aeronaut Trichet, actually got away, in company with another balloon, they were vigorously fired at with shot and shell before they had cleared St. Denis. Farther out over the German posts they were again under fire, and escaped by discharging ballast, not, however, before Gambetta had been grazed by a bullet. Yet once more they were assailed by German volleys before, about 3 p.m., they found a haven near Montdidier.
The usual dimensions of the new balloons gave a capacity of 70,000 cubic feet, and each of these, when inflated with coal gas, was calculated to convey a freight of passengers, ballast, and despatches amounting to some 2,000 pounds. Their despatch became frequent, sometimes two in the same twenty-four hours. In less than a single week in October as many as four balloons had fallen in Belgium, and as many more elsewhere. Up till now some sixteen ventures had ended well, but presently there came trouble. On October 22nd MM. Iglesia and Jouvencel fell at Meaux, occupied by the Prussians; their despatches, however, were saved in a dung cart. The twenty-third voyage ended more unhappily. On this occasion a sailor acted as aeronaut, accompanied by an engineer, Etienne Antonin, and carrying nearly 1,000 pounds of letters. It chanced that they descended near Orleans on the very day when that town was re-occupied by the enemy, and both voyagers were made prisoners. The engineer, however, subsequently escaped. Three days later another sailor, also accompanied by an engineer, fell at the town of Ferrieres, then occupied by the Prussians, when both were made prisoners. In this case, also, the engineer succeeded in making his escape; while the despatches were rescued by a forester and forwarded in safety.
At about this date W. de Fonvielle, acting as aeronaut, and taking passengers, made a successful escape, of which he has given a graphic account. He had been baulked by more than one serious contretemps. It had been determined that the departure should be by night, and November 19th being fixed upon, the balloon was in process of inflation under a gentle wind that threatened a travel towards Prussian soil, when, as the moment of departure approached, a large hole was accidentally made in the fabric by the end of the metal pipe, and it was then too late to effect repairs. The next and following days the weather was foul, and the departure was not effected till the 25th, when he sailed away over the familiar but desolated country. He and his companions were fired at, but only when they were well beyond range, and in less than two hours the party reached Louvain, beyond Brussels, some 180 English miles in a direct line from their starting point. This was the day after the “Ville d’Orleans” balloon had made the record voyage and distance of all the siege, falling in Norway, 600 miles north of Christiania, after a flight of fifteen hours.
At the end of November, when over thirty escape voyages had been made, two fatal disasters occurred. A sailor of the name of Prince ascended alone on a moonless night, and at dawn, away on the north coast of Scotland, some fishermen sighted a balloon in the sky dropping to the westward in the ocean. The only subsequent trace of this balloon was a bag of despatches picked up in the Channel. Curiously enough, two days later almost the same story was repeated. Two aeronauts, this time in charge of despatches and pigeons, were carried out to sea and never traced.
Undeterred by these disasters, a notable escape was now attempted. An important total eclipse of the sun was to occur in a track crossing southern Spain and Algeria on December 22nd. An enthusiastic astronomer, Janssen, was commissioned by the Academy of Sciences to attend and make observations of this eclipse. But M. Janssen was in Paris, as were also his instruments, and the eclipse track lay nearly a thousand miles away. The one and only possible mode of fulfilling his commission was to try the off-chance afforded by balloon, and this chance he resorted to only twenty days before the eclipse was due.
Taking with him the essential parts of a reflecting telescope, and an active young sailor as assistant, he left Paris at 6 a.m. and rose at once to 3,600 feet, dipping again somewhat at sunrise (owing, as he supposed, to loss of heat through radiation), but subsequently ascending again rapidly under the increased altitude of the sun till his balloon attained its highest level of 7,200 feet. From this elevation, shortly after 11 a.m., he sighted the sea, when he commenced a descent which brought him to earth at the mouth of the Loire. It had been fast travelling–some 300 miles in little more than three hours–and the ground wind was strong. Nevertheless, neither passengers nor instruments were injured, and M. Janssen was fully established by the day of eclipse on his observing ground at Oran, on the Algerian coast. It is distressing to add that the phenomenon was hidden by cloud. In the month that followed this splendid venture no fewer than fifteen balloons escaped from Paris, of which four fell into the hands of the enemy, although for greater security all ascents were now being made by night.
On January 13th, 1871, a new device for the return post was tried, and, in addition to pigeons, sheep dogs were taken up, with the idea of their being returned to the city with messages concealed within their collars. There is apparently no record of any message having been returned to the town by this ingenious method. On January 24th a balloon, piloted by a sailor, and containing a large freight of letters, fell within the Prussian lines, but the patriotism of the country was strong enough to secure the despatches being saved and entrusted to the safe conveyance of the Post Office. Then followed the total loss of a balloon at sea; but this was destined to be the last, save one, that was to attempt the dangerous mission. The next day, January 28th, the last official balloon left the town, manned by a single sailor, carrying but a small weight of despatches, but ordering the ships to proceed to Dieppe for the revictualling of Paris.
Five additional balloons at that time in readiness were never required for the risky service for which they were designed.
There can be little doubt that had the siege continued a more elaborate use of balloons would have been developed. Schemes were being mooted to attempt the vastly more difficult task of conveying balloons into Paris from outside. When hostilities terminated there were actually six balloons in readiness for this venture at Lisle, and waiting only for a northerly wind. M. de Fonvielle, possessed of both courage and experience, was prepared to put in practice a method of guiding by a small propelling force a balloon that was being carried by sufficiently favouring winds within a few degrees of its desired goal–and in the case of Paris the goal was an area of some twenty miles in diameter. Within the invested area several attempts were actually made to control balloons by methods of steering. The names of Vert and Dupuy de Lome must here be specially mentioned. The former had elaborated an invention which received much assistance, and was subsequently exhibited at the Crystal Palace. The latter received a grant of L1,600 to perfect a complex machine, having within its gas envelope an air chamber, suggested by the swimming bladder of a fish, having also a sail helm and a propelling screw, to be operated by manual labour.
The relation of this invention to others of similar purpose will be further discussed later on. But an actual trial of a dirigible craft, the design of Admiral Labrousse, was made from the Orleans railway station on January 9th. This machine consisted of a balloon of about the standard capacity of the siege balloons, namely some 70,000 cubic feet, fitted with two screws of about 12 feet diameter, but capable of being readily worked at moderate speed. It was not a success. M. Richard, with three sailors, made a tentative ascent, and used their best endeavours to control their vessel, but practically without avail, and the machine presently coming to earth clumsily, a portion of the gear caught in the ground and the travellers were thrown over and roughly dragged for a long distance.
Fairly looked at, the aerial post of the siege of Paris must be regarded as an ambitious and, on the whole, successful enterprise. Some two million and a half of letters, amounting in weight to some ten tons, were conveyed through the four months, in addition to which at least an equal weight of other freight was taken up, exclusive of actual passengers, of whom no fewer than two hundred were transported from the beleaguered city. Of these only one returned, seven or eight were drowned, twice this number were taken prisoners, and as many again more or less injured in descents. From a purely financial point of view the undertaking was no failure, as the cost, great as it necessarily became, was, it is said, fairly covered by the postage, which it was possible and by no means unreasonable to levy. The recognised tariff seems to have been 20 centimes for 4 grammes, or at the rate of not greatly more than a shilling per English ounce. Surely hardly on a par with famein prices in a time of siege.
It has already been stated that the defenders of Paris did not derive substantial assistance from the services of such a reconnoitring balloon as is generally used in warfare at every available opportunity. It is possible that the peculiar circumstances of the investment of the town rendered such reconnaissance of comparatively small value. But, at any rate, it seems clear that due opportunity was not given to this strategic method. M. Giffard, who at the commencement of the siege was in Paris, and whose experience with a captive balloon was second to none, made early overtures to the Government, offering to build for L40,000 a suitable balloon, capable of raising forty persons to a heightm of 3,000 feet. Forty aerial scouts, it may be said, are hardly needed for purposes of outlook at one time; but it appears that this was not the consideration which stood in the way of M. Giffard’s offer being accepted. According to M. de Fonvielle, the Government refused the experienced aeronaut’s proposal on the ground that he required a place in the Champs Elysees, “which it would be necessary to clear of a few shrubs”!
CHAPTER XIX. THE TRAGEDY OF THE ZENITH.”–THE NAVIGABLE BALLOON
The mechanical air ship had, by this time, as may be inferred, begun seriously to occupy the attention of both theoretical and practical aeronauts. One of the earliest machines deserving of special mention was designed by M. Giffard, and consisted of an elongated balloon, 104 feet in length and 39 feet in greatest diameter, furnished with a triangular rudder, and a steam engine operating a screw. The fire of the engine, which burned coke, was skilfully protected, and the fuel and water required were taken into calculation as so much ballast to be gradually expended. In this vessel, inflated only with coal gas, and somewhat unmanageable and difficult to balance, the enthusiastic inventor ascended alone from the Hippodrome and executed sundry desired movements, not unsuccessfully. But the trial was not of long duration, and the descent proved both rapid and perilous. Had the trial been made in such a perfect calm as that which prevailed when certain subsequent inventions were tested, it was considered that M. Giffard’s vessel would have been as navigable as a boat in the water. This unrivalled mechanician, after having made great advances in the direction of high speed engines of sufficient lightness, proceeded to design a vastly improved dirigible balloon, when his endeavours were frustrated by blindness.
As has been already stated, M. Dupuy de Lome, at the end of the siege of Paris, was engaged in building a navigable balloon, which, owing to the unsettled state of affairs in France, did not receive its trial till two years later. This balloon, which was inflated with pure hydrogen, was of greater capacity than that of M. Giffard, being cigar shaped and measuring 118 feet by 48 feet. It was also provided with an ingenious arrangement consisting of an internal air bag, capable of being either inflated or discharged, for the purpose of keeping the principal envelope always distended, and thus offering the least possible resistance to the wind. The propelling power was the manual labour of eight men working the screw, and the steerage was provided for by a triangular rudder. The trial, which was carried out without mishap, took place in February, 1872, in the Fort of Vincennes, under the personal direction of the inventor, when it was found that the vessel readily obeyed the helm, and was capable of a speed exceeding six miles an hour.
It was not till nine years after this that the next important trial with air ships was made. The brothers Tissandier will then be found taking the lead, and an appalling incident in the aeronautical career of one of these has now to be recorded.
In the spring of 1875, and with the co-operation of French scientific societies, it was determined to make two experimental voyages in a balloon called the “Zenith,” one of these to be of long duration, the other of great height. The first of these had been successfully accomplished in a flight of twenty-four hours’ duration from Paris to Bordeaux. It was now April the 15th, and the lofty flight was embarked upon by M. Gaston Tissandier, accompanied by MM. Croce-Spinelli and Sivel. Under competent advice, provision for respiration on emergency was provided in three small balloons, filled with a mixture of air and oxygen, and fitted with indiarubber hose pipes, which would allow the mixture, when inhaled, to pass first through a wash bottle containing aromatic fluid. The experiments determined on included an analysis of the proportion of carbonic acid gas at different heights by means of special apparatus; spectroscopic observations, and the readings registered by certain barometers and thermometers. A novel and valuable experiment, also arranged, was that of testing the internal temperature of the balloon as compared with that of the external air.
Ascending at 11.30 a.m. under a warm sun, the balloon had by 1 p.m. reached an altitude of 16,000 feet, when the external air was at freezing point, the gas high in the balloon being 72 degrees, and at the centre 66 degrees. Ere this height had been fully reached, however, the voyagers had begun to breathe oxygen. At 11.57, an hour previously, Spinelli had written in his notebook, “Slight pain in the ears–somewhat oppressed–it is the gas.” At 23,000 feet Sivel wrote in his notebook, “I am inhaling oxygen–the effect is excellent,” after which he proceeded to urge the balloon higher by a discharge of ballast. The rest of the terrible narrative has now to be taken from the notes of M. Tissandier, and as these constitute one of the most thrilling narratives in aeronautical records we transcribe them nearly in full, as given by Mr. Glaisher:–
“At 23,000 feet we were standing up in the car. Sivel, who had given up for a moment, is re-invigorated. Croce-Spinelli is motionless in front of me…. I felt stupefied and frozen. I wished to put on my fur gloves, but, without being conscious of it, the action of taking them from my pocket necessitated an effort that I could no longer make…. I copy, verbatim, the following lines which were written by me, although I have no very distinct remembrance of doing so. They are traced in a hardly legible manner by a hand trembling with cold: ‘My hands are frozen. I am all right. We are all all right. Fog in the horizon, with little rounded cirrus. We are ascending. Croce pants; he inhales oxygen. Sivel closes his eyes. Croce also closes his eyes…. Sivel throws out ballast’–these last words are hardly readable. Sivel seized his knife and cut successively three cords, and the three bags emptied themselves and we ascended rapidly. The last remembrance of this ascent which remains clear to me relates to a moment earlier. Croce-Spinelli was seated, holding in one hand a wash bottle of oxygen gas. His head was slightly inclined and he seemed oppressed. I had still strength to tap the aneroid barometer to facilitate the movement of the needle. Sivel had just raised his hand towards the sky. As for myself, I remained perfectly still, without suspecting that I had, perhaps, already lost the power of moving. About the height of 25,000 feet the condition of stupefaction which ensues is extraordinary. The mind and body weaken by degrees, and imperceptibly, without consciousness of it. No suffering is then experienced; on the contrary, an inner joy is felt like an irradiation from the surrounding flood of light. One becomes indifferent. One thinks no more of the perilous position or of danger. One ascends, and is happy to ascend. The vertigo of the upper regions is not an idle word; but, so far as I can judge from my personal impression, vertigo appears at the last moment; it immediately precedes annihilation, sudden, unexpected, and irresistible.
“When Sivel cut away the bags of ballast at the height of about 24,000 feet, I seemed to remember that he was sitting at the bottom of the car, and nearly in the same position as Croce-Spinelli. For my part, I was in the angle of the car, thanks to which support I was able to hold up; but I soon felt too weak even to turn my head to look at my companions. Soon I wished to take hold of the tube of oxygen, but it was impossible to raise my arm. My mind, nevertheless, was quite clear. I wished to explain, ‘We are 8,000 metres high’; but my tongue was, as it were, paralysed. All at once I closed my eyes, and, sinking down inert, became insensible. This was about 1.30 p.m. At 2.8 p.m. I awoke for a moment, and found the balloon rapidly descending. I was able to cut away a bag of ballast to check the speed and write in my notebook the following lines, which I copy:
” ‘We are descending. Temperature, 3 degrees. I throw out ballast. Barometer, 12.4 inches. We are descending. Sivel and Croce still in a fainting state at the bottom of the car. Descending very rapidly.’
“Hardly had I written these lines when a kind of trembling seized me, and I fell back weakened again. There was a violent wind from below, upwards, denoting a very rapid descent. After some minutes I felt myself shaken by the arm, and I recognised Croce, who had revived. ‘Throw out ballast,’ he said to me, ‘we are descending ‘; but I could hardly open my eyes, and did not see whether Sivel was awake. I called to mind that Croce unfastened the aspirator, which he then threw overboard, and then he threw out ballast, rugs, etc.
“All this is an extremely confused remembrance, quickly extinguished, for again I fell back inert more completely than before, and it seemed to me that I was dying. What happened? It is certain that the balloon, relieved of a great weight of ballast, at once ascended to the higher regions.
“At 3.30 p.m. I opened my eyes again. I felt dreadfully giddy and oppressed, but gradually came to myself. The balloon was descending with frightful speed and making great oscillations. I crept along on my knees, and I pulled Sivel and Croce by the arm. ‘Sivel! Croce!’ I exclaimed, ‘Wake up!’ My two companions were huddled up motionless in the car, covered by their cloaks. I collected all my strength, and endeavoured to raise them up. Sivel’s face was black, his eyes dull, and his mouth was open and full of blood. Croce’s eyes were half closed and his mouth was bloody.
“To relate what happened afterwards is quite impossible. I felt a frightful wind; we were still 9,700 feet high. There remained in the car two bags of ballast, which I threw out. I was drawing near the earth. I looked for my knife to cut the small rope which held the anchor, but could not find it. I was like a madman, and continued to call ‘Sivel! Sivel!’ By good fortune I was able to put my hand upon my knife and detach the anchor at the right moment. The shock on coming to the ground was dreadful. The balloon seemed as if it were being flattened. I thought it was going to remain where it had fallen, but the wind was high, and it was dragged across fields, the anchor not catching. The bodies of my unfortunate friends were shaken about in the car, and I thought every moment they would be jerked out. At length, however, I seized the valve line, and the gas soon escaped from the balloon, which lodged against a tree. It was then four o’clock. On stepping out, I was seized with a feverish attack, and sank down and thought for a moment that I was going to join my friends in the next world; but I came to. I found the bodies of my friends cold and stiff. I had them put under shelter in an adjacent barn. The descent of the ‘Zenith’ took place in the plains 155 miles from Paris as the crow flies. The greatest height attained in this ascent is estimated at 28,000 feet.”
It was in 1884 that the brothers Tissandier commenced experiments with a screw-propelled air ship resembling in shape those constructed by Giffard and Dupuy de Lome, but smaller, measuring only 91 feet by 30 feet, and operated by an electric motor placed in circuit with a powerful battery of bichromate cells. Two trials were made with this vessel in October, 1883, and again in the following September, when it proved itself capable of holding its course in calm air and of being readily controlled by the rudder.
But, ere this, a number of somewhat similar experiments, on behalf of the French Government, had been entered upon by Captains Renard and Krebs at Chalais-Meudon. Their balloon may be described as fish-shaped, 165 feet long, and 27.5 feet in principal diameter. It was operated by an electric motor, which was capable of driving a screw of large dimensions at forty-eight revolutions per minute. At its first trial, in August, 1884, in dead calm, it attained a velocity of over twelve miles per hour, travelling some two and a half miles in a forward direction, when, by application of the rudder and judicious management, it was manoeuvred homewards, and practically brought to earth at the point of departure.
A more important trial was made on the 12th of the following month, and was witnessed by M. Tissandier, according to whom the aerostat conveying the inventors ascended gently and steadily, drifting with an appreciable breeze until the screw was set in motion and the helm put down, when the vessel was brought round to the wind and held its own until the motor, by an accident, ceased working. A little later the same air ship met with more signal success. On one occasion, starting from ChalaisMeudon, it took a direct course to the N.E., crossing the railway and the Seine, where the aeronauts, stopping the screw, ascertained the velocity of the wind to be approximately five miles an hour. The screw being again put in motion, the balloon was steered to the right, and, following a path parallel to its first, returned to its point of departure. Starting again the same afternoon, it was caused to perform a variety of aerial evolutions, and after thirty-five minutes returned once more to its starting place.
A tabular comparison of the four navigable balloons which we have now described has been given as follows:–
Date. Name. Motor. Vel. p. Sec. 1852 M. Henri Giffard Steam engine 13.12 ft. 1872 M. Dupuy de Lome Muscular force 9.18 ft. 1883 MM. Tissandier Electric motor 9.84 ft. 1884 MM. Renard & Krebs Electric motor 18.04 ft.
About this period, that is in 1883, and really prior to the Meudon experiments, there were other attempts at aerial locomotion not to be altogether passed over, which were made also in France, but financed by English money. The experiments were performed by Mr. F. A. Gower, who, writing to Professor Tyndall, claims to have succeeded in “driving a large balloon fairly against the wind by steam power.” A melancholy interest will always belong to these trials from the fact that Mr. Gower was subsequently blown out to sea with his balloon, leaving no trace behind.
At this stage it will be well to glance at some of the more important theories which were being mooted as to the possibility of aerial locomotion properly so called. Broadly, there were two rival schools at this time. We will call them the “lighter-than-air-ites” and the “heavier-than-air-ites,” respectively. The former were the advocates of the air vessel of which the balloon is a type. The latter school maintained that, as birds are heavier than air, so the air locomotive of the future would be a machine itself heavier than air, but capable of being navigated by a motor yet to be discovered, which would develop proportionate power. Sir H. Maxim’s words may be aptly quoted here. “In all Nature,” he says, “we do not find a single balloon. All Nature’s flying machines are heavier than the air, and depend altogether upon the development of dynamic energy.”
The faculty of soaring, possessed by many birds, of which the albatross may be considered a type, led to numerous speculations as to what would constitute the ideal principle of the air motor. Sir G. Cayley, as far back as 1809, wrote a classical article on this subject, without, however, adding much to its elucidation. Others after his time conceived that the bird, by sheer habit and practice, could perform, as it were, a trick in balancing by making use of the complex air streams varying in speed and direction that were supposed to intermingle above.
Mr. R. A. Proctor discusses the matter with his usual clear-sightedness. He premises that the bird may, in actual fact, only poise itself for some ten minutes–an interval which many will consider far too small–without flap of the wings, and, while contending that the problem must be simply a mechanical one, is ready to admit that “the sustaining power of the air on bodies of a particular form travelling swiftly through it may be much greater or very different in character from what is supposed.” In his opinion, it is a fact that a flat body travelling swiftly and horizontally will sink towards the ground much more slowly than a similar body moving similarly but with less speed. In proof of this he gives the homely illustration of a flat stone caused to make ” ducks and drakes.” Thus he contends that the bird accomplishes its floating feat simply by occasional powerful propulsive efforts, combined with perfect balance. From which he deduces the corollary that “if ever the art of flying, or rather of making flying machines, is attained by man, it will be by combining rapid motion with the power of perfect balancing.”
It will now appear as a natural and certain consequence that a feature to be introduced by experimentalists into flying machines should be the “Aeroplane,” or, in other words, a plane which, at a desired angle, should be driven at speed through the air. Most notable attempts with this expedient were now shortly made by Hiram Maxim, Langley, and others.
But, contemporaneously with these attempts, certain feats with the rival aerostat–the balloon–were accomplished, which will be most fittingly told in this place.
CHAPTER XX. A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
It will have been gathered from what has been already stated that the balloonist is commonly in much uncertainty as to his precise course when he is above the clouds, or when unable from darkness to see the earth beneath him. With a view of overcoming this disadvantage some original experiments were suggested by a distinguished officer, who during the seventies had begun to interest himself in aeronautics.
This was Captain Burnaby. His method was to employ two small silk parachutes, which, if required, might carry burning magnesium wires, and which were to be attached to each other by a length of silk thread. On dropping one parachute, it would first partake of the motion of the balloon, but would presently drop below, when the second parachute would be dismissed, and then an imaginary line drawn between the two bodies was supposed to betray the balloon’s course. It should be mentioned, however, that if a careful study is made of the course of many descending parachutes it will be found that their behaviour is too uncertain to be relied upon for such a purpose as the above. They will often float behind the balloon’s wake, but sometimes again will be found in front, and sometimes striking off in some side direction, so wayward and complex are the currents which control such small bodies. Mr. Glaisher has stated that a balloon’s course above the clouds may be detected by observing the grapnel, supposed to be hanging below the car, as this would be seen to be out of the vertical as the balloon drifted, and thus serve to indicate the course. However this may be, the most experienced sky sailors will be found to be in perplexity as to their direction, as also their speed, when view of the earth is obscured.
But Captain Burnaby is associated notably with the adventurous side of ballooning, the most famous of his aerial exploits being, perhaps, that of crossing the English Channel alone from Dover on March 23rd, 1882. Outwardly, he made presence of sailing to Paris by sky to dine there that evening; inwardly, he had determined to start simply with a wind which bid fair for a cross-Channel trip, and to take whatever chances it might bring him.
Thus, at 10.30 a.m., just as the mail packet left the pier, he cast off with a lifting power which rapidly carried him to a height of 2,000 feet, when he found his course to be towards Folkestone. But by shortly after 11 o’clock he had decided that he was changing his direction, and when, as he judged, some seven miles from Boulogne, the wind was carrying him not across, but down the Channel. Then, for nearly four hours, the balloon shifted about with no improvement in the outlook, after which the wind fell calm, and the balloon remained motionless at 2,000 feet above the sea. This state of things continuing for an hour, the Captain resolved on the heroic expedient of casting out all his ballast and philosophically abiding the issue. The manoeuvre turned out a happy one, for the balloon, shooting up to 11,000 feet, caught a current, on which it was rapidly carried towards and over the main land; and, when twelve miles beyond Dieppe, it became easy to descend to a lower level by manipulation of the valve, and finally to make a successful landing in open country beyond.
A few years before, an attempt to cross the Channel from the other side ended far more disastrously. Jules Duruof, already mentioned as having piloted the first runaway balloon from beleaguered Paris, had determined on an attempt to cross over to England from Calais; and, duly advertising the event, a large concourse assembled on the day announced, clamouring loudly for the ascent. But the wind proved unsuitable, setting out over the North Sea, and the mayor thought fit to interfere, and had the car removed so as to prevent proceedings. On this the crowd grew impatient, and Duruof, determining to keep faith with them, succeeded by an artifice in regaining his car, which he hastily carried back to the balloon, and immediately taking his seat, and accompanied by his wife, the intrepid pair commenced their bold flight just as the shades of evening were settling down. Shortly the balloon disappeared into the gathering darkness, and then for three days Calais knew no more of balloon or balloonists.
Neither could the voyagers see aught for certain of their own course, and thus through the long night hours their attention was wholly needed, without chance of sleep, in closely watching their situation, lest unawares they should be borne down on the waves. When morning broke they discovered that they were still being carried out over the sea on a furious gale, being apparently off the Danish coast, with the distant mountains of Norway dimly visible on the starboard bow. It was at this point, and possibly owing to the chill commonly experienced aloft soon after dawn, that the balloon suddenly took a downward course and plunged into the sea, happily, however,fairly in the track of vessels. Presently a ship came in sight, but cruelly kept on its course, leaving the castaways in despair, with their car fast succumbing to the waves.
Help, nevertheless, was really at hand. The captain of an English fishing smack, the Grand Charge, had sighted the sinking balloon, and was already bearing down to the rescue. It is said that when, at length, a boat came alongside as near as it was possible, Madame Duruof was unable to make the necessary effort to jump on board, and her husband had to throw her into the arms of the sailors. A fitting sequel to the story comes from Paris, where the heroic couple, after a sojourn in England, were given a splendid reception and a purse of money, with which M. Duruof forthwith constructed a new balloon, named the “Ville de Calais.”
On the 4th of March, 1882, the ardent amateur balloonist, Mr. Simmons, had a narrow escape in circumstances somewhat similar to the above. He was attempting, in company with Colonel Brine, to cross the Channel from Canterbury, when a change of wind carried them out towards the North Sea. Falling in the water, they abandoned their balloon, but were rescued by the mail packet Foam.
The same amateur aeronaut met with an exciting experience not long after, when in company with Sir Claude C. de Crespigny. The two adventurers left Maldon, in Essex, at 11 p.m., on an August night, and, sailing at a great height out to sea, lost all sight of land till 6 a.m. the next morning, when, at 17,000 feet altitude, they sighted the opposite coast and descended in safety near Flushing.
Yet another adventure at sea, and one which proved fatal and unspeakably regrettable, occurred about this time, namely, on the 10th of December, 1881, when Captain Templer, Mr. W. Powell, M.P., and Mr. Agg-Gardner ascended from Bath. We prefer to give the account as it appears in a leading article in the Times for December 13th of that year.
After sailing over Glastonbury, “Crewkerne was presently sighted, then Beaminster. The roar of the sea gave the next indication of the locality to which the balloon had drifted and the first hint of the possible perils of the voyage. A descent was now effected to within a few hundred feet of earth, and an endeavour was made to ascertain the exact position they had reached. The course taken by the balloon between Beaminster and the sea is not stated in Captain Templer’s letter. The wind, as far as we can gather, must have shifted, or different currents of air must have been found at the different altitudes. What Captain Templer says is that they coasted along to Symonsbury, passing, it would seem, in an easterly direction and keeping still very near to the earth. Soon after they had left Symonsbury, Captain Templer shouted to a man below to tell them how far they were from Bridport, and he received for answer that Bridport was about a mile off. The pace at which the balloon was moving had now increased to thirty-five miles an hour. The sea was dangerously close, and a few minutes in a southerly current of air would have been enough to carry them over it. They seem, however, to have been confident in their own powers of management. They threw out ballast, and rose to a height of 1,500 feet, and thence came down again only just in time, touching the ground at a distance of about 150 yards from the cliff. The balloon here dragged for a few feet, and Captain Templer, who had been letting off the gas, rolled out of the car, still holding the valve line in his hand. This was the last chance of a safe escape for anybody. The balloon, with its weight lightened, went up about eight feet. Mr. Agg-Gardner dropped out and broke his leg. Mr. Powell now remained as the sole occupant of the car. Captain Templer, who had still hold of the rope, shouted to Mr. Powell to come down the line. This he attempted to do, but in a few seconds, and before he could commence his perilous descent, the line was torn out of Captain Templer’s hands. All communication with the earth was cut off, and the balloon rose rapidly, taking Mr. Powell with it in a south-easterly direction out to sea.”
It was a few seasons previous to this, namely, on the 8th of July, 1874, when Mr. Simmons was concerned in a balloon fatality of a peculiarly distressing nature. A Belgian, Vincent de Groof, styling himself the “Flying Man,” announced his intention of descending in a parachute from a balloon piloted by Mr. Simmons, who was to start from Cremorne Gardens. The balloon duly ascended, with De Groof in his machine suspended below, and when over St. Luke’s Church, and at a height estimated at 80 feet, it is thought that the unfortunate man overbalanced himself after detaching his apparatus, and fell forward, clinging to the ropes. The machine failed to open, and De Groof was precipitated into Robert Street, Chelsea, expiring almost immediately. The porter of Chelsea Infirmary, who was watching the balloon, asserted that he fancied the falling man called out twice, “Drop into the churchyard; look out!” Mr. Simmons, shooting upwards in his balloon, thus suddenly lightened, to a great height, became insensible, and when he recovered consciousness found himself over Victoria Park. He made a descent, without mishap, on a line of railway in Essex.
On the 19th of August, 1887, occurred an important total eclipse of the sun, the track of which lay across Germany, Russia, Western Siberia, and Japan. At all suitable stations along the shadow track astronomers from all parts of the world established themselves; but at many eclipses observers had had bad fortune owing to the phenomenon at the critical moment being obscured. And on this account one astronomer determined on measures which should render his chances of a clear view a practical certainty. Professor Mendeleef, in Russia, resolved to engage a balloon, and by rising above the cloud barrier, should there be one, to have the eclipse all to himself. It was an example of fine enthusiasm, which, moreover, was presently put to a severe and unexpected test, for the balloon, when inflated, proved unable to take up both the aeronaut and the astronomer, whereupon the latter, though wholly inexperienced, had no alternative but to ascend alone, which, either by accident or choice, he actually did. Shooting up into space, he soon reached an altitude of 11,500 feet, where he obtained, even if he did not enjoy, an unobstructed view of the Corona. It may be supposed, however, that, owing to the novelty of his situation, his scientific observations may not have been so complete as they would have been on terra firma.
In the same month an attempt to reach a record height was made by MM. Jovis and Mallet at Paris, with the net result that an elevation of 23,000 feet was reached. It will have been noted that the difficulty through physical exhaustion of inhaling oxygen from either a bag or cylinder is a serious matter not easily overcome, and it has been suggested that the helmet invented by M. Fleuss might prove of value. This contrivance, which has scarcely attracted the attention it has merited, provides a receptacle for respiration, containing oxygen and certain purifying media, by means of which the inventor was able to remain for hours under water without any communication with the outward air.
About the period at which we have now arrived two fatal accidents befel English aeronauts. We have related how Maldon, in Essex, was associated with one of the more adventurous exploits in Mr. Simmons’s career. It was fated also to be associated with the voyage with which his career closed. On August 27th, 1888, he ascended from Olympia in company with Mr. Field, of West Brighton, and Mr. Myers, of the Natural History Museum, with the intention, if practicable, of crossing to Flanders; and the voyage proceeded happily until the neighbourhood of Maldon was reached, when, as the sea coast was in sight, and it was already past five o’clock, it appeared prudent to Mr. Simmons to descend and moor the balloon for the night. Some labourers some three miles from Maldon sighted the balloon coming up at speed, and at the same time descending until its grapnel commenced tearing through a field of barley, when ballast was thrown out, causing the balloon to rise again towards and over some tall elms, which became the cause of the disaster which followed. The grapnel, catching in the upper boughs of one of these trees, held fast, while the balloon, borne by the force of a strong wind, was repeatedly blown down to earth with violence, rebounding each time to a considerable height, only to be flung down again on the same spot. After three or four impacts the balloon is reported to have burst with a loud noise, when high in the air, the silk being blown about over the field, and the car and its occupants dashed to the ground. Help was unavailing till this final catastrophe, and when, at length, the labourers were able to extricate the party, Mr. Simmons was found with a fractured skull and both companions badly injured.
Four summers later, June 30th, 1892, Captain Dale, the aeronaut to the Crystal Palace, was announced to make an ascent from the usual balloon grounds, weather permitting. Through the night and morning a violent storm prevailed, and it was contemplated that the exhibition would be withdrawn; but the wind abating in the afternoon, the inflation was proceeded with, and the ascent took place shortly before 6 p.m., not, however, before a large rent had been discovered and repaired as far as possible by Mrs. Dale. As passengers, there ascended the Captain’s son William, aged nineteen, Mr. J. Macintosh, and Mr. Cecil Shadbolt. When the balloon had reached an altitude estimated at 600 feet the onlookers were horrified to see it suddenly collapse, a large rent having developed near the top part of the silk, from which the gas “rushed out in a dense mass, allowing the balloon to fall like a rag.” The occupants of the car were seen to be throwing out everything madly, even wrenching the buttons from their clothing. All, however, with little avail, for the balloon fell “with a sickening thud,” midway between the Maze and lower lake. All were found alive; but Captain Dale, who had alighted on his back, died in a few minutes; Mr. Shadbolt succumbed later, and both remaining passengers sustained terrible injuries.
Few balloon mishaps, unattended with fatal results, have proved more exciting than the following. A large party had ascended from Belfast, in a monster balloon, under the guidance of Mr. Coxwell, on a day which was very unfit for the purpose by reason of stormy weather. A more serious trouble than the wind, however, lay in several of the passengers themselves, who seem to have been highly excitable Irishmen, incapable at the critical moment of quietly obeying orders
The principal hero of the story, a German. Mr. Runge, in writing afterwards to the Ulster Observer, entirely exonerates Mr. Coxwell from any blame, attributing his mischances solely to the reprehensible conduct of his companions. On approaching the ground, Mr. Coxwell gave clear instructions. The passengers were to sit down in an unconstrained position facing each other, and be prepared for some heavy shocks. Above all things they were to be careful to get out one by one, and on no account to leave hold of the car. Many of the passengers, however, refused to sit down, and, according to Mr. Runge, “behaved in the wildest manner, losing completely their self-control. Seizing the valve rope themselves, they tore it away from its attachment, the stronger pushing back the weaker, and refusing to lend help when they had got out. In consequence of this the car, relieved of their weight, tore away from the grasp of Mr. Coxwell and those who still clung to it, and rose above the trees, with Mr. Runge and one other passenger, Mr. Halferty, alone within. As the balloon came earthwards again, they shouted to the countrymen for succour, but without the slightest avail, and presently, the anchor catching, the car struck the earth with a shock which threw Mr. Halferty out on the ground, leaving Mr. Runge to rise again into the air, this time alone.” He thus continues the story:–
“The balloon moved on, very soon, in a horizontal direction straight towards the sea, which we were then rapidly nearing. Coming to a farm, I shouted out to the people standing there. Some women, with their quick humane instincts, were the first to perceive my danger, and exhorted the men to hurry to my assistance, they themselves running as fast as they could to tender what little help they might be able to give me. The anchor stuck in a willow tree. I shouted out to the people below to secure the cable and anchor by ropes, which they did. The evening was now beautifully still, the breeze had died away, and the balloon was swinging calmly at her moorings above the farmhouse. One of the men asked me whether I had a rope with me, and how I intended to get out. I told them only to take care of the cable, because the balloon would settle down by herself before long. I was congratulating myself on a speedy escape from my dangerous position. I had not counted on the wind. A breeze in about six or eight minutes sprang up, tossed the balloon about like a large sail, then a crash, and–the anchor was loose again. It tore through the trees, flinging limbs and branches about like matches. It struck the roof of the farmhouse, splintering the chimneys and tiles like glass.
“On I went; I came near another farm; shouted out for help, and told the men to secure the anchor to the foot of a large tree close by. The anchor was soon made fast, but this was only a momentary relief. The breeze again filled the half-empty balloon like a sail, there was a severe strain on the cable, then a dull sound, and a severe concussion of the basket–the cable, strange fatality, had broken, and the anchor, my last and only hope, was gone. I was now carried on in a straight direction towards the sea, which was but a short distance ahead. The anchor being lost I gave up all hope. I sat down resigned in the car, and prepared for the end. All at once I discovered that a side current was drifting me towards the mountain; the car struck the ground, and was dashing along at a fearful rate, knocking down stone fences and breaking everything it came in contact with in its wild career. By-and-by the knocks became less frequent. We were passing over a cultivated country, and the car was, as it were skimming the surface and grazing the top of the hedges. I saw a thick hawthorn hedge at some distance before me, and the balloon rapidly sweeping towards it. That was my only chance. I rushed to the edge of the car and flung myself down upon the hedge.”
CHAPTER XXI. THE COMING OF THE FLYING MACHINE.
In the early nineties the air ship was engaging the attention of many inventors, and was making important strides in the hands of Mr. Maxim. This unrivalled mechanician, in stating the case, premises that a motive power has to be discovered which can develop at least as much power in proportion to its weight as a bird is able to develop. He asserts that a heavy bird, with relatively small wings–such as a goose–carries about 150 lb. to the horse power, while the albatross or the vulture, possessed of proportionately greater winged surface, can carry about 250 lbs. per horse power.
Professor Langley, of Washington, working contemporaneously, but independently of Mr. Maxim, had tried exhaustive experiments on a rotating arm (characteristically designated by Mr. Maxim a “merry-go-round”), thirty feet long, applying screw propellers. He used, for the most part, small planes, carrying loads of only two or three pounds, and, under these circumstances, the weight carried was at the rate of 250 lbs. per horse power. His important statements with regard to these trials are that one-horse power will transport a larger weight at twenty miles an hour than at ten, and a still larger at forty miles than at twenty, and so on; that “the sustaining pressure of the air on a plane moving at a small angle of inclination to a horizontal path is many times greater than would result from the formula implicitly given by Newton, while, whereas in land or marine transport increased speed is maintained only by a disproportionate expenditure of power within the limits of experiment, in aerial horizontal transport the higher speeds are more economical of power than the lower ones.”
This Mr. Maxim is evidently ready to endorse, stating, in his own words, that birds obtain the greater part of their support by moving forward with sufficient velocity so as to be constantly resting on new air, the inertia of which has not been disturbed. Mr. Maxim’s trials were on a scale comparable with all his mechanical achievements. He employed for his experiments a rotating arm, sweeping out a circle, the circumference of which was 200 feet. To the end of this arm he attached a cigar-shaped apparatus, driven by a screw, and arranged in such a manner that aero-planes could be attached to it at any angle. These planes were on a large scale, carrying weights of from 20 lbs. to 100 lbs. With this contrivance he found that, whatever push the screw communicated to the aero-plane, “the plane would lift in a vertical direction from ten to fifteen times as much as the horizontal push that it received from the screw, and which depended upon the angle at which the plane was set, and the speed at which the apparatus was travelling through the air.” Next, having determined by experiment the power required to perform artificial flight, Mr. Maxim applied himself to designing the requisite motor. “I constructed,” he states, “two sets of compound engines of tempered steel, all the parts being made very light and strong, and a steam generator of peculiar construction, the greater part of the heating surface consisting of small and thin copper tubes. For fuel I employed naphtha.”
This Mr. Maxim wrote in 1892, adding that he was then experimenting with a large machine, having a spread of over 100 feet. Labour, skill, and money were lavishly devoted henceforward to the great task undertaken, and it was not long before the giant flying machine, the outcome of so much patient experimenting, was completed and put to a practical trial. Its weight was 7,500 lbs. The screw propellers were nearly 18 feet in diameter, each with two blades, while the engines were capable of being run up to 360 horse power. The entire machine was mounted on an inner railway track of 9 feet and an outer of 35 feet gauge, while above there was a reversed rail along which the machine would begin to run so soon as with increase of speed it commenced to lift itself off the inner track.
In one of the latest experiments it was found that when a speed of 42 miles an hour was attained all the wheels were running on the upper track, and revolving in the opposite direction from those on the lower track. However, after running about 1,000 feet, an axle tree doubled up, and immediately afterwards the upper track broke away, and the machine, becoming liberated, floated in the air, “giving those on board a sensation of being in a boat.”
The experiment proved conclusively to the inventor that a machine could be made on a large scale, in which the lifting effect should be considerably greater than the weight of the machine, and this, too, when a steam engine was the motor. When, therefore, in the years shortly following, the steam engine was for the purposes of aerial locomotion superseded by the lighter and more suitable petrol engine, the construction of a navigable air ship became vastly more practicable. Still, in Sir H. Maxim’s opinion, lately expressed, “those who seek to navigate the air by machines lighter than the air have come, practically, to the end of their tether,” while, on the other hand, “those who seek to navigate the air with machines heavier than the air have not even made a start as yet, and the possibilities before them are very great indeed.”
As to the assertion that the aerial navigators last mentioned “have not even made a start as yet,” we can only say that Sir H. Maxim speaks with far too much modesty. His own colossal labours in the direction of that mode of aerial flight, which he considers to be alone feasible, are of the first importance and value, and, as far as they have gone, exhaustive. Had his experiments been simply confined to his classical investigations of the proper form of the screw propeller his name would still have been handed down as a true pioneer in aeronautics. His work, however, covers far wider ground, and he has, in a variety of ways, furnished practical and reliable data, which must always be an indispensable guide to every future worker in the same field.
Professor Langley, in attacking the same problem, first studied the principle and behaviour of a well-known toy–the model invented by Penaud, which, driven by the tension of india-rubber, sustains itself in the air for a few seconds. He constructed over thirty modifications of this model, and spent many months in trying from these to as certain what he terms the “laws of balancing leading to horizontal flight.” His best endeavours at first, however, showed that he needed three or four feet of sustaining surface to a pound of weight, whereas he calculated that a bird could soar with a surface of less than half a foot to the pound. He next proceeded to steam-driven models in which for a time he found an insuperable difficulty in keeping down the weight, which, in practice, always exceeded his calculation; and it was not till the end of 1893 that he felt himself prepared for a fair trial. At this time he had prepared a model weighing between nine and ten pounds, and he needed only a suitable launching apparatus to be used over water. The model would, like a bird, require an initial velocity imparted to it, and the discovery of a suitable apparatus gave him great trouble. For the rest the facilities for launching were supplied by a houseboat moored on the Potomac. Foiled again and again by many difficulties, it was not till after repeated failures and the lapse of many months, when, as the Professor himself puts it, hope was low, that success finally came. It was in the early part of 1896 that a successful flight was accomplished in the presence of Dr. Bell, of telephone fame, and the following is a brief epitome of the account that this accomplished scientist contributed to the columns of Nature:–
“The flying machine, built, apparently, almost entirely of metal, was driven by an engine said to weigh, with fuel and water, about 25 lbs., the supporting surface from tip to tip being 12 or 14 feet. Starting from a platform about 20 feet high, the machine rose at first directly in the face of the wind, moving with great steadiness, and subsequently wheeling in large curves until steam was exhausted, when, from a height of 80 or 100 feet, it shortly settled down. The experiment was then repeated with similar results. Its motion was so steady that a glass of water might have remained unspilled. The actual length of flight each time, which lasted for a minute and a half, exceeded half a mile, while the velocity was between twenty and twenty-five miles an hour in a course that was constantly taking it ‘up hill.’ A yet more successful flight was subsequently made.”
But flight of another nature was being courageously attempted at this time. Otto Lilienthal, of Berlin, in imitation of the motion of birds, constructed a flying apparatus which he operated himself, and with which he could float down from considerable elevations. “The feat,” he warns tyros, “requires practice. In the beginning the height should be moderate, and the wings not too large, or the wind will soon show that it is not to be trifled with.” The inventor commenced with all due caution, making his first attempt over a grass plot from a spring board one metre high, and subsequently increasing this height to two and a half metres, from which elevation he could safely cross the entire grass plot. Later he launched himself from the lower ridges of a hill 250 feet high, when he sailed to a distance of over 250 yards, and this time he writes enthusiastically of his self-taught accomplishment:–
“To those who, from a modest beginning and with gradually increased extent and elevation of flight have gained full control over the apparatus, it is not in the least dangerous to cross deep and broad ravines. It is a difficult task to convey to one who has never enjoyed aerial flight a clear perception of the exhilarating pleasure of this elastic motion. The elevation above the ground loses its terrors, because we have learned by experience what sure dependence may be placed upon the buoyancy of the air.”
As a commentary to the above we extract the following:–“We have to record the death of Otto Lilienthal, whose soaring machine, during a gliding flight, suddenly tilted over at a height of about 60 feet, by which mishap he met an untimely death on August 9th, 1896.” Mr. O. Chanute, C.E. of Chicago, took up the study of gliding flight at the point where Lilienthal left it, and, later, Professor Fitzgerald and others. Besides that invented by Penaud, other aero-plane models demanding mention had been produced by Tatin, Moy, Stringfellow, and Lawrence Hargrave, of Australia, the subsequent inventor of the well-known cellular kite. These models, for the most part, aim at the mechanical solution of the problem connected with the soaring flight of a bird.
The theoretical solution of the same problem had been attacked by Professor Langley in a masterly monograph, entitled “The Internal Work of the Wind.” By painstaking experiment with delicate instruments, specially constructed, the Professor shows that wind in general, so far from being, as was commonly assumed, mere air put in motion with an approximately uniform velocity in the same strata, is, in reality, variable and irregular in its movements beyond anything which had been anticipated, being made up, in fact, of a succession of brief pulsations in different directions, and of great complexity. These pulsations, he argues, if of sufficient amplitude and frequency, would be capable, by reason of their own “internal work,” of sustaining or even raising a suitably curved surface which was being carried along by the main mean air stream. This would account for the phenomenon of “soaring.” Lord Rayleigh, discussing the same problem, premises that when a bird is soaring the air cannot be moving uniformly and horizontally. Then comes the natural question, Is it moving in ascending currents? Lord Rayleigh has frequently noticed such currents, particularly above a cliff facing the wind. Again, to quote another eminent authority, Major Baden-Powell, on an occasion when flying one of his own kites, found it getting to so high an angle that it presently rose absolutely overhead, with the string perpendicular. He then took up a heavy piece of wood, which, when tied to the string, began to rise in the air. He satisfied himself that this curious result was solely due to a strong uptake of the air.
But, again, Lord Rayleigh, lending support to Professor Langley’s argument, points out that the apparent cause of soaring may be the non-uniformity of the wind. The upper currents are generally stronger than the lower, and it is mechanically possible for a bird, taking advantage of two adjacent air streams, different in velocity, to maintain itself in air without effort on its own part.
Lord Rayleigh, proceeding to give his views on artificial flight, declares the main problem of the flying machine to be the problem of the aerial plane. He states the case thus:– “Supposing a plane surface to be falling vertically at the rate of four miles an hour, and also moving horizontally at the rate of twenty miles an hour, it might have been supposed that the horizontal motion would make no difference to the pressure on its under surface which the falling plane must experience. We are told, however, that in actual trial the horizontal motion much increases the pressure under the falling plane, and it is this fact on which the possibility of natural and artificial flight depends.
Ere this opinion had been stated by Lord Rayleigh in his discourse on “Flight,” at the Royal Institution, there were already at work upon the aero-plane a small army of inventors, of whom it will be only possible in a future chapter to mention some. Due reference, however, should here be made to Mr. W. F. Wenham, of Boston, U.S.A., who had been at work on artificial flight for many years, and to whose labours in determining whether man’s power is sufficient to raise his own weight Lord Rayleigh paid a high tribute. As far back as 1866 Mr. Wenham had published a paper on aerial locomotion, in which he shows that any imitation by man of the far-extended wings of a bird might be impracticable, the alternative being to arrange the necessary length of wing as a series of aero-planes, a conception far in advance of many theorists of his time.
But there had been developments in aerostation in other lines, and it is time to turn from the somewhat tedious technicalities of mechanical flight and the theory or practice of soaring, to another important means for traversing the air–the parachute. This aerial machine, long laid aside, was to lend its aid to the navigation of the air with a reliability never before realised. Professor Baldwin, as he was termed, an American aeronaut, arrived in England in the summer of 1888, and commenced giving a series of exhibitions from the Alexandra Palace with a parachute of his own invention, which, in actual performance, seems to have been the most perfect instrument of the kind up to that time devised. It was said to be about 18 feet in diameter, whereas that of Garnerin, already mentioned, had a diameter of some 30 feet, and was distinctly top-heavy, owing to its being thus inadequately ballasted; for it was calculated that its enormous size would have served for the safe descent, not of one man, but of four or five. Baldwin’s parachute, on the contrary, was reckoned to give safe descent to 250 lbs., which would include weight of man and apparatus, and reduce the ultimate fall to one not exceeding 8 feet. The parachute was attached to the ring of a small balloon of 12,000 cubic feet, and the Professor ascended, sitting on a mere sling of rope, which did duty for a car.
Mr. Thomas Moy, who investigated the mechanics of the contrivance, estimated that after a drop of 16 feet, the upward pressure, amounting to over 2 lb. per square foot, would act on a surface of not less than 254 square feet. There was, at the time, much foolish comment on the great distance which the parachute fell before it opened, a complete delusion due to the fact that observers failed to see that at the moment of separation the balloon itself sprang upward.
CHAPTER XXII. THE STORY OF THE SPENCERS.
It has been in the hands of the Spencers that the parachute, as also many other practical details of aeronautics, has been perfected, and some due sketch of the career of this family of eminent aeronauts must be no longer delayed.
Charles Green had stood godfather to the youngest son of his friend and colleague, Mr. Edward Spencer, and in later years, as though to vindicate the fact, this same son took up the science of aeronautics at the point where his father had left it. We find his name in the records of the Patent Office of 1868 as the inventor of a manumetric flying machine, and there are accounts of the flying leaps of several hundred feet which he was enabled to take by means of the machine he constructed. Again, in 1882 we find him an inventor, this time of the patent asbestos fire balloon, by means of which the principal danger to such balloons was overcome.
At this point it is needful to make mention of the third generation–the several sons who early showed their zeal and aptitude for perpetuating the family tradition. It was from his school playground that the eldest son, Percival, witnessed with intense interest what appeared like a drop floating in the sky at an immense altitude. This proved to be Simmons’s balloon, which had just risen to a vast elevation over Cremorne Gardens, after having liberated the unfortunate De Groof, as mentioned in a former chapter. And one may be sure that the terrible reality of the disaster that had happened was not lost on the young schoolboy. But his wish was to become an aeronauts, and from this desire nothing deterred him, so that school days were scarcely over before he began to accompany his father aloft, and in a very few years, i.e. in 1888, he had assumed the full responsibilities of a professional balloonist.
It was in this year that Professor Baldwin appeared in England, and it is easy to understand that the parachute became an object of interest to the young Spencer, who commenced on his own account a series of trials at the Alexandra Palace, and it was now, also, that chance good fortune came his way. An Indian gentleman, who was witness of his experiments, and convinced that a favourable field for their further development existed in his own country, proposed to the young aspirant that he should accompany him to India, with equipment suited for the making of a successful campaign.
Thus it came about that in the early days of 1889, in the height of the season, Mr. Percival Spencer arrived at Bombay, and at once commenced professional business in earnest. Coal gas being here available, a maiden ascent was quickly arranged, and duly announced to take place at the Government House, Paral, the chief attraction being the parachute descent, the first ever attempted in India.
This preliminary exhibition proving in all ways a complete success, Mr. Spencer, after a few repetitions of his performance, repaired to Calcutta; but here great difficulties were experienced in the matter of gas. The coal gas available was inadequate, and when recourse was had to pure hydrogen the supply proved too sluggish. At the advertised hour of departure the balloon was not sufficiently inflated, while the spectators were growing impatient. It was at this critical moment that Mr. Spencer resolved on a surprise. Suddenly casting off the parachute, and seated on a mere sling below the half-inflated balloon, without ballast, without grapnel, and unprovided with a valve, he sailed away over the heads of the multitude.
The afternoon was already far advanced, and the short tropical twilight soon gave way to darkness, when the intrepid voyager disappeared completely from sight. Excitement was intense that night in Calcutta, and greater still the next day when, as hour after hour went by, no news save a series of wild and false reports reached the city. Trains arriving from the country brought no intelligence, and telegraphic enquiries sent in all directions proved fruitless. The Great Eastern Hotel, where the young man had been staying, was literally besieged for hours by a large crowd eager for any tidings. Then the Press gave expression to the gloomiest forebodings, and the town was in a fever of unrest. From the direction the balloon had taken it was thought that, even if the aeronaut had descended in safety, he could only have been landed in the jungle of the Sunderbunds, beset with perils, and without a chance of succour. A large reward was offered for reliable information, and orders were issued to every likely station to organise a search. But ere this was fully carried into effect messages were telegraphed to England definitely asserting that Mr. Spencer had lost his life. For all this, after three days he returned to Calcutta, none the worse for the exploit.
Then the true tale was unravelled. The balloon had changed its course from S.E. to E. after passing out of sight of Calcutta, and eventually came to earth the same evening in the neighbourhood of Hossainabad, thirty-six miles distant. During his aerial flight the voyager’s main trouble had been caused by his cramped position, the galling of his sling seat, and the numbing effect of cold as he reached high altitudes; but, as twilight darkened into gloom, his real anxiety was with respect to his place of landing, for he could with difficulty see the earth underneath. He heard the distant roll of the waters, caused by the numerous creeks which intersect the delta of the Ganges, and when darkness completely shut out the view it was impossible to tell whether he was over land or sea. Fortune favoured him, however, and reaching dry ground, he sprang from his seat, relinquishing at the same moment his hold of the balloon, which instantly disappeared into the darkness.
Then his wanderings began. He was in an unknown country, without knowledge of the language, and with only a few rupees in his pocket. Presently, however, seeing a light, he proceeded towards it, but only to find himself stopped by a creek. Foiled more than once in this way, he at length arrived at the dwelling of a family of natives, who promptly fled in terror. To inspire confidence and prove that he was mortal, Mr. Spencer threw his coat over the mud wall of the compound, with the result that, after examination of the garment, he was received and cared for in true native fashion, fed with rice and goat’s milk, and allowed the use of the verandah to sleep in. He succeeded in communing with the natives by dint of lead pencil sketches and dumb show, and learned, among other things, that he had descended in a little clearing surrounded by woods, and bounded by tidal creeks, which were infested with alligators. Yet, in the end, the waterways befriended him; for, as he was being ferried across, he chanced on his balloon sailing down on the tide, recovered it, and used the tidal waters for the return journey.
The greeting upon his arrival in Calcutta was enthusiastic beyond description from both Europeans and natives. The hero of the adventure was visited by rajahs and notables, who vied with each other in expressions of welcome, in making presents, even inviting him to visit the sacred precincts of their zenanas. The promised parachute descent was subsequently successfully made at Cossipore, and then followed a busy, brilliant season, after which the wanderer returned to England. By September he is in Dublin, and makes the first parachute descent ever witnessed in Ireland; but by November he is in Bombay again, whence, proceeding to Calcutta, he repeats his success of the year before. Next he visits Allahabad, where the same fortune attends him, though his balloon flies away in a temporary escape into the Jumna. By May he is ascending at Singapore, armed here, however, with a cork jacket.
Hence, flushed with success, he repairs to the Dutch Indies, and demonstrates to the Dutch officers the use of the balloon in war. As a natural consequence, he is moved up to the seat of the Achinese War in Sumatra, where, his balloon being moored to the rear of an armoured train, an immediate move is made to the front, and orders are forthwith telephoned from various centres to open fire on the enemy. Mr. Spencer, the while accompanied by an officer, makes a captive ascent, in which for some time he is actually under the enemy’s fire. The result of this plucky experiment is a most flattering official report. In all the above-mentioned ascents he made his own gas without a hitch.
Thence he travels on with the same trusty little 12,000 cubic feet balloon, the same programme, and the same success. This is slightly varied, however, at Kobe, Japan, where his impatient craft fairly breaks away with him, and, soaring high, flies overhead of a man-of-war, and plumps into the water a mile out at sea. But “Smartly” was the word. The ship’s crew was beat to quarters, and within one minute a boat was to the rescue. An ascent at Cairo, where he made a parachute descent in sight of the Pyramids and landed in the desert, completed this oriental tour, and home duties necessitated his return to England. Among exploits far too many to enumerate may be mentioned four several occasions when Mr. Percival Spencer has crossed the English Channel.
It fell to the lot of the second son, Arthur, to carry fame into fresh fields. In the year 1897 he visited Australia, taking with him two balloons, one of these being a noble craft of 80,000 cubic feet, considerably larger than any balloon used in England, and the singular fate of this aerial monster is deserving of mention.
Its trial trip in the new country was arranged to take place on Boxing Day in the Melbourne Exhibition ground, and for the lengthy and critical work of inflation the able assistance of British bluejackets was secured. To all appearance, the main difficulties to be provided against were likely to arise simply from a somewhat inadequate supply of gas, and on this account filling commenced as early as 10 a.m. on the morning of the day previous to the exhibition, and was continued till 6 o’clock in the afternoon, by which time the balloon, being about half full, was staved down with sandbags through the night till 4 o’clock the next morning, when the inflation was again proceeded with without hindrance and apparently under favourable conditions. The morning was beautifully fine, warm, brilliant, and still, and so remained until half-past six, when, with startling rapidity, there blew up a sudden squall known in the country as a “Hot Buster,” and in two or three minutes’ space a terrific wind storm was sweeping the ground. A dozen men, aiding a dead weight of 220 sandbags, endeavoured to control the plunging balloon, but wholly without avail. Men and bags together were lifted clean up in the air on the windward side, and the silk envelope, not yet completely filled, at once escaped from the net and, flying upwards to a height estimated at 10,000 feet, came to earth again ninety miles away in a score of fragments. Nothing daunted, however, Mr. Spencer at once endeavoured to retrieve his fortunes, and started straightway for the gold-mining districts of Ballarat and Bendigo with a hot-air balloon, with which he successfully gave a series of popular exhibitions of parachute descents. Few aeronauts are more consistently reliable than Mr. Arthur Spencer. A few summers ago in this country he was suddenly called upon to give proof of his prowess and presence of mind in a very remarkable manner. It was at an engagement at Reading, where he had been conducting captive ascents throughout the afternoon, and was requested to conclude the evening with a “right away,” in which two passengers had agreed to accompany him. The balloon had been hauled down for the last time, when, by some mistake, the engine used for the purpose proceeded to work its pump without previously disconnecting the hauling gear. The consequence of this was that the cable instantly snapped, and in a moment the large balloon, devoid of ballast, grapnel, or other appliances, and with neck still tied, was free, and started skyward.
The inevitable result of this accident must have been that the balloon in a few seconds would rise to a height where the expansion of the imprisoned gas would burst and destroy it. Mr. Spencer, however, was standing near, and, grasping the situation in a moment, caught at the car as it swung upwards, and, getting hold, succeeded in drawing himself up and so climbing into the ring. Quickly as this was done, the balloon was already distended to the point of bursting, and only the promptest release of gas averted catastrophe.
Mr. Stanley Spencer made himself early known to the world by a series of parachute descents, performed from the roof of Olympia. It was a bold and sensational exhibition, and on the expiration of his engagement the young athlete, profiting by home training, felt fully qualified to attempt any aerial feat connected with the profession of an aeronaut. And at this juncture an eminent American cyclist, visiting the father’s factory, suggested to Stanley a business tour in South America.
As an extra attraction it was proposed that a young lady parachutist should be one of the company; so, after a few satisfactory trial exhibitions in England, the party made their way to Rio, Brazil. Here an ascent was arranged, and by the day and hour appointed the balloon was successfully inflated with hydrogen, an enormous concourse collected, and the lady performer already seated in the sling. Then a strange mischance happened. By some means, never satisfactorily explained, the young woman, at the moment of release, slipped from her seat, and the balloon, escaping into the air, turned over and fell among the people, who vindictively destroyed it. Then the crowd grew ungovernable, and threatened the lives of the aeronauts, who eventually were, with difficulty, rescued by the soldiery.
This was a bad start; but with a spare balloon a fresh attempt at an ascent was arranged, though, from another cause, with no better success. This time a furious storm arose, before the inflation was completed, and the balloon, carrying away, was torn to ribbons. Yet a third time, with a hot air balloon now, a performance was advertised and successfully carried out; but, immediately after, Mr. Spencer’s American friend succumbed to yellow fever, and the young man, being thrown on his own resources, had to fight his own way until his fortunes had been sufficiently restored to return to England.
A few months later he set sail for Canada, where for several months he had a most profitable career, on one occasion only meeting with some difficulty. He was giving an exhibition on Prince Edward’s Island, not far from the sea, but on a day so calm that he did not hesitate to ascend. On reaching 3,000 feet, however, he was suddenly caught by a strong land breeze, which, ere he could reach the water, had carried him a mile out to sea, and here he was only rescued after a long interval, during which he had become much exhausted in his attempts to save his parachute from sinking.
Early in 1892 our traveller visited South Africa with a hot air balloon, and, fortune continuing to favour him, he subsequently returned to Canada, and proceeded thence to the United States and Cuba. It was at Havannah that popular enthusiasm in his favour ran so high that he was presented with a medal by the townsfolk. It was from here also that, a little while after, tidings of his own death reached him, together with most gratifying obituary notices. It would seem that, after his departure, an adventurer, attempting to personate him, met with his death.
In November, 1897, he followed his elder brother’s footsteps to the East, and exhibited in Calcutta, Singapore, Canton, and also Hong-Kong, where, for the first and only time in his experience, he met with serious accident. He was about to ascend for the ordinary parachute performance with a hot air balloon, which was being held down by about thirty men, one among them being a Chinaman possessed of much excitability and very long finger nails. By means of these latter the man contrived to gouge a considerable hole in the fabric of the balloon. Mr. Spencer, to avoid a disappointment, risked an ascent, and it was not till the balloon had reached 600 feet that the rent developed into a long slit, and so brought about a sudden fall to earth. Alighting on the side of a mountain, Mr. Spencer lay helpless with a broken leg till the arrival of some British bluejackets, who conveyed him to the nearest surgeon, when, after due attention, he was sent home. Other remarkable exploits, which Mr. Stanley Spencer shared with Dr. Berson and with the writer and his daughter, will be recorded later.
CHAPTER XXIII. NEW DEPARTURES IN AEROSTATION.
After Mr. Coxwell’s experiments at Aldershot in 1862 the military balloon, as far as England was concerned, remained in abeyance for nine long years, when the Government appointed a Commission to enquire into its utility, and to conduct further experiments. The members of this committee were Colonel Noble, R.E., Sir F. Abel, Captain Lee, R.E., assisted by Captain Elsdale, R.E., and Captain (now Colonel) Templer. Yet another nine years, however, elapsed before much more was heard of this modernised military engine.
But about the beginning of the eighties the Government had become fully alive to the importance of the subject, and Royal Engineers at Woolwich grew busy with balloon manufacture and experiment. Soon “the sky around London became speckled with balloons.” The method of making so-called pure hydrogen by passing steam over red-hot iron was fully tested, and for a time gained favour. The apparatus, weighing some three tons, was calculated to be not beyond the carrying powers of three service waggons, while it was capable of generating enough gas to inflate two balloons in twenty-four hours, a single inflation holding good, under favourable circumstances, for a long period. At the Brighton Volunteer Review of 1880, Captain Templer, with nine men, conducted the operations of a captive reconnoitring balloon. This was inflated at the Lewes gas works, and then towed two and a half miles across a river, a railway, and a line of telegraph wires, after which it was let up to a height of 1,500 feet, whence, it was stated, that so good a view was obtained that “every man was clearly seen.” Be it remembered, however, that the country was not the South African veldt, and every man was in the striking English uniform of that date.
Just at this juncture came the Egyptian War, and it will be recalled that in the beginning of that war balloons were conspicuous by their absence. The difficulties of reconnaissance were keenly felt and commented on, and among other statements we find the following in the war intelligence of the Times:–
“As the want of a balloon equipment has been mentioned in letters from Egypt, it may be stated that all the War Department balloons remain in store at the Royal Dockyard at Woolwich, but have been recently examined and found perfectly serviceable.” An assertion had been made to the effect that the nature of the sand in Egypt would impede the transport of the heavy material necessary for inflation. At last, however, the order came for the despatch of the balloon equipment to the front, and though this arrived long after Tel-el-Kebir, yet it is recorded that the first ascent in real active service in the British Army took place on the 25th of March, 1885, at Suakin, and balloons becoming regarded as an all-important part of the equipment of war, they were sent out in the Bechuanaland Expedition under Sir Charles Warren, the supply of gas being shipped to Cape Town in cylinders.
It was at this period that, according to Mr. Coxwell, Lord Wolseley made ascents at home in a war balloon to form his own personal opinion of their capabilities, and, expressing this opinion to one of his staff, said that had he been able to employ balloons in the earlier stages of the Soudan campaign the affair would not have lasted as many months as it did years. This statement, however, should be read in conjunction with another of the same officer in the “Soldier’s Pocket Book,” that “in a windy country balloons are useless.” In the Boer War the usefulness of the balloon was frequently tested, more particularly during the siege of Ladysmith, when it was deemed of great value in directing the fire of the British artillery, and again in Buller’s advance, where the balloon is credited with having located a “death-trap” of the enemy at Spion Kop. Other all-important service was rendered at Magersfontein. The Service balloon principally used was made of goldbeaters’ skin, containing about 10,000 cubic feet of hydrogen, which had been produced by the action of sulphuric acid on zinc, and compressed in steel cylinders. A special gas factory was, for the purpose of the campaign, established at Cape Town.
It is here that reference must be made to some of the special work undertaken by Mr. Eric S. Bruce, which dealt with the management of captive balloons under different conditions, and with a system of signalling thus rendered feasible. Mr. Bruce, who, since Major Baden-Powell’s retirement from the office, has devoted his best energies as secretary to the advancement of the British Aeronautical Society, was the inventor of the system of electric balloon signalling which he supplied to the British Government, as well as to the Belgian and Italian Governments. This system requires but a very small balloon, made of three or four thicknesses of goldbeaters’ skin, measuring from 7 to 10 feet in diameter, and needing only two or three gas cylinders for inflation. Within the balloon, which is sufficiently translucent, are placed several incandescent lamps in metallic circuit, with a source of electricity on the ground. This source of electricity may consist of batteries of moderate size or a portable hand dynamo. In the circuit is placed an apparatus for making and breaking contact rapidly, and by varying the duration of the flashes in the balloon telegraphic messages may be easily transmitted. To overcome the difficulty of unsteadiness, under circumstances of rough weather, in the captive balloon which carried the glow lamps, Mr. Bruce experimented with guy ropes, and gave a most successful exhibition of their efficiency before military experts at Stamford Bridge grounds, though a stiff wind was blowing at the time.
It must be perfectly obvious, however, that a captive balloon in a wind is greatly at a disadvantage, and to counteract this, attempts have been made in the direction of a combination between the balloon and a kite. This endeavour has been attended with some measure of success in the German army. Mr. Douglas Archibald, in England, was one of the first to advocate the kite balloon. In 1888 he called attention to the unsatisfactory behaviour of captive balloons in variable winds, dropping with every gust and rising again with a lull. In proof he described an expedient of Major Templer’s, where an attempt was being made to operate a photographic camera hoisted by two tandem kites. “The balloon,” he writes, “went up majestically, and all seemed very satisfactory until a mile of cable had been run out, and the winder locked.” It was then that troubles began which threatened the wreckage of the apparatus, and Mr. Archibald, in consequence, strongly recommended a kite balloon at that time. Twelve years later the same able experimentalist, impressed with the splendid work done by kites alone for meteorological purposes at least, allowed that he was quite content to “let the kite balloon go by.”
But the German school of aeronauts were doing bigger things than making trials with kite balloons. The German Society for the Promotion of Aerial Navigation, assisted by the Army Balloon Corps, were busy in 1888, when a series of important ascents were commenced. Under the direction of Dr. Assmann, the energetic president of the aeronautical society above named, captive ascents were arranged in connection with free ascents for meteorological purposes, and it was thus practicable to make simultaneous observations at different levels. These experiments, which were largely taken up on the Continent, led to others of yet higher importance, in which the unmanned balloon took a part. But the Continental annals of this date contain one unhappy record of another nature, the recounting of which will, at least, break the monotony attending mere experimental details.
In October, 1893, Captain Charbonnet, an enthusiastic French aeronaut, resolved on spending his honeymoon, with the full consent of his bride, in a prolonged balloon excursion. The start was to be made from Turin, and, the direction of travel lying across the Alps, it was the hope of the voyagers eventually to reach French territory. The ascent was made in perfect safety, as was also the first descent, at the little village of Piobesi, ten miles away. Here a halt was made for the night, and the next morning, when a fresh start was determined on, two young Italians, Signori Botto and Durando, were taken on board as assistants, for the exploit began to assume an appearance of some gravity, and this the more so when storm clouds began brewing. At an altitude of 10,000 feet cross-currents were encountered, and the course becoming obscured the captain descended to near the earth, where he discovered himself to be in dangerous proximity to gaunt mountain peaks. On observing this, he promptly cast out sand so liberally that the balloon rose to a height approaching 20,000 feet, when a rapid descent presently began, and refused to be checked, even with the expenditure of all available ballast.
All the while the earth remained obscured, but, anticipating a fall among the mountains, Captain Charbonnet bade his companions lie down in the car while he endeavoured to catch sight of some landmark; but, quite suddenly, the balloon struck some mountain slope with such force as to throw the captain back into the car with a heavy blow over the eye; then, bounding across a gulley, it struck again and yet again, falling and rebounding between rocky walls, till it settled on a steep and snowy ridge. Darkness was now closing in, and the party, without food or proper shelter, had to pass the night as best they might on the bare spot where they fell, hoping for encouragement with the return of day. But dawn showed them to be on a dangerous peak, 10,000 feet high, whence they must descend by their own unassisted efforts. After a little clambering the captain, who was in a very exhausted state, fell through a hidden crevasse, fracturing his skull sixty feet below. The remaining three struggled on throughout the day, and had to pass a second night on the mountain, this time without covering. On the third day they met with a shepherd, who conducted them with difficulty to the little village of Balme.
This story, by virtue of its romance, finds a place in these pages; but, save for its tragic ending, it hardly stands alone. Ballooning enterprise and adventure were growing every year more and more common on the Continent. In Scandinavia we find the names of Andree, Fraenkal, and Strindberg; in Denmark that of Captain Rambusch. Berlin and Paris had virtually become the chief centres of the development of ballooning as a science. In the former city a chief among aeronauts had arisen in Dr. A. Berson, who, in December, 1894, not only reached 30,000 feet, ascending alone, but at that height sustained himself sufficiently, by inhaling oxygen, to take systematic observations throughout the entire voyage of five hours. The year before, in company with Lieutenant Gross, he barely escaped with his life, owing to tangled ropes getting foul of the valve. Toulet and those who accompanied him lost their lives near Brussels. Later Wolfert and his engineer were killed near Berlin, while Johannsen and Loyal fell into the Sound. Thus ever fresh and more extended enterprise was embarked upon with good fortune and ill. In fact, it had become evident to all that the Continent afforded facilities for the advancement of aerial exploration which could be met with in no other parts of the world, America only excepted. And it was at this period that the expedient of the ballon sonde, or unmanned balloon, was happily thought of. One of these balloons, the “Cirrus,” among several trials, rose to a height, self-registered, of 61,000 feet, while a possible greater height has been accorded to it. On one occasion, ascending from Berlin, it fell in Western Russia, on another in Bosnia. Then, in 1896, at the Meteorological Conference at Paris, with Mascart as President, Gustave Hermite, with characteristic ardour, introduced a scheme of national ascents with balloons manned and unmanned, and this scheme was soon put in effect under a commission of famous names–Andree, Assmann, Berson, Besancon, Cailletet, Erk, de Fonvielle, Hergesell, Hermite, Jaubert, Pomotzew (of St. Petersburg), and Rotch (of Boston, Mass.).
In November, 1896, five manned balloons and three unmanned ascended simultaneously from France, Germany, and Russia. The next year saw, with the enterprise of these nations, the co-operation of Austria and Belgium. Messrs. Hermite and Besancon, both French aeronauts, were the first to make practical trial of the method of sounding the upper air by unmanned balloons, and, as a preliminary attempt, dismissed from Paris a number of small balloons, a large proportion of which were recovered, having returned to earth after less than 100 miles’ flight. Larger paper balloons were now constructed, capable of carrying simple self-recording instruments, also postcards, which became detached at regular intervals by the burning away of slow match, and thus indicated the path of the balloon. The next attempt was more ambitious, made with a goldbeaters’ skin balloon containing 4,000 cubic feet of gas, and carrying automatic instruments of precision. This balloon fell in the Department of the Yonne, and was returned to Paris with the instruments, which remained uninjured, and which indicated that an altitude of 49,000 feet had been reached, and a minimum temperature of -60 degrees encountered. Yet larger balloons of the same nature were then experimented with in Germany, as well as France.
A lack of public support has crippled the attempts of experimentalists in this country, but abroad this method of aerial exploration continues to gain favour.
Distinct from, and supplementing, the records obtained by free balloons, manned or unmanned, are those to be gathered from an aerostat moored to earth. It is here that the captive balloon has done good service to meteorology, as we have shown, but still more so has the high-flying kite. It must long have been recognised that instruments placed on or near the ground are insufficient for meteorological purposes, and, as far back as 1749, we find Dr. Wilson, of Glasgow, employing kites to determine the upper currents, and to carry thermometers into higher strata of the air. Franklin’s kite and its application is matter of history. Many since that period made experiments more or less in earnest to obtain atmospheric observations by means of kites, but probably the first in England, at least to obtain satisfactory results, was Mr. Douglas Archibald, who, during the eighties, was successful in obtaining valuable wind measurements, as also other results, including aerial photographs, at varying altitudes up to 1,000 or 1,200 feet. From that period the records of serious and systematic kite flying must be sought in America. Mr. W. A. Eddy was one of the pioneers, and a very serviceable tailless kite, in which the cross-bar is bowed away from the wind, is his invention, and has been much in use. Mr. Eddy established his kite at Blue Hill–the now famous kite observatory–and succeeded in lifting self-recording meteorological instruments to considerable heights. The superiority of readings thus obtained is obvious from the fact that fresh air-streams are constantly playing on the instruments.
A year or two later a totally dissimilar kite was introduced by Mr. Lawrence Hargrave, of Sydney, Australia. This invention, which has proved of the greatest utility and efficiency, would, from its appearance, upset all conventional ideas of what a kite should be, resembling in its simplest form a mere box, minus the back and front. Nevertheless, these kites, in their present form, have carried instruments to heights of upwards of two miles, the restraining line being fine steel piano wire.
But another and most efficient kite, admirably adapted for many most important purposes, is that invented by Major Baden-Powell. The main objects originally aimed at in the construction of this kite related to military operations, such as signalling, photography, and the raising of a man to an elevation for observational purposes. In the opinion of the inventor, who is a practiced aeronaut, a wind of over thirty miles an hour renders a captive balloon useless, while a kite under such conditions should be capable of taking its place in the field. Describing his early experiments, Major, then Captain, Baden-Powell, stated that in 1894, after a number of failures, he succeeded with a hexagonal structure of cambric, stretched on a bamboo framework 36 feet high, in lifting a man–not far, but far enough to prove that his theories were right. Later on, substituting a number of small kites for one big one, he was, on several occasions, raised to a height of 100 feet, and had sent up sand bags, weighing 9 stone, to 300 feet, at which height they remained suspended nearly a whole day.
This form of kite, which has been further developed, has been used in the South African campaign in connection with wireless telegraphy for the taking of photographs at great heights, notably at Modder River, and for other purposes.
It has been claimed that the first well-authenticated occasion of a man being raised by a kite was when at Pirbright Camp a Baden-Powell kite, 30 feet high, flown by two lines, from which a basket was suspended, took a man up to a height of 10 feet. It is only fair, however, to state that it is related that more than fifty years ago a lady was lifted some hundred feet by a great kite constructed by one George Pocock, whose machine was designed for an observatory in war, and also for drawing carriages along highways.
CHAPTER XXIV. ANDREE AND HIS VOYAGES
Among many suggestions, alike important and original, due to Major Baden-Powell, and coming within the field of aeronautics, is one having reference to the use of balloons for geographical research generally and more particularly for the exploration of Egypt, which, in his opinion, is a country possessing many most desirable qualifications on the score of prevailing winds, of suitable base, and of ground adapted for such steering as may be effected with a trail rope. At the Bristol meeting of the British Association the Major thus propounded his method: “I should suggest several balloons, one of about 60,000 cubic feet, and, say, six smaller ones of about 7,000 cubic feet; then, if one gets torn or damaged, the others might remain intact. After a time, when gas is lost, one of the smaller ones could be emptied into the others, and the exhausted envelope discharged as ballast; the smaller balloons would be easier to transport by porters than one big one, and they could be more easily secured on the earth during contrary winds. Over the main balloon a light awning might be rigged to neutralise, as far as possible, the changes of temperature. A lightning conductor to the top of the balloon might be desirable. A large sail would be arranged, and a bifurcated guide rope attached to the end of a horizontal pole would form an efficient means of steering. The car would be boat-shaped and waterproof, so that it could be used for a return journey down a river. Water tanks would be fitted.”
The reasonableness of such a scheme is beyond question, even without the working calculations with which it is accompanied; but, ere these words were spoken, one of the most daring explorers that the world has known had begun to put in practice a yet bolder and rasher scheme of his own. The idea of reaching the North Pole by means of balloons appears to have been entertained many years ago. In a curious work, published in Paris in 1863 by Delaville Dedreux, there is a suggestion for reaching the North Pole by an aerostat which should be launched from the nearest accessible point, the calculation being that the distance from such a starting place to the Pole and back again would be only some 1,200 miles, which could be covered in two days, supposing only that there could be found a moderate and favourable wind in each direction. Mr. C. G. Spencer also wrote on the subject, and subsequently Commander Cheyne proposed a method of reaching the Pole by means of triple balloons. A similar scheme was advocated in yet more serious earnest by M. Hermite in the early eighties.
Some ten years later than this M. S. A. Andree, having obtained sufficient assistance, took up the idea with the determined intention of pushing it to a practical issue. He had already won his spurs as an aeronaut, as may be briefly told. In October, 1893, when making an ascent for scientific purposes, his balloon got carried out over the Baltic. It may have been the strength of the wind that had taken him by surprise; but, there being now no remedy, it was clearly the speed and persistence of the wind that alone could save him. If a chance vessel could not, or would not, “stand by,” he must make the coast of Finland or fall in the sea, and several times the fall in the sea seemed imminent as his balloon commenced dropping. This threatened danger induced him to cast away his anchor, after which the verge of the Finland shore was nearly reached, when a change of wind began to carry him along the rocky coast, just as night was setting in.
Recognising his extreme danger, Andree stood on the edge of the car, with a bag of ballast ready for emergencies. He actually passed over an island, on which was a building with a light; but failed to effect a landing, and so fell in the sea on the farther side; but, the balloon presently righting itself, Andree, now greatly exhausted, made his last effort, and as he rose over the next cliff jumped for his life. It was past 7 p.m. when he found himself once again on firm ground, but with a sprained leg and with no one within call. Seeking what shelter he could, he lived out the long night, and, being now scarce able to stand, took off his clothes and waved them for a signal. This signal was not seen, yet shortly a boat put off from an island–the same that he had passed the evening before- -and rowed towards him. The boatman overnight had seen a strange sail sweeping over land and sea, and he had come in quest of it, bringing timely succour to the castaway.
Briefly stated, Andree’s grand scheme was to convey a suitable balloon, with means for inflating it, as also all necessary equipment, as far towards the Pole as a ship could proceed, and thence, waiting for a favourable wind, to sail by sky until the region of the Pole should be crossed, and some inhabited country reached beyond. The balloon was to be kept near the earth, and steered, as far as this might be practicable, by means of a trail rope. The balloon, which had a capacity of nearly 162,000 cubic feet, was made in Paris, and was provided with a rudder sail and an arrangement whereby the hang of the trail rope could be readily shifted to different positions on the ring. Further, to obviate unnecessary diffusion and loss of gas at the mouth, the balloon was fitted with a lower valve, which would only open at a moderate pressure, namely, that of four inches of water.
All preparations were completed by the summer of 1896, and on June 7th the party embarked at Gothenburg with all necessaries on board, arriving at Spitzbergen on June 21st. Andree, who was to be accompanied on his aerial voyage by two companions, M. Nils Strindberg and Dr. Ekholm, spent some time in selecting a spot that would seem suitable for their momentous start, and this was finally found on Dane’s Island, where their cargo was accordingly landed.
The first operation was the erection of a wooden shed, the materials for which they had brought with them, as a protection from the wind. It was a work which entailed some loss of time, after which the gas apparatus had to be got into order, so that, in spite of all efforts, it was the 27th of July before the balloon was inflated and in readiness.
A member of an advance party of an eclipse expedition arriving in Spitzbergen at this period, and paying a visit to Andree for the purpose of taking him letters, wrote:–” We watched him deal out the letters to his men. They are all volunteers and include seven sea captains, a lawyer, and other people some forty in all. Andree chaffed each man to whom he gave a letter, and all were as merry as crickets over the business…. We spent our time in watching preparations. The vaseline (for soaking the guide ropes) caught fire to-day, but, luckily no rope was in the pot.”
But the wind as yet was contrary, and day after day passed without any shift to a favourable quarter, until the captain of the ship which had conveyed them was compelled to bring matters to an issue by saying that they must return home without delay if he was to avoid getting frozen in for the winter. The balloon had now remained inflated for twenty-one days, and Dr. Ekholm, calculating that the leakage of gas amounted to nearly 1 per cent. per day, became distrustful of the capability of such a vessel to cope with such a voyage as had been aimed at. The party had now no choice but to return home with their balloon, leaving, however, the shed and gas-generating apparatus for another occasion.
This occasion came the following summer, when the dauntless explorers returned to their task, leaving Gothenburg on May 28th, 1897, in a vessel lent by the King of Sweden, and reaching Dane’s Island on the 30th of the same month. Dr. Ekholm had retired from the enterprise, but in his place were two volunteers, Messrs. Frankel and Svedenborg, the latter as “odd man,” to fill the place of any of the other three who might be prevented from making the final venture.
It was found that the shed had suffered during the winter, and some time was spent in making the repairs and needful preparation, so that the month of June was half over before all was in readiness for the inflation. This operation was then accomplished in four days, and by midnight of June 22nd the balloon was at her moorings, full and in readiness; but, as in the previous year, the wind was contrary, and remained so for nearly three weeks. This, of course, was a less serious matter, inasmuch as the voyagers were a month earlier with their preparation, but so long a delay must needs have told prejudicially against the buoyancy of the balloon, and Andree is hardly to be blamed for having, in the end, committed himself to a wind that was not wholly favourable.
The wind, if entirely from the right direction, should have been due south, but on July 11th it had veered to a direction somewhat west of south, and Andree, tolerating no further delay, seized this as his best opportunity, and with a wind “whistling through the woodwork of the shed and flapping the canvas,” accompanied by Frankel and Svedenborg, started on his ill-fated voyage.
A telegram which Andree wrote for the Press at that epoch ran thus:–” At this moment, 2.30 p.m., we are ready to start. We shall probably be driven in a north-north-easterly direction.”
On July 22nd a carrier pigeon was recovered by the fishing boat Alken between North Cape, Spitzbergen, and Seven Islands, bearing a message, “July 13th, 12.30 p.m., 82 degrees 2 minutes north lat., 15 degrees 5 minutes east long. Good journey eastward. All goes well on board. Andree.”
Not till August 31st was there picked up in the Arctic zone a buoy, which is preserved in the Museum of Stockholm. It bears the message, “Buoy No. 4. First to be thrown out. 11th July, 10 p.m., Greenwich mean time. All well up till now. We are pursuing our course at an altitude of about 250 metres Direction at first northerly 10 degrees east; later; northerly 45 degrees east. Four carrier pigeons were despatched at 5.40 p.m. They flew westwards. We are now above the ice, which is very cut up in all directions. Weather splendid. In excellent spirits.–Andree, Svedenborg, Frankel. (Postscript later on.) Above the clouds, 7.45, Greenwich mean time.”
According to Reuter, the Anthropological and Geological Society at Stockholm received the following telegram from a ship owner at Mandal:–“Captain Hueland, of the steamship Vaagen who arrived there on Monday morning, reports that when off Kola Fjord, Iceland, in 65 degrees 34 minutes north lat., 21 degrees 28 minutes west long., on May 14th he found a drifting buoy, marked ‘No. 7.’ Inside the buoy was a capsule marked ‘Andree’s Polar Expedition,’ containing a slip of paper, on which was given the following: ‘Drifting Buoy No. 7. This buoy was thrown out from Andree’s balloon on July 11th 1897, 10.55 p.m., Greenwich mean time, 82 degrees north lat., 25 degrees east