of somewhat purer air he begged his friends who were holding the car of his balloon in restraint to keep it suspended at a few feet from the earth, while he rested himself within, and, this being done, it would appear that he fell into a doze, from which he did not awake till he found that the balloon, which had slipped from his friends' hold, was already high above the crowd and requiring his prompt attention. This was, however, by no means an untoward accident, and Green's triumph was complete. By this one venture alone the success of the new method was entirely assured. The cost of the inflation had been reduced ten-fold, the labour and uncertainty a hundred-fold, and, over and above all, the confidence of the public was restored. It is little wonder, then, that in the years that now follow we find the balloon returning to all the favour it had enjoyed in its palmiest days. But Green proved himself something more than a practical balloonist of the first rank. He brought to the aid of his profession ideas which were matured by due thought and scientifically sound. It is true he still clung for a while to the antiquated notion that mechanical means could, with advantage, be used to cause a balloon to ascend or descend, or to alter its direction in a tranquil atmosphere. But he saw clearly that the true method of navigating a balloon should be by a study of upper currents, and this he was able to put to practical proof on a memorable occasion, and in a striking manner, as we shall presently relate.

He learned the lesson early in his career while acquiring facts and experience, unassisted, in a number of solitary voyages made from different parts of the country. Among these he is careful to record an occasion when, making a day-light ascent from Boston, Lincolnshire, he maintained a lofty course, which promised to take him direct to Grantham; but, presently descending to a lower level, and his balloon diverging at an angle of some 45 degrees, he now headed for Newark. This experience he stored away.

A month later we find him making a night voyage from Vauxhall Gardens, destined to be the scene of many memorable ascents in the near future; and on this occasion he gave proof of his capability as a close and intelligent observer. It was a July night, near 11 p.m., moonless and cloudy, yet the earth was visible, and under these circumstances his simple narrative becomes of scientific value. He accurately distinguished the reflective properties of the face of the diversified country he traversed. Over Battersea and Wandsworth—this was in 1826—there were white sheets spread over the land, which proved to be corn crops ready for the sickle. Where crops were not the ground was darker, with, here and there, objects absolutely black—in other words, trees and houses. Then he mentions the river in a memorandum, which reads strangely to the aeronaut who has made the same night voyage in these latter days. The stream was crossed in places with rows of lamps apparently resting on the water. These were the lighted bridges; but, here and there, were dark planks, and these too were bridges—at Battersea and Putney—but without a light upon them!

In these and many other simple, but graphic, narratives Green draws his own pictures of Nature in her quieter moods. But he was not without early experience of her horse play, a highly instructive record of which should not be omitted here, and which, as coming from so careful and conscientious an observer, is best gathered from his own words. The ascent was from Newbury, and it can have been no mean feat to fill, under ordinary circumstances, a balloon carrying two passengers and a considerable weight of ballast at the small gas-holder which served the town eighty-five years ago. But the circumstances were not ordinary, for the wind was extremely squally; a tremendous hail and thunderstorm blew up, and a hurricane swept the balloon with such force that two tons weight of iron and a hundred men scarce sufficed to hold it in check.

Green on this occasion had indeed a companion, whose usefulness however at a pinch may be doubted when we learn that he was both deaf and dumb. The rest of the narrative runs thus: "Between 4 and 5 p.m. the clouds dispersed, but the wind continued to rage with unabated fury the whole of the evening. At 6 p.m. I stepped into the car with Mr. Simmons and gave the word 'Away!' The moment the machine was disencumbered of its weights it was torn by the violence of the wind from the assistants, bounded off with the velocity of lightning in a southeasterly direction, and in a very short space of time attained an elevation of two miles. At this altitude we perceived two immense bodies of clouds operated on by contrary currents of air until at length they became united, and at that moment my ears were assailed by the most awful and longest continued peal of thunder I have ever heard. These clouds were a full mile beneath us, but perceiving other strata floating at the same elevation at which we were sailing, which from their appearance I judged to be highly charged with electricity, I considered it prudent to discharge twenty pounds of ballast, and we rose half a mile above our former elevation, where I considered we were perfectly safe and beyond their influence. I observed, amongst other phenomena, that at every discharge of thunder all the detached pillars of clouds within the distance of a mile around became attracted and appeared to concentrate their force towards the first body of clouds alluded to, leaving the atmosphere clear and calm beneath and around us.

"With very trifling variations we continued the same course until 7.15 p.m., when we descended to within 500 feet of the earth; but, perceiving from the disturbed surface of the rivers and lakes that a strong wind existed near the earth, we again ascended and continued our course till 7.30 p.m., when a final descent was safely effected in a meadow field in the parish of Crawley in Surrey, situated between Guildford and Horsham, and fifty-eight miles from Newbury. This stormy voyage was performed in one hour and a half."

It was after Green had followed his profession for fifteen years that he was called upon to undertake the management of an aerial venture, which, all things considered, has never been surpassed in genuine enterprise and daring. The conception of the project was due to Mr. Robert Hollond, and it took shape in this way. This gentleman, fresh from Cambridge, possessed of all the ardour of early manhood, as also of adequate means, had begun to devote himself with the true zeal of the enthusiast to the pursuit of ballooning, finding due opportunity for this in his friendship with Mr. Green, who enjoyed the management of the fine balloon made for ascents at the then popular Vauxhall Gardens. In the autumn of 1836 the proprietors of this balloon, contemplating making an exhibition of an ascent from Paris, and requiring their somewhat fragile property to be conveyed to that city, Mr. Hollond boldly came forward and offered to transfer it thither, and, as nearly as this might be possible, by passage through the sky. The proposal was accepted, and Mr. Holland, in conjunction with Green, set about the needful preparations. These, as will appear, were on an extraordinary scale, and no blame is to be imputed on that account, as a little consideration will show. For the venture proposed was not to be that of merely crossing the Channel, which, as we have seen, had been successfully effected no less than fifty years before. The voyage in contemplation was to be from London; it was, moreover, to be pursued through a long, moonless winter's night, and under conditions of which no living aeronaut had had actual experience.

Calculation, based on a sufficient knowledge of fast upper currents, told that their course, ere finished, might be one of almost indefinite length, and it is not too much to say that no one, with the knowledge of that day, could predict within a thousand miles where the dawn of the next day might find them. The equipment, therefore, was commensurate with the possible task before them. To begin with, they limited their number to three in all—Mr. Hollond, as chief and keeper of the log; Mr. Green, as aeronaut; and an enthusiastic colleague, Mr. Monck Mason, as the chronicler of the party. Next, they provided themselves with passports to all parts of the Continent; and then came the fitting out and victualling of the aerial craft itself, calculated to carry some 90,000 cubic feet of gas, and a counterpoise of a ton of ballast, which took the form partly of actual provisions in large quantity, partly of gear and apparatus, and for the rest of sand and also lime, of which more anon. Across the middle of the car was fixed a bench to serve as table, and also as a stage for the winding in and out of an enormous trail rope a thousand feet long, designed by Mr. Green to meet the special emergencies of the voyage. At the bottom of the car was spread a large cushion to serve the purposes of rest. When all was in readiness unfitness of weather baulked the travellers for some days, but Monday, the 7th of November, was judged a favourable day, so that the inflation was rapidly proceeded with, and at 1.30 p.m. the "Monstre Balloon," as it was entitled in the "Ingoldsby Legends," left the earth on her eventful and ever memorable voyage. The weather was fine and promising, and, rising with a moderate breeze from the N.W., they began to traverse the northern parts of Kent, while light, drifting upper clouds gave indication of other possible currents. Mr. Hollond was precise in the determination of times and of all readings and we learn that at exactly 2.48 p.m. they were crossing the Medway, six miles west of Rochester, while at 4.5 p.m. the lofty towers of Canterbury were well in view, two miles to the east, and here a little function was well carried out. Green had twice ascended from this city under patronage of the authorities, and the idea occurred to the party that it would be a graceful compliment to drop a message to the Mayor as they passed. A suitable note, therefore, quickly written, was dismissed in a parachute, and it may be mentioned that this, as also a similar missive addressed later to the Mayor of Dover, were duly received and acknowledged.

At a quarter past four they sighted the sea, and here, the air beginning to grow chill, the balloon dropped earthward, and for some miles they skimmed the ground, disturbing the partridges, scattering the rooks, and keeping up a running conversation the while with labourers and passers below. In this there was exercise of perfectly proper aerial seamanship, such as moreover presently led to an exhibition of true science. To save ballast is, with a balloon, to prolong life, and this may often best be done by flying low, which doubtless was Green's present intention. But soon his trained eye saw that the ground current which now carried them was leading them astray. They were trending to the northward, and so far out of their course that they would soon make the North Foreland, and so be carried out over the North Sea far from their desired direction. Thereupon Green attempted to put in practice his theory, already spoken of, of steering by upper currents, and the event proved his judgment peculiarly correct. "Nothing," wrote Mr. Monck Mason, "could exceed the beauty of the manoeuvre, to which the balloon at once responded, regaining her due course, and, in a matter of a few minutes only, bearing the voyagers almost vertically over the castle of Dover in the exact line for crossing the straits between that town and Calais."

So far all was well, and success had been extraordinary; but from this moment they became faced with new conditions, and with the grave trouble of uncertainty. Light was failing, the sea was before them, and—what else thenceforth? 4.48 p.m. was recorded as the moment when the first line of breaking waves was seen directly below them, and then the English coast line began rapidly to fade out from their view. But, ahead, the obscurity was yet more intense, for clouds, banked up like a solid wall, crowned along its frowning heights, with "parapets and turrets and batteries and bastions," and, plunging into this opposing barrier, they were quickly buried in blackness, losing at the same time over the sea all sound from earth soever. So for a short hour's space, when the sound of waves once again broke in upon them, and immediately afterwards emerging from the dense cloud (a sea-fog merely) they found themselves immediately over the brilliantly lighted town of Calais. Seeing this, the travellers attempted to signal by igniting and lowering a Bengal Light, which was directly followed by the beating of drums from below.

It adds a touch of reality, as well as cheerfulness, to the narrative to read that at this period of their long journey the travellers apply themselves to a fair, square meal, the first for twelve hours, despite the day's excitement and toil. We have an entry among the stores of the balloon of wine bottles and spirit flasks, but there is no mention of these being requisitioned at this period. The demand seems rather to have been for coffee—coffee hot; and this by a novel device was soon prepared. It goes without saying that a fire or flame of any kind, except with special precautions, is inadmissable in a balloon; but a cooking heat, sufficient for the present purpose, was supplied from the store of lime, a portion of which, being placed in a suitably contrived vessel and slaked quickly, procured the desired beverage.

This meal now indulged in seems to have been heartily and happily enjoyed; and from this point, for a while, the narrative becomes that of enthusiastic and delighted travellers. In the gloom below, for leagues around, they regarded the scattered fires of a watchful population, with here and there the lights of larger towns, and the contemplation begot romantic reveries. "Were they not amid the vast solitudes of the skies, in the dead of night, unknown and unnoticed, secretly and silently reviewing kingdoms, exploring territories, and surveying cities all clothed in the dark mantle of mystery?" Presently they identified the blazing city of Liege, with the lurid lights of extensive outlying iron works, and this was the last visible sign they caught of earth that night; save, at least, when occasional glimpses of lightning momentarily and dimly outlined the world in the abyss below.

Ere long, they met with their first discomfort, which they seem to have regarded as a most serious one, namely, the accidental dropping overboard of their cherished coffee-boiling apparatus. With its loss their store of lime became useless, save as ballast, and for this it was forthwith utilised until nothing remained but the empty lime barrel itself, which, being regarded as an objectionable encumbrance, it was desirable to get rid of, were it not for the risk involved in rudely dropping it to earth. But the difficulty was met. They possessed a suitable small parachute, and, attached to this, the barrel was allowed to float earthward.

As hours advanced, the blackness of night increased, and their impressions appear somewhat strange to anyone familiar with ordinary night travel in the sky. Mr. Monck Mason compares their progress through the darkness to "cleaving their way through an interminable mass of black marble." Then, presently, an unaccountable object puzzles and absorbs the attention of all the party for a long period. They were gazing open-mouthed at a long narrow avenue of feeble light, which, though apparently belonging to earth, was too long and regular for a river, and too broad for a canal or road, and it was only after many futile imaginings that they discovered they were simply looking at a stay rope of the balloon hanging far out over the side.

Somewhat later still, there was a more serious claim upon the imagination. It was half-past three in the morning, and the balloon, which, to escape from too low an altitude, had been liberally lightened, had now at high speed mounted to a vast height. And then, amid the black darkness and dead silence of that appalling region, suddenly overhead came the sound of an explosion, followed by the violent rustling of the silk, while the car jerked violently, as though suddenly detached from its hold. This was the idea, leading to the belief that the balloon had suddenly exploded, and that they were falling headlong to earth. Their suspense, however, cannot have been long, and the incident was intelligible enough, being due to the sudden yielding of stiffened net and silk under rapid expansion caused by their speedy and lofty ascent.

The chief incidents of the night were now over, until the dawn arrived and began to reveal a strange land, with large tracts of snow, giving place, as the light strengthened, to vast forests. To their minds these suggested the plains of Poland, if not the steppes of Russia, and, fearing that the country further forward might prove more inhospitable, they decided to come to earth as speedily as possible. This, in spite of difficult landing, they effected about the hour that the waking population were moving abroad, and then, and not till then, they learned the land of their haven—the heart of the German forests. Five hundred miles had been covered in eighteen hours from start to finish!



CHAPTER VII. CHARLES GREEN—FURTHER ADVENTURES.

All history is liable to repeat itself, and that of aeronautics forms no exception to the rule. The second year after the invention of the balloon the famous M. Blanchard, ascending from Frankfort, landed near Weilburg, and, in commemoration of the event, the flag he bore was deposited among the archives in the ducal palace of that town. Fifty-one years passed by when, outside the same city, a yet more famous balloon effected its landing, and with due ceremony its flag is presently laid beside that of Blanchard in the same ducal palace. The balloon of the "Immortal Three," whose splendid voyage has just been recounted, will ever be known by the title of the Great Nassau Balloon, but the neighbourhood of its landing was that of the town of Weilburg, in the Duchy of Nassau, whither the party betook themselves, and where, during many days, they were entertained with extravagant hospitality and honour until business recalled Mr. Hollond home.

Green had now made upwards of two hundred ascents, and, though he lived to make a thousand, it was impossible that he could ever eclipse this last record. It is true that the same Nassau balloon, under his guidance, made many other most memorable voyages, some of which it will be necessary to dwell on. But, to preserve a better chronology, we must first, without further digression, approach an event which fills a dark page in our annals; and, in so doing, we have to transfer our attention from the balloon itself to its accessory, the parachute.

Twenty-three years before our present date, that is to say in 1814, Mr. Cocking delivered his views as to the proper form of the parachute before the Society of Arts, who, as a mark of approval, awarded him a medal. This parachute, however, having never taken practical shape, and only existing, figuratively speaking, in the clouds, seemed unlikely to find its way there in reality until the success of the Nassau adventure stirred its inventor to strenuous efforts to give it an actual trial. Thus it came about that he obtained Mr. Green's co-operation in the attempt he now undertook, and, though this ended disastrously, for Mr. Cocking, the great professional aeronaut can in no way soever be blamed for the tragic event.

The date of the trial was in July, 1837. Mr. Cocking's parachute was totally different in principle from that form which, as we have seen, had met with a fair measure of success at the hands of early experimenters; and on the eve of its trial it was strongly denounced and condemned in the London Press by the critic whom we have recently so freely quoted, Mr. Monck Mason.

This able reasoner and aeronaut pointed out that the contrivance about to be tested aimed at obviating two principal drawbacks which the parachute had up to that time presented, namely (1) the length of time which elapses before it becomes sufficiently expanded, and (2) the oscillatory movement which accompanies the descent. In this new endeavour the inventor caused his machine to be fixed rigidly open, and to assume the shape of an inverted cone. In other words, instead of its being like an umbrella opened, it rather resembled an umbrella blown inside out. Taking, then, the shape and dimensions of Mr. Cocking's structure as a basis for mathematical calculation, as also its weight, which for required strength he put at 500 lbs. Mr. Monck Mason estimated that the adventurer and his machine must attain in falling a velocity of some twelve miles an hour. In fact, his positive prediction was that one of two events must inevitably take place. "Either the parachute would come to the ground with a force incompatible with the safety of the individual, or should it be attempted to make it sufficiently light to resist this conclusion, it must give way beneath the forces which will develop in the descent."

This emphatic word of warning was neglected, and the result of the terrible experiment can best be gathered from two principal sources. First, that of a special reporter writing from terra-firma, and, secondly, that of Mr. Green himself, who gives his own observations as made from the balloon in which he took the unfortunate man and his invention into the sky.

The journalist, who first speaks of the enormous concourse that gathered to see the ascent, not only within Vauxhall Gardens, but on every vantage ground without, proceeds to tell of his interview with Mr. Cocking himself, who, when questioned as to the danger involved, remarked that none existed for him, and that the greatest peril, if any, would attend the balloon when suddenly relieved of his weight. The proprietors of the Gardens, as the hour approached, did their best to dissuade the over-confident inventor, offering, themselves, to take the consequences of any public disappointment. This was again without avail, and so, towards 6 p.m., Mr. Green, accompanied by Mr. Spencer, a solicitor of whom this history will have more to tell, entered the balloon, which was then let up about 40 feet that the parachute might be affixed below. A little later, Mr. Cocking, casting aside his heavy coat and tossing off a glass of wine, entered his car and, amid deafening acclamations, with the band playing the National Anthem, the balloon and aeronauts above, and he himself in his parachute swinging below, mounted into the heavens, passing presently, in the gathering dusk, out of view of the Gardens.

The sequel should be gathered from Mr. Green's own narrative. Previous to starting, 650 lbs. of ballast had to be discarded to gain buoyancy sufficient to raise the massive machine. This, together with another 100 lbs., which was also required to be ejected owing to the cooling of the air, was passed out through a canvas tube leading downwards through a hole in the parachute, an ingenious contrivance which would prevent the sand thrown out from the balloon falling on the slender structure itself. On quitting the earth, however, this latter set up such violent oscillations that the canvas tube was torn away, and then it became the troublesome task of the aeronauts to make up their ballast into little parcels, and, as occasion required, to throw these into space clear of the swinging parachute below.

Despite all efforts, however, it was soon evident that the cumbersome nature of the huge parachute would prevent its being carried up quite so high as the inventor desired. Mr. Cocking had stipulated for an elevation of 7,000 feet, and, as things were, only 5,000 feet could be reached, at any rate, before darkness set in. This fact was communicated to Mr. Cocking, who promptly intimated his intention of leaving, only requesting to know whereabouts he was, to which query Mr. Spencer replied that they were on a level with Greenwich. The brief colloquy that ensued is thus given by Mr. Green:—

"I asked him if he felt quite comfortable, and if the practical trial bore out his calculation. Mr. Cocking replied, 'Yes, I never felt more comfortable or more delighted in my life,' presently adding, 'Well, now I think I shall leave you.' I answered, 'I wish you a very "Good Night!" and a safe descent if you are determined to make it and not use the tackle' (a contrivance for enabling him to retreat up into the balloon if he desired). Mr. Cocking's only reply was, 'Good-night, Spencer; Good-night, Green!' Mr. Cocking then pulled the rope that was to liberate himself, but too feebly, and a moment afterwards more violently, and in an instant the balloon shot upwards with the velocity of a sky rocket. The effect upon us at this moment was almost beyond description. The immense machine which suspended us between heaven and earth, whilst it appeared to be forced upwards with terrific violence and rapidity through unknown and untravelled regions amidst the howlings of a fearful hurricane, rolled about as though revelling in a freedom for which it had long struggled, but of which until that moment it had been kept in utter ignorance. It, at length, as if somewhat fatigued by its exertions, gradually assumed the motions of a snake working its way with extraordinary speed towards a given object. During this frightful operation the gas was rushing in torrents from the upper and lower valve, but more particularly from the latter, as the density of the atmosphere through which we were forcing our progress pressed so heavily on the valve at the top of the balloon as to admit of but a comparatively small escape by this aperture. At this juncture, had it not been for the application to our mouths of two pipes leading into an air bag, with which we had furnished ourselves previous to starting, we must within a minute have been suffocated, and so, but by different means, have shared the melancholy fate of our friend. This bag was formed of silk, sufficiently capacious to contain 100 gallons of atmospheric air. Prior to our ascent, the bag was inflated with the assistance of a pair of bellows with fifty gallons of air, so allowing for any expansion which might be produced in the upper regions. Into the end of this bag were introduced two flexible tubes, and the moment we felt ourselves to be going up in the manner just described, Mr. Spencer, as well as myself, placed either of them in our mouths. By this simple contrivance we preserved ourselves from instantaneous suffocation, a result which must have ensued from the apparently endless volume of gas with which the car was enveloped. The gas, notwithstanding all our precautions, from the violence of its operation on the human frame, almost immediately deprived us of sight, and we were both, as far as our visionary powers were concerned, in a state of total darkness for four or five minutes."

Messrs. Green and Spencer eventually reached earth in safety near Maidstone, knowing nothing of the fate of their late companion. But of this we are sufficiently informed through a Mr. R. Underwood, who was on horseback near Blackheath and watching the aeronauts at the moment when the parachute was separated from the balloon. He noticed that the former descended with the utmost rapidity, at the same time swaying fearfully from side to side, until the basket and its occupant, actually parting from the parachute, fell together to earth through several hundred feet and were dashed to pieces.

It would appear that the liberation of the parachute from below the balloon had been carried out without hitch; indeed, all so far had worked well, and the wind at the time was but a gentle breeze. The misadventure, therefore, must be entirely attributed to the faulty manner in which the parachute was constructed. There could, of course, be only one issue to the sheer drop from such a height, which became the unfortunate Mr. Cocking's fate, but the very interesting question will have to be discussed as to the chances in favour of the aeronaut who, within his wicker car, while still duly attached to the balloon, may meet with a precipitate descent.

We may here fitly mention an early perilous experience of Mr. Green, due simply to the malice of someone never discovered. It appears that while Green's balloon, previous to an ascent, was on the ground, the cords attaching the car had been partly severed in such a way as to escape detection. So that as soon as the balloon rose the car commenced breaking away, and its occupants, Mr. Green and Mr. Griffiths, had to clutch at the ring, to which with difficulty they continued to cling. Meanwhile, the car remaining suspended by one cord only, the balloon was caused to hang awry, with the result that its upper netting began giving way, allowing the balloon proper gradually to escape through the bursting meshes, thus threatening the distracted voyagers with terrible disaster. The disaster, in fact, actually came to pass ere the party completed their descent, "the balloon, rushing through the opening in the net-work with a tremendous explosion, and the two passengers clinging to the rest of the gear, falling through a height said to be near a hundred feet. Both, though only with much time and difficulty, recovered from the shock."

In 1840, three years after the tragic adventure connected with Mr. Cocking's parachute trial, we find Charles Green giving his views as to the practicability of carrying out a ballooning enterprise which should far excel all others that had hitherto been attempted. This was nothing less than the crossing of the Atlantic from America to England. There is no shadow of doubt that the adventurous aeronaut was wholly in earnest in the readiness he expressed to embark on the undertaking should adequate funds be forthcoming; and he discusses the possibilities with singular clearness and candour. He maintains that the actual difficulties resolve themselves into two only: first, the maintenance of the balloon in the sky for the requisite period of time; and, secondly, the adequate control of its direction in space. With respect to the first difficulty, he points out the fact to which we have already referred, namely, that it is impossible to avoid the fluctuations of level in a balloon's course, "by which it constantly becomes alternately subjected to escape of gas by expansion, and consequent loss of ballast, to furnish an equivalent diminution of weight." Taking his own balloon of 80,000 cubic feet by way of example, he shows that this, fully inflated on the earth, would lose 8,000 cubic feet of gas by expansion in ascending only 3,000 feet. Moreover, the approach of night or passage through cloud or falling rain would occasion chilling of the gas or accumulation of moisture on the silk, in either case necessitating the loss of ballast, the store of which is always the true measure of the balloon's life.

To combat the above difficulty Green sanguinely relies on his favourite device of a trail or guide rope, whose function, being that of relieving the balloon of a material weight as it approaches the earth, could, he supposed, be made to act yet more efficiently when over the sea in the following manner. Its length, suspended from the ring, being not less than 2,000 feet, it should have attached at its lower end at certain intervals a number of small, stout waterproof canvas bags, the apertures of which should be contrived to admit water, but to oppose its return. Between these bags were to be conical floats, to support any length of the rope that might descend on the sea. Now, should the balloon commence descending, it would simply deposit a certain portion of rope on the water until it regained equilibrium at no great decrease of altitude, and would thus continue its course until alteration of conditions should cause it to recommence rising, when the weight of water now collected in the bags would play its part in preventing the balloon from soaring up into space. With such a contrivance Green allowed himself to imagine that he could keep a properly made balloon at practically the same altitude for a period of three months if required.

The difficulty of maintaining a due course was next discussed, and somewhat speedily disposed of. Here Green relied on the results of his own observation, gathered during 275 ascents, and stated his conviction that there prevails a uniformity of upper wind currents that would enable him to carry out his bold projects successfully. His contention is best given in his own words:

"Under whatever circumstances," he says, "I made my ascent, however contrary the direction of the winds below, I uniformly found that at a certain elevation, varying occasionally, but always within 10,000 feet of the earth, a current from the west or rather from the north of west, invariably travailed, nor do I recollect a single instance in which a different result ensued." Green's complete scheme is now sufficiently evident. He was to cross the Atlantic practically by the sole assistance of upper currents and his guide rope, but on this latter expedient, should adverse conditions prevail, he yet further relied, for he conceived that the rope could have attached to its floating end a water drag, which would hold the balloon in check until favouring gales returned.

Funds, apparently, were not forthcoming to allow of Mr. Green's putting his bold method to the test; but we find him still adhering with so much zeal to his project that, five years later, he made, though again unsuccessfully, a second proposal to cross the Atlantic by balloon. He still continued to make many and most enterprising ascents, and one of a specially sensational nature must be briefly mentioned before we pass on to regard the exploits of other aeronauts.

It was in 1841 on the occasion of a fete at Cremorne House, when Mr. Green, using his famous Nassau balloon, ascended with a Mr. Macdonnell. The wind was blowing with such extreme violence that Rainham, in Essex, about twenty miles distant, was reached in little more than a quarter of an hour, and here, on nearing the earth, the grapnel, finding good hold, gave a wrench to the balloon that broke the ring and jerked the car completely upside down, the aeronauts only escaping precipitation by holding hard to the ropes. A terrific steeplechase ensued, in which the travellers were dragged through stout fencing and other obstacles till the balloon, fairly emptied of gas, finally came to rest, but not until some severe injuries had been received.



CHAPTER VIII. JOHN WISE—THE AMERICAN AERONAUT.

By this period the domination of the air was being pursued in a fresh part of the world. England and her Continental neighbours had vied with each in adding to the roll of conquests, and it could hardly other be supposed that America would stand by without taking part in the campaign which was now being revived with so much fresh energy in the skies.

The American champion who stepped forward was Mr. John Wise, of Lancaster, Pa., whose career, commencing in the year 1835, we must now for a while follow. Few attempts at ballooning of any kind had up to that time been made in all America. There is a record that in December, 1783, Messrs. Rittenhouse and Hopkins, Members of the Philosophical Academy of Philadelphia, instituted experiments with an aerial machine consisting of a cage to which forty-seven small balloons were harnessed. In this strange craft a carpenter, by name Wilcox, was induced to ascend, which, it is said, he did successfully, remaining in the air for ten minutes, when, finding himself near a river, he sought to come to earth again by opening several of his balloons. This brought about an awkward descent, attended, however, by no more serious accident than a dislocated wrist. Mr. Wise, on the other hand, states that Blanchard had won the distinction of making the first ascent in the New World in 1793 in Philadelphia on which occasion Washington was a spectator; and a few years afterwards other Frenchmen gave exhibitions, which, however, led to no real development of the new art on this, the further side of the Atlantic. Thus the endeavours we are about to describe were those of an independent and, at the same time, highly, practical experimentalist, and on this account have a special value of their own.

The records that Wise has left of his investigations begin at the earliest stage, and possess the charm of an obvious and somewhat quaint reality. They commence with certain crude calculations which would seem to place no limit to the capabilities of a balloon. Thus, he points out that one of "the very moderate size of 400 feet diameter" would convey 13,000 men. "No wonder, then," he continues, "the citizens of London became alarmed during the French War, when they mistook the appearance of a vast flock of birds coming towards the Metropolis for Napoleon's army apparently coming down upon them with this new contrivance."

Proceeding to practical measures, Wise's first care was to procure some proper material of which to build an experimental balloon of sufficient size to lift and convey himself alone. For this he chose ordinary long-cloth, rendered gas-tight by coats of suitable varnish, the preparation of which became with him, as, indeed, it remains to this day, a problem of chief importance and difficulty. Perhaps it hardly needs pointing out that the varnish of a balloon must not only be sufficiently elastic not to crack or scale off with folding or unavoidable rough usage, but it must also be of a nature to resist the common tendency of such substances to become adherent or "tacky." Wise determined on bird lime thinned with linseed oil and ordinary driers. With this preparation he coated his material several times both before and after the making up, and having procured a net, of which he speaks with pride, and a primitive sort of car, of which he bitterly complains, he thought himself sufficiently equipped to embark on an actual ascent, which he found a task of much greater practical difficulty than the mere manufacture of his air ship. For the inflation by hydrogen of so small a balloon as his was he made more than ample provision in procuring no less than fifteen casks of 130 gallons capacity each. He also duly secured a suitable filling ground at the corner of Ninth and Green Streets, Philadelphia, but he made a miscalculation as to the time the inflation would demand, and this led to unforeseen complications, for as yet he knew not the way of a crowd which comes to witness a balloon ascent.

Having all things in readiness, and prudently waiting for fair weather, he embarked on his grand experiment on the 2nd of May, 1835, announcing 4 p.m. as the hour of departure. But by that time the inflation, having only proceeded for three hours, the balloon was but half full, and then the populace began to behave as in such circumstances they always will. They were incredulous, and presently grew troublesome. In vain the harnessing of the car was proceeded with as though all were well. For all was not well, and when the aeronaut stepped into his car with only fifteen pounds of sand and a few instruments he must have done so with much misgiving. Still, he had friends around who might have been useful had they been less eager to help. But these simply crowded round him, giving him no elbow room, nor opportunity for trying the "lift" of his all-too-empty globe. Moreover, some would endeavour to throw the machine upward, while others as strenuously strove to keep it down, and at last the former party prevailed, and the balloon, being fairly cast into the air, grazed a neighbouring chimney and then plunged into an adjacent plot, not, however, before the distracted traveller had flung away all his little stock of sand. There now was brief opportunity for free action, and to the first bystander who came running up Wise gave the task of holding the car in check. To the next he handed out his instruments, his coat, and also his boots, hoping thus to get away; but his chance had not yet come, for once again the crowd swarmed round him, keeping him prisoner with good-natured but mistaken interference, and drowning his voice with excited shouting. Somehow, by word and gesture, he gave his persecutors to understand that he wished to speak, and then he begged them only to give him a chance, whereupon the crowd fell back, forming a ring, and leaving only one man holding the car. It was a moment of suspense, for Wise calculated that he had only parted with some eighteen pounds since his first ineffectual start from the filling ground; but it was enough, and in another moment he was sailing up clear above the crowd. So great, as has been already shewn, is often the effect of parting with the last few pounds of dead weight in a well-balanced balloon.

Such was the first "send off" of the future great balloonist, destined to become the pioneer in aeronautics on the far side of the Atlantic. The balloon ascended to upwards of a mile, floating gradually away, but at its highest point it reached a conflict of currents, causing eddies from which Wise escaped by a slight decrease of weight, effected by merely cutting away the wreaths of flowers that were tied about his car. A further small substitute for ballast he extemporised in the metal tube inserted in the neck of his fabric, and this he cast out when over the breadth of the Delaware, and he describes it as falling with a rustling sound, and striking the water with a splash plainly heard at more than a mile in the sky. After an hour and a quarter the balloon spontaneously and steadily settled to earth.

An ascent carried out later in the same summer led to a mishap, which taught the young aeronaut an all-important lesson. Using the same balloon and the same mode of inflation, he got safely and satisfactorily away from his station in the town of Lebanon, Pa., and soon found himself over a toll gate in the open country, where the gate keeper in banter called up to him for his due. To this summons Wise, with heedless alacrity, responded in a manner which might well have cost him dear. He threw out a bag of sand to represent his toll, and, though he estimated this at only six pounds, it so greatly accelerated his ascent that he shortly found himself at a greater altitude than he ever after attained. He passed through mist into upper sunshine, where he experienced extreme cold and ear-ache, at which time, seeking the natural escape from such trouble, he found to his dismay that the valve rope was out of reach. Thus he was compelled to allow the balloon to ascend yet higher, at its own will; and then a terrible event happened.

By mischance the neck of his balloon, which should have been open, was out of reach and folded inwards in such a way as to prevent the free escape of the gas, which, at this great altitude, struggled for egress with a loud humming noise, giving him apprehensions of an accident which very shortly occurred, namely, the bursting of the lower part of his balloon with a loud report. It happened, however, that no extreme loss of gas ensued, and he commenced descending with a speed which, though considerable, was not very excessive. Still, he was eager to alight in safety, until a chance occurrence made him a second time that afternoon guilty of an act of boyish impetuosity. A party of volunteers firing a salute in his honour as he neared the ground, he instantly flung out papers, ballast, anything he could lay his hands on, and once again soared to a great height with his damaged balloon. He could then do no more, and presently subsiding to earth again, he acquired the welcome knowledge that even in such precarious circumstances a balloon may make a long fall with safety to its freight.

Mr. Wise's zeal and indomitable spirit of enterprise led to speedy developments of the art which he had espoused; the road to success being frequently pointed out by failure or mishap. He quickly discarded the linen balloon for one of silk on which he tried a new varnish composed of linseed oil and india-rubber, and, dressing several gores with this, he rolled them up and left them through a night in a drying loft, with the result that the next day they were disintegrated and on the point of bursting into flame by spontaneous combustion. Fresh silk and other varnish were then tried, but with indifferent success. Next he endeavoured to dispense with sewing, and united the gores of yet another balloon by the mere adhesiveness of the varnish and application of a hot iron. This led to a gaping seam developing at the moment of an ascent, and then there followed a hasty and hazardous descent on a house-top and an exciting rescue by a gentleman who appeared opportunely at a third storey window. Further, another balloon had been destroyed, and Wise badly burned, at a descent, owing to a naked light having been brought near the escaping gas. It is then without wonder that we find him after this temporarily bankrupt, and resorting to his skill in instrument-making to recover his fortunes. Only, however, for a few months, after which he is before the public once more as a professional aeronaut. He now adopts coal gas for inflation, and incidents of an impressive nature crowd into his career, forcing important facts upon him. The special characteristics of his own country present peculiar difficulties; broad rivers and vast forests become serious obstacles. He is caught in the embrace of a whirlwind; he narrowly escapes falling into a forest fire; he is precipitated, but harmlessly, into a pine wood. Among other experiments, he makes a small copy of Mr. Cocking's parachute, and drops it to earth with a cat as passenger, proving thereby that that unfortunate gentleman's principle was really less in fault than the actual slenderness of the material used in his machine.

We now approach one of Wise's boldest, and at the same time most valuable, experiments. It was the summer of 1839, and once again the old trouble of spontaneous combustion had destroyed a silk balloon which was to have ascended at Easton, Pa. Undeterred, however, Wise resolutely advertised a fresh attempt, and, with only a clear month before the engagement, determined on hastily rigging up a cambric muslin balloon, soaking it in linseed oil and essaying the best exhibition that this improvised experiment could afford. It was intended to become a memorable one, inasmuch as, should he meet with no hindrance, his determination was nothing less than that of bursting this balloon at a great height, having firmly convinced himself that the machine in these circumstances would form itself into a natural parachute, and bring him to earth with every chance in favour of safety. In his own words, "Scientific calculations were on his side with a certainty as great and principles as comprehensive as that a pocket-handkerchief will not fall as rapidly to the ground when thrown out of a third storey window as will a brick."

His balloon was specially contrived for the experiment in hand, having cords sewn to the upper parts of its seams, and then led down through the neck, where they were secured within reach, their office being that of rending the whole head of the balloon should this be desired. On this occasion a cat and a dog were taken up, one of these being let fall from a height of 2,000 feet in a Cocking's parachute, and landing in safety, the other being similarly dismissed at an altitude of 4,000 feet in an oiled silk balloon made in the form of a collapsed balloon, which, after falling a little distance, expanded sufficiently to allow of its descending with a safe though somewhat vibratory motion. Its behaviour, at any rate, fully determined Wise on carrying out his own experiment.

Being constructed entirely for the main object in view, the balloon had no true opening in the neck beyond an orifice of about an inch, and by the time a height of 13,000 feet had been reached the gas was streaming violently through this small hole, the entire globe being expanded nearly to bursting point, and the cords designed for rending the balloon very tense. At this critical period Wise owns to having experienced considerable nervous excitement, and observing far down a thunderstorm in progress he began to waver in his mind, and inclined towards relieving the balloon of its strain, and so abandoning his experiment, at least for the present. He remembers pulling out his watch to make a note of the hour, and, while thus occupied, the straining cords, growing tenser every moment, suddenly took charge of the experiment and burst the balloon of their own accord. The gas now rushed from the huge rent above tumultuously and in some ten seconds had entirely escaped, causing the balloon to descend rapidly, until the lower part of the muslin, doubling in upwards, formed a species of parachute after the manner intended. The balloon now came down with zig-zag descent, and finally the car, striking the earth obliquely, tossed its occupant out into a field unharmed. Shortly after this Wise experimented with further success with an exploded balloon.

It is not a little remarkable that this pioneer of aeronautics in American—a contemporary of Charles Green in England, but working and investigating single-handed on perfectly independent lines—should have arrived at the same conclusions as did Green himself as to the possibility, which, in his opinion, amounted to a certainty, of being able to cross the Atlantic by balloon if only adequate funds were forth-coming. So intent was he on his bold scheme that, in the summer of 1843, he handed to the Lancaster Intelligencer a proclamation, which he desired might be conveyed to all publishers of newspapers on the globe. It contained, among other clauses, the following:—

"Having from a long experience in aeronautics been convinced that a constant and regular current of air is blowing at all times from west to east, with a velocity of from twenty to forty and even sixty miles per hour, according to its height from the earth, and having discovered a composition which renders silk or muslin impervious to hydrogen gas, so that a balloon may be kept afloat for many weeks, I feel confident with these advantages that a trip across the Atlantic will not be attended with as much real danger as by the common mode of transition. The balloon is to be 100 feet in diameter, giving it a net ascending power of 25,000 lbs." It was further stated that the crew would consist of three persons, including a sea navigator, and a scientific landsman. The specifications for the transatlantic vessel were also to include a seaworthy boat in place of the ordinary car. The sum requisite for this enterprise was, at the time, not realised; but it should be mentioned that several years later a sufficient sum of money was actually subscribed. In the summer of 1873 the proprietors of the New York Daily Graphic provided for the construction of a balloon of no less than 400,000 cubic feet capacity, and calculated to lift 14,000 lbs. It was, however, made of bad material; and, becoming torn in inflation, Wise condemned and declined to use it. A few months later, when it had been repaired, one Donaldson and two other adventurers, attempting a voyage with this ill-formed monster, ascended from New York, and were fortunate in coming down safely, though not without peril, somewhere in Connecticut.

Failing in his grand endeavour, Wise continued to follow the career of a professional aeronaut for some years longer, of which he has left a full record, terminating with the spring of 1848. His ascents were always marked by carefulness of detail, and a coolness and courage in trying circumstances that secured him uniform success and universal regard. He was, moreover, always a close and intelligent observer, and many of his memoranda are of scientific value.

His description of an encounter with a storm-cloud in the June of 1843 has an interest of its own, and may not be considered overdrawn. It was an ascent from Carlisle, Pa., to celebrate the anniversary of Bunker's Hill, and Wise was anxious to gratify the large concourse of people assembled, and thus was tempted, soon after leaving the ground, to dive up into a huge black cloud of peculiarly forbidding aspect. This cloud appeared to remain stationary while he swept beneath it, and, having reached its central position, he observed that its under surface was concave towards the earth, and at that moment he became swept upwards in a vortex that set his balloon spinning and swinging violently, while he himself was afflicted with violent nausea and a feeling of suffocation. The cold experienced now became intense, and the cordage became glazed with ice, yet this had no effect in checking the upward whirling of the balloon. Sunshine was beyond the upper limits of the cloud; but this was no sooner reached than the balloon, escaping from the uprush, plunged down several hundred feet, only to be whirled up again, and this reciprocal motion was repeated eight or ten times during an interval of twenty minutes, in all of which time no expenditure of gas or discharge of ballast enabled the aeronaut to regain any control over his vessel.

Statements concerning a thunderstorm witnessed at short range by Wise will compare with other accounts. The thunder "rattled" without any reverberations, and when the storm was passing, and some dense clouds moving in the upper currents, the "surface of the lower stratum swelled up suddenly like a boiling cauldron, which was immediately followed by the most brilliant ebullition of sparkling coruscations." Green, in his stormy ascent from Newbury, England, witnessed a thunderstorm below him, as will be remembered, while an upper cloud stratum lay at his own level. It was then that Green observed that "at every discharge of thunder all the detached pillars of clouds within the distance of a mile around became attracted."

The author will have occasion, in due place, to give personal experiences of an encounter with a thunderstorm which will compare with the foregoing description.



CHAPTER IX. EARLY METHODS AND IDEAS.

Before proceeding to introduce the chief actors and their achievements in the period next before us, it will be instructive to glance at some of the principal ideas and methods in favour with aeronauts up to the date now reached. It will be seen that Wise in America, contrary to the practice of Green in our own country, had a strong attachment to the antique mode of inflation with hydrogen prepared by the vitriolic process; and his balloons were specially made and varnished for the use of this gas. The advantage which he thus bought at the expense of much trouble and the providing of cumbersome equipment was obvious enough, and may be well expressed by a formula which holds good to-day, namely, that whereas 1,000 cubic feet of hydrogen is capable of lifting 7 lbs., the same quantity of coal gas of ordinary quality will raise but 35 lbs. The lighter gas came into all Wise's calculations for bolder schemes. Thus, when he discusses the possibility of using a metal balloon, his figures work out as follows: If a balloon of 200 feet diameter were constructed out of copper, weighing one pound to the square foot; if, moreover, some six tons were allowed for the weight of car and fastenings, an available lifting power would remain capable of raising 45 tons to an altitude of two miles. This calculation may appear somewhat startling, yet it is not only substantially correct, but Wise entertained no doubt as to the practicability of such a machine. For its inflation he suggests inserting a muslin balloon filled with air within the copper globe, and then passing hydrogen gas between the muslin and copper surfaces, which would exclude the inner balloon as the copper one filled up.

His method of preparing hydrogen was practically that still adopted in the field, and seems in his hands to have been seldom attended with difficulty. With eight common 130-gallon rum puncheons he could reckon on evolving 5,000 cubic feet of gas in an hour, using his elements in the following proportions: water, 560 lbs.; sulphuric acid (sp. g. 1.85), 144 lbs.; iron turnings, 125 lbs. The gas, as given off, was cooled and purified by being passed through a head of water kept cool and containing lime in solution. Contrasted with this, we find it estimated, according to the practice of this time, that a ton of good bituminous coal should yield 10,000 cubic feet of carburetted hydrogen fit for lighting purposes, and a further quantity which, though useless as an illuminant, is still of excellent quality for the aeronaut.

It would even seem from a statement of Mr. Monck Mason that the value of coke in his day largely compensated for the cost of producing coal gas, so that in a large number of Green's ascents no charge whatever was made for gas by the companies that supplied him.

Some, at least, of the methods formerly recommended for the management of free balloons must in these days be modified. Green, as we have seen, was in favour of a trail rope of inordinate length, which he recommended both as an aid to steering and for a saving of ballast. In special circumstances, and more particularly over the sea, this may be reckoned a serviceable adjunct, but over land its use, in this country at least, would be open to serious objection. The writer has seen the consternation, not to say havoc, that a trail rope may occasion when crossing a town, or even private grounds, and the actual damage done to a garden of hops, or to telegraph or telephone wires, may be very serious indeed. Moreover, the statement made by some early practitioners that a trail rope will not catch so as to hold fast in a wood or the like, is not to be relied on, for an instance could be mentioned coming under the writer's knowledge where such a rope was the source of so much trouble in a high wind that it had to be cut away.

The trouble arose in this way. The rope dragged harmlessly enough along the open ground. It would, likewise, negotiate exceedingly well a single tree or a whole plantation, catching and releasing itself with only such moderate tugs at the car as were not disturbing; but, presently, its end, which had been caught and again released by one tree, swung free in air through a considerable gap to another tree, where, striking a horizontal bough, it coiled itself several times around, and thus held the balloon fast, which now, with the strength of the wind, was borne to the earth again and again, rebounding high in air after each impact, until freedom was gained only by the sacrifice of a portion of the rope.

Wise recommends a pendant line of 600 or 800 feet, capable of bearing a strain of 100 lbs., and with characteristic ingenuity suggests a special use which can be made of it, namely, that of having light ribbons tied on at every hundred feet, by means of which the drifts of lower currents may be detected. In this suggestion there is, indeed, a great deal of sound sense; for there is, as will be shown hereafter, very much value to be attached to a knowledge of those air rivers that are flowing, often wholly unsuspected, at various heights. Small parachutes, crumpled paper, and other such-like bodies as are commonly thrown out and relied on to declare the lower drifts, are not wholly trustworthy, for this reason—that air-streams are often very slender, mere filaments, as they are sometimes called, and these, though setting in some definite direction, and capable of entrapping and wafting away some small body which may come within their influence, may not affect the travel of so big an object as a balloon, which can only partake of some more general air movement.

Wise, by his expedient of tying ribbons at different points to his trail rope, would obtain much more correct and constant information respecting those general streams through which the pendant rope was moving. A similar expedient adopted by the same ingenious aeronaut is worthy of imitation, namely, that of tying ribbons on to a rod projecting laterally from the car. These form a handy and constant telltale as to the flight of the balloon, for should they be fluttering upwards the sky sailor at once knows that his craft is descending, and that he must act accordingly.

The material, pure silk, which was universally adopted up to and after the period we are now regarding, is not on every account to be reckoned the most desirable. In the first place, its cost alone is prohibitive, and next, although lighter than any kind of linen, strength for strength, it requires a greater weight of varnish, which, moreover, it does not take so kindly as does fabric made of vegetable tissue. Further, paradoxical as it may appear, its great strength is not entirely an advantage. There are occasions which must come into the experience of every zealous aeronaut when his balloon has descended in a rough wind, and in awkward country. This may, indeed, happen even when the ascent has been made in calm. Squalls of wind may spring up at short notice, or after traversing only two or three counties a strong gale may be found on the earth, though such was absent in the starting ground. This is more particularly the case when the landing chances to be on high ground in the neighbourhood of the sea. In these circumstances, the careful balloonist, who will generally be forewarned by the ruffle on any water he may pass, or by the drift of smoke, the tossing of trees, or by their very rustling or "singing" wafted upwards to him, will, if possible, seek for his landing place the lee of a wood or some other sheltered spot. But, even with all his care, he will sometimes find himself, on reaching earth, being dragged violently across country on a mad course which the anchor cannot check. Now, the country through which he is making an unwilling steeplechase may be difficult, or even dangerous. Rivers, railway cuttings, or other undesirable obstacles may lie ahead, or, worse yet, such a death trap as in such circumstances almost any part of Derbyshire affords, with its stone walls, its precipitous cliffs, and deep rocky dells. To be dragged at the speed of an express train through territory of this description will presently mean damage to something, perhaps to telegraph poles, to roofs, or crops, and if not, then to the balloon itself. Something appertaining to it must be victimised, and it is in all ways best that this should be the fabric of the balloon itself. If made of some form, or at least some proportion of linen, this will probably rend ere long, and, allowing the gas to escape, will soon bring itself to rest. On the other hand, if the balloon proper is a silk one, with sound net and in good condition, it is probable that something else will give way first, and that something may prove to be the hapless passenger or passengers.

And here be it laid down as one first and all-important principle, that in any such awkward predicament as that just described, if there be more than one passenger aboard, let none attempt to get out. In the first place, he may very probably break a limb in so doing, inasmuch as the tangle of the ropes will not allow of his getting cut readily; or, when actually on the ground, he may be caught and impaled by the anchor charging and leaping behind. But, worse than all, he may, in any case, jeopardise the lives of his companions, who stand in need of all the available weight and help that the car contains up to the moment Of coming to final rest.

We have already touched on the early notions as to the means of steering a balloon. Oars had been tested without satisfactory result, and the conception of a rotary screw found favour among theorists at this time, the principle being actually tried with success in working models, which, by mechanical means, could be made to flit about in the still air of the lecture room; but the only feasible method advocated was that already alluded to, which depended on the undesirable action of a trail rope dragging over the ground or through water. The idea was, of course, perfectly practical, and was simply analogous to the method adopted by sailors, who, when floating with the stream but without wind, are desirous of gaining "steerage way." While simply drifting with the flood, they are unable to guide their vessel in any way, and this, in practice, is commonly effected by simply propelling the vessel faster than the stream, in which case the rudder at once becomes available. But the same result is equally well obtained by slowing the vessel, and this is easily accomplished by a cable, with a small anchor or other weight attached, dragging below the vessel. This cable is essentially the same as the guide-rope of the older aeronauts.

It is when we come to consider the impressions and sensations described by sky voyagers of bygone times that we find them curiously at variance with our own. As an instance, we may state that the earth, as seen from a highflying balloon, used to be almost always described as appearing concave, or like a huge basin, and ingenious attempts were made to prove mathematically that this must be so. The laws of refraction are brought in to prove the fact; or, again, the case is stated thus: Supposing the extreme horizon to be seen when the balloon is little more than a mile high, the range of view on all sides will then be, roughly, some eighty miles. If, then, a line were drawn from the aerial observer to this remote distance, that line would be almost horizontal; so nearly so that he cannot persuade himself that his horizon is otherwise than still on a level with his eye; yet the earth below him lies, as it seems, at the bottom of a huge gulf. Thus the whole visible earth appears as a vast bowl or basin. This is extremely ingenious reasoning, and not to be disregarded; but the fact remains that in the experience of the writer and of many others whom he has consulted, there is no such optical illusion as I have just discussed, and to their vision it is impossible to regard the earth as anything but uniformly flat.

Another impression invariably insisted on by early balloonists is that the earth, on quitting it, appears to drop away into an abyss, leaving the voyagers motionless, and this illusion must, indeed, be probably universal. It is the same illusion as the apparent gliding backwards of objects to a traveller in a railway carriage; only in this latter case the rattling and shaking of the carriage helps the mind to grasp the real fact that the motion belongs to the train itself; whereas it is otherwise with a balloon, whose motion is so perfectly smooth as to be quite imperceptible.

Old ideas, formed upon insufficient observations, even if erroneous, were slow to die. Thus it used to be stated that an upper cloud floor adapted itself to the contour of the land over which it rested, giving what Mr. Monck Mason has called a "phrenological estimate" of the character of the earth below; the clouds, "even when under the influence of rapid motion, seeming to accommodate themselves to all variations of form in the surface of the subjacent soil, rising with its prominences and sinking with its depressions." Probably few aeronauts of the present time will accept the statement.

It used commonly to be asserted, and is so often to this day, that a feeling as of sea-sickness is experienced in balloon travel, and the notion has undoubtedly arisen from the circumstances attending an ascent in a captive balloon. It were well, now that ballooning bids fair to become popular, to disabuse the public mind of such a wholly false idea. The truth is that a balloon let up with a lengthy rope and held captive will, with a fitful breeze, pitch and sway in a manner which may induce all the unpleasant feelings attending a rough passage at sea. It may do worse, and even be borne to earth with a puff of wind which may come unexpectedly, and considerably unsettle the nerves of any holiday passenger. I could tell of a "captive" that had been behaving itself creditably on a not very settled day suddenly swooping over a roadway and down into public gardens, where it lay incontinently along the ground, and then, before the astonished passengers could attempt to alight, it was seized with another mood, and, mounting once again majestically skyward, submitted to be hauled down with all becoming grace and ease. It is owing to their vagaries and want of manageability that, as will be shown, "captives" are of uncertain use in war. On the other hand, a free balloon is exempt from such disadvantages, and at moderate heights not the smallest feeling of nausea is ever experienced. The only unpleasant sensation, and that not of any gravity, ever complained of, is a peculiar tension in the ears experienced in a rapid ascent, or more often, perhaps, in a descent. The cause, which is trivial and easily removed, should be properly understood, and cannot be given in clearer language than that used by Professor Tyndall:—"Behind the tympanic membrane exists a cavity—the drum of the ear—in part crossed by a series of bones, and in part occupied by air. This cavity communicates with the mouth by means of a duct called the Eustachian tube. This tube is generally closed, the air space behind the tympanic membrane being thus cut off from the external air. If, under these circumstances, the external air becomes denser, it will press the tympanic membrane inwards; if, on the other hand, the air on the other side becomes rarer, while the Eustachian tube becomes closed, the membrane will be pressed outwards. Pain is felt in both cases, and partial deafness is experienced.... By the act of swallowing the Eustachian tube is opened, and thus equilibrium is established between the external and internal pressure."

Founded on physical facts more or less correct in themselves, come a number of tales of olden days, which are at least more marvellous than credible, the following serving as an example. The scientific truth underlying the story is the well-known expedient of placing a shrivelled apple under the receiver of an air pump. As the air becomes rarefied the apple swells, smooths itself out, and presently becomes round and rosy as it was in the summer time. It is recorded that on one occasion a man of mature years made an ascent, accompanied by his son, and, after reaching some height, the youth remarked on how young his father was looking. They still continued to ascend, and the same remark was repeated more than once. And at last, having now reached attenuated regions, the son cried in astonishment, "Why, dad, you ought to be at school!" The cause of this remark was that in the rarefied air all the wrinkles had come out of the old man's face, and his cheeks were as chubby as his son's.

This discussion of old ideas should not be closed without mention of a plausible plea for the balloon made by Wise and others on the score of its value to health. Lofty ascents have proved a strain on even robust constitutions—the heart may begin to suffer, or ills akin to mountain sickness may intervene before a height equal to that of our loftiest mountain is reached. But many have spoken of an exhilaration of spirits not inferior to that of the mountaineer, which is experienced, and without fatigue, in sky voyages reasonably indulged in—of a light-heartedness, a glow of health, a sharpened appetite, and the keen enjoyment of mere existence. Nay, it has been seriously affirmed that "more good may be got by the invalid in an hour or two while two miles up on a fine summer's day than is to be gained in an entire voyage from New York to Madeira by sea."



CHAPTER X. THE COMMENCEMENT OF A NEW ERA.

Resuming the roll of progressive aeronauts in England whose labours were devoted to the practical conquest of the air, and whose methods and mechanical achievements mark the road of advance by which the successes of to-day have been obtained, there stand out prominently two individuals, of whom one has already received mention in these pages.

The period of a single life is seldom sufficient to allow within its span the full development of any new departure in art or science, and it cannot, therefore, be wondered at if Charles Green, though reviving and re-modelling the art of ballooning in our own country, even after an exceptionally long and successful career, left that pursuit to which he had given new birth virtually still in its infancy.

The year following that in which Green conducted the famous Nassau voyage we find him experimenting in the same balloon with his chosen friend and colleague, Edward Spencer, solicitor, of Barnsbury, who, only nine years later, compiles memoranda of thirty-four ascents, made under every variety of circumstance, many being of a highly enterprising nature. We find him writing enthusiastically of the raptures he experienced when sailing over London in night hours, of lofty ascents and extremely low temperatures, of speeding twenty-eight miles in twenty minutes, of grapnel ropes breaking, and of a cross-country race of four miles through woods and hedges. Such was Mr. Spencer the elder, and if further evidence were needed of his practical acquaintance with, as well as personal devotion to, his adopted profession of aeronautics, we have it in the store of working calculations and other minutiae of the craft, most carefully compiled in manuscript by his own hand; these memoranda being to this day constantly consulted by his grandsons, the present eminent aeronauts, Messrs. Spencer Brothers, as supplying a manual of reliable data for the execution of much of the most important parts of their work.

In the terrific ordeal and risk entailed by the daring and fatal parachute descent of Cocking, Green required an assistant of exceptional nerve and reliability, and, as has been recorded, his choice at once fell on Edward Spencer. In this choice it has already been shown that he was well justified, and in the trying circumstances that ensued Green frankly owns that it was his competent companion who was the first to recover himself. A few years later, when a distinguished company, among whom were Albert Smith and Shirley Brooks, made a memorable ascent from Cremorne, Edward Spencer is one of the select party.

Some account of this voyage should be given, and it need not be said that no more graphic account is to be found than that given by the facile pen of Albert Smith himself. His personal narrative also forms an instructive contrast to another which he had occasion to give to the world shortly afterwards, and which shall be duly noticed. The enthusiastic writer first describes, with apparent pride, the company that ascended with him. Besides Mr. Shirley Brooks, there were Messrs. Davidson, of the Garrick Club; Mr. John Lee, well known in theatrical circles; Mr. P. Thompson, of Guy's Hospital, and others—ten in all, including Charles Green as skipper, and Edward Spencer, who, sitting in the rigging, was entrusted with the all-important management of the valve rope.

"The first sensation experienced," Albert Smith continues, "was not that we were rising, but that the balloon remained fixed, whilst all the world below was rapidly falling away; while the cheers with which they greeted our departure grew fainter, and the cheerers themselves began to look like the inmates of many sixpenny Noah's Arks grouped upon a billiard table.... Our hats would have held millions.... And most strange is the roar of the city as it comes surging into the welkin as though the whole metropolis cheered you with one voice.... Yet none beyond the ordinary passengers are to be seen. The noise is as inexplicable as the murmur in the air at hot summer noontide."

The significance of this last remark will be insisted on when the writer has to tell his own experiences aloft over London, as also a note to the effect that there were seen "large enclosed fields and gardens and pleasure grounds where none were supposed to exist by ordinary passengers." Another interesting note, having reference to a once familiar feature on the river, now disappearing, related to the paddle boats of those days, the steamers making a very beautiful effect, "leaving two long wings of foam behind them similar to the train of a table rocket." Highly suggestive, too, of the experiences of railway travellers in the year 1847 is the account of the alighting, which, by the way, was obviously of no very rude nature. "Every time," says the writer, "the grapnel catches in the ground the balloon is pulled up suddenly with a shock that would soon send anybody from his seat, a jerk like that which occurs when fresh carriages are brought up to a railway train." But the concluding paragraph in this rosy narrative affords another and a very notable contrast to the story which that same writer had occasion to put on record before that same year had passed.

"We counsel everybody to go up in a balloon... In spite of the apparent frightful fragility of cane and network nothing can in reality be more secure... The stories of pressure on the ears, intense cold, and the danger of coming down are all fictions.... Indeed, we almost wanted a few perils to give a little excitement to the trip, and have some notion, if possible, of going up the next time at midnight with fireworks in a thunderstorm, throwing away all the ballast, fastening down the valve, and seeing where the wind will send us."

The fireworks, the thunderstorm, and the throwing away of ballast, all came off on the 15th of the following October, when Albert Smith made his second ascent, this time from Vauxhall Gardens, under the guidance of Mr. Gypson, and accompanied by two fellow-passengers. Fireworks, which were to be displayed when aloft, were suspended on a framework forty feet below the car. Lightning was also playing around as they cast off. The description which Albert Smith gives of London by night as seen from an estimated elevation of 4,000 feet, should be compared with other descriptions that will be given in these pages:—

"In the obscurity all traces of houses and enclosures are lost sight of. I can compare it to nothing else than floating over dark blue and boundless sea spangled with hundreds of thousands of stars. These stars were the lamps. We could see them stretching over the river at the bridges, edging its banks, forming squares and long parallel lines of light in the streets and solitary parks. Further and further apart until they were altogether lost in the suburbs. The effect was bewildering."

At 7,000 feet, one of the passengers, sitting in the ring, remarked that the balloon was getting very tense, and the order was given to "ease her" by opening the top valve. The valve line was accordingly pulled, "and immediately afterwards we heard a noise similar to the escape of steam in a locomotive, and the lower part of the balloon collapsed rapidly, and appeared to fly up into the upper portion. At the same instant the balloon began to fall with appalling velocity, the immense mass of loose silk surging and rustling frightfully over our heads.... retreating up away from us more and more into the head of the balloon. The suggestion was made to throw everything over that might lighten the balloon. I had two sandbags in my lap, which were cast away directly.... There were several large bags of ballast, and some bottles of wine, and these were instantly thrown away, but no effect was perceptible. The wind still appeared to be rushing up past us at a fearful rate, and, to add to the horror, we came among the still expiring discharge of the fireworks which floated in the air, so that little bits of exploded cases and touch-paper, still incandescent, attached themselves to the cordage of the balloon and were blown into sparks.... I presume we must have been upwards of a mile from the earth.... How long we were descending I have not the slightest idea, but two minutes must have been the outside.... We now saw the houses, the roofs of which appeared advancing to meet us, and the next instant, as we dashed by their summits, the words, 'Hold hard!' burst simultaneously from all the party.... We were all directly thrown out of the car along the ground, and, incomprehensible as it now appears to me, nobody was seriously hurt."

But "not so incomprehensible, after all," will be the verdict of all who compare the above narrative with the ascents given in a foregoing account of how Wise had fared more than once when his balloon had burst. For, as will be readily guessed, the balloon had in this case also burst, owing to the release of the upper valve being delayed too long, and the balloon had in the natural way transformed itself into a true parachute. Moreover, the fall, which, by Albert Smith's own showing, was that of about a mile in two minutes, was not more excessive than one which will presently be recorded of Mr. Glaisher, who escaped with no material injury beyond a few bruises.

One fact has till now been omitted with regard to the above sensational voyage, namely, the name of the passenger who, sitting in the ring, was the first to point out the imminent danger of the balloon. This individual was none other than Mr. Henry Coxwell, the second, indeed, of the two who were mentioned in the opening paragraph of this chapter as marking the road of progress which it is the scope of these pages to trace, and to whom we must now formally introduce our readers.

This justly famous sky pilot, whose practical acquaintance with ballooning extends over more than forty years, was the son of a naval officer residing near Chatham, and in his autobiography he describes enthusiastically how, a lad of nine years old, he watched through a sea telescope a balloon, piloted by Charles Green, ascend from Rochester and, crossing the Thames, disappear in distance over the Essex flats. He goes on to describe how the incident started him in those early days on boyish endeavours to construct fire balloons and paper parachutes. Some years later his home, on the death of his father, being transferred to Eltham, he came within frequent view of such balloons as, starting from the neighbourhood of London, will through the summer drift with the prevailing winds over that part of Kent. And it was here that, ere long, he came in at the death of another balloon of which Green was in charge.

And from this time onwards the schoolboy with the strange hobby was constantly able to witness the flights and even the inflations of those ships of the air, which, his family associations notwithstanding took precedence of all boyish diversions.

His elder brother, now a naval officer, entirely failed to divert his aspirations into other channels, and it was when the boy had completed sixteen summers that an aeronautic enterprise attracted not only his own, but public attention also. It was the building of a mammoth balloon at Vauxhall under the superintendence of Mr. Green. The launching of this huge craft when completed was regarded as so great an occasion that the young Coxwell, who had by this time obtained a commercial opening abroad, was allowed, at his earnest entreaty, to stay till the event had come off, and fifty years after the hardened sky sailor is found describing with a boyish enthusiasm how thirty-six policemen were needed round that balloon; how enormous weights were attached to the cordage, only to be lifted feet above the ground; while the police were compelled to pass their staves through the meshes to prevent the cords cutting their hands. At this ascent Mr. Hollond was a passenger, and by the middle of the following November all Europe was ringing with the great Nassau venture.

Commercial business did not suit the young Coxwell, and at the age of one-and-twenty we find him trying his hand at the profession of surgeon-dentist, not, however, with any prospect of its keeping him from the longing of his soul, which grew stronger and stronger upon him. It was not till the summer of 1844 that Mr. Hampton, giving an exhibition from the White Conduit Gardens, Pentonville, offered the young man, then twenty-five years old, his first ascent.

In after years Coxwell referred to his first sensations in characteristic language, contrasting them with the experiences of the mountaineer. "In Alpine travels," he says, "the process is so slow, and contact with the crust of the earth so palpable, that the traveller is gradually prepared for each successive phase of view as it presents itself. But in the balloon survey, cities, villages, and vast tracts for observation spring almost magically before the eye, and change in aspect and size so pleasingly that bewilderment first and then unbounded admiration is sure to follow."

The ice was now fairly broken, and, not suffering professional duties to be any hindrance, Coxwell began to make a series of ascents under the leadership of two rival balloonists, Gale and Gypson. One voyage made with the latter he describes as leading to the most perilous descent in the annals of aerostation. This was the occasion, given above, on which Albert Smith was a passenger, and which that talented writer describes in his own fashion. He does not, however, add the fact, worthy of being chronicled, that exactly a week after the appalling adventure Gypson and Coxwell, accompanied by a Captain whose name does not transpire, and loaded with twice the previous weight of fireworks, made a perfectly successful night ascent and descent in the same balloon.

It is very shortly after this that we find Coxwell seduced into undertaking for its owners the actual management of a balloon, the property of Gale, and now to be known as the "Sylph." With this craft he practically began his career as a professional balloonist, and after a few preliminary ascents made in England, was told off to carry on engagements in Belgium.

A long series of ascents was now made on the Continent, and in the troubled state of affairs some stirring scenes were visited, not without some real adventure. One occasion attended with imminent risk occurred at Berlin in 1851. Coxwell relates that a Prussian labourer whom he had dismissed for bad conduct, and who almost too manifestly harboured revenge, nevertheless begged hard for a re-engagement, which, as the man was a handy fellow, Coxwell at length assented to. He took up three passengers beside himself, and at an elevation of some 3,000 feet found it necessary to open the valve, when, on pulling the cord, one of the top shutters broke and remained open, leaving a free aperture of 26 inches by 12 inches, and occasioning such a copious discharge of gas that nothing short of a providential landing could save disaster. But the providential landing came, the party falling into the embrace of a fruit tree in an orchard. It transpired afterwards that the labourer had been seen to tamper with the valve, the connecting lines of which he had partially severed.

Returning to England in 1852 Coxwell, through the accidents inseparable from his profession, found himself virtually in possession of the field. Green, now advanced in years, was retiring from the public life in which he had won so much fame and honour. Gale was dead, killed in an ascent at Bordeaux. Only one aspirant contested the place of public aeronaut—one Goulston, who had been Gale's patron. Before many months, however, he too met with a balloonist's death, being dashed against some stone walls when ascending near Manchester.

It will not be difficult to form an estimate of how entirely the popularity of the balloon was now reestablished in England, from the mere fact that before the expiration of the year Coxwell had been called upon to make thirty-six voyages. Some of these were from Glasgow, and here a certain coincidence took place which is too curious to be omitted. A descent effected near Milngavie took place in the same field in which Sadler, twenty-nine years before, had also descended, and the same man who caught the rope of Mr. Sadler's balloon performed the same service once again for a fresh visitor from the skies.

The following autumn Coxwell, in fulfilling one out of many engagements, found himself in a dilemma which bore resemblance in a slight degree to a far more serious predicament in which the writer became involved, and which must be told in due place. The preparations for the ascent, which was from the Mile End Road, had been hurried, and after finally getting away at a late hour in the evening, it was found that the valve line had got caught in a fold of the silk, and could not be operated. In consequence, the balloon was, of necessity, left to take its own chance through the night, and, after rising to a considerable height, it slowly lost buoyancy during the chilly hours, and, gradually settling, came to earth near Basingstoke, where the voyager, failing to get help or shelter, made his bed within his own car, lying in an open field, as other aeronauts have had to do in like circumstances.

Coxwell tells of a striking phenomenon seen during that voyage. "A splendid meteor was below the car, and apparently about 600 feet distant. It was blue and yellow, moving rapidly in a N.E. direction, and became extinguished without noise or sparks."



CHAPTER XI. THE BALLOON IN THE SERVICE OF SCIENCE.

At this point we must, for a brief while, drop the history of the famous aeronaut whose early career we have been briefly sketching in the last chapter, and turn our attention to a new feature of English ballooning. We have, at last, to record some genuinely scientific ascents, which our country now, all too tardily, instituted. It was the British Association that took the initiative, and the two men they chose for their purpose were both exceptionally qualified for the task they had in hand. The practical balloonist was none other than the veteran Charles Green, now in his sixty-seventh year, but destined yet to enjoy nearly twenty years more of life. The scientific expert was Mr. John Welsh, well fitted for the projected work by long training at Kew Observatory. The balloon which they used is itself worthy of mention, being the great Nassau Balloon of olden fame.