CHAPTER III

WONDERS AND EVENTS OF AN AERIAL VOYAGE

We were, however, all three very glad and proud of our journey. We were in excellent spirits, and our hearts beat more rapidly at the thought of doing something for the wonderful defence of the great besieged city and of taking our share in the common effort.

We did not even think of danger, and not one of us would have stopped to consider for a moment the defective equipment and slightly precarious nature of our conveyance. We were entirely given up to our enterprise and to the magnificent spectacle which rolled, renewing itself every moment, before our astonished eyes. It mattered little to us where we were or where we were going; we were at least sure of not stopping on the way.

Suddenly our attention was awakened by a singular and characteristic sound which struck our ears and informed us, in no uncertain manner, of our whereabouts. We were crossing the lines of the besieging army, and the latter were presenting their compliments by shooting at us with rifles. But their bullets were unable to hit us. Though we heard them whistling, that did not prevent the balloon from continuing its swift course towards unassailable altitudes.

We soon rose out of the range of their marksmen, and the rifle fire ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Our attention was then again drawn to the wonders and surprises of our aerial voyage.

This is a thing I cannot describe, and even to-day, after the lapse of twenty-eight years, I cannot find words to give any idea of the prodigious spectacle ceaselessly rolling at our feet, or of the deep and ineffacable impression which it produced on us. Only those who have made the ascent of high mountains can realise feebly what is a journey in the air at a height of two or three thousands yards.

Who is there who has not once in his life enjoyed that experience, who does not know the imposing calm and the absolute silence that reign over the eternal glaciers, the effect of which, in conjunction with the immense panorama which these almost inaccessible heights unfold, is to fill the spirit of the traveller with sublime admiration and a species of poetic delirium? Well, the impression left on me by this aerial journey far outstrips the fairy memories of mountain glaciers.

There was the same calm, the same absolute and grandiose silence, the same majestic response, as if at the approach of the Divinity, but the horizon was wider and the view more varied. The balloon floated on, and the horizon changed every minute with the rapidity of its course. The subdued tints of the far distance served as a sort of border to the fresher and more accentuated colours of those tracts of country that were nearer and bathed in light. Valleys and mountains followed each other and mingled like the ever-renewed waves of the sea.

The waves of the sea are an exact comparison, for there was always an immense ocean under our eyes, an ocean such as no mariner has ever beheld. It comprised and blended together all things--plain and mountain, earth and river, cities and countryside, meadows and forests. Every possible contrast was linked together, every colour and every tone stood out and was reflected, and on this great, glistening ocean under a cloudless sky the gigantic shadow of the balloon travelled like the image of some unknown spectre, striding across the universe.

I can find no further words, and think that no human speech is able to describe the fascination of the amazing scene that sprang as it were from an unknown world before our dazzled eyes.

As the balloon continued its course, sometimes slowly, as if cradled by the zephyrs, and sometimes violently agitated by the breath of the storm which was already threatening, we became accustomed to the grandeur of the ceaselessly changing spectacle.

Once recovered from our amazement, it seemed to us natural to be thus transported in an aerial vessel two thousand yards above our ordinary habitations, and we tried to make ourselves as comfortable as we could in the car. The air was fresh, and although the sun was veiled by no trace of clouds, the temperature at these altitudes was very chilly. Our first need, therefore, was to protect ourselves against the cold and to cover ourselves from the icy atmosphere with everything we could find. Our second preoccupation was hunger.

We had left Paris before nine in the morning. The fresh air had set our blood in motion and awakened our appetites. At half-past ten the crew of the “Vauban”--that was the name of the balloon--simultaneously remarked, “Luncheon.”

No sooner said than done. We had not far to go to find the restaurant, nor did our meal require great preparations.

We each drew out of our pockets the provisions we had brought, and these provisions were by no means extravagant. At this period Paris was already under rations as far as meat was concerned, and if my memory serves me aright, I think that everyone in Paris had at that time the right to four ounces of beef, whose only connection with that succulent comestible was its name, given it under false pretences and in order to deceive the palates of the Parisians.

But if our repast was modest and meagre, the wine which washed it down was excellent and our appetites were first-rate.... Moreover, the view from the balcony of our dining-room was enough to make us forget the frugality of our repast and transform the simplest menu into a feast. When we had finished eating and drinking we sent a telegram to M. Jules Favre.

A telegram from a balloon? Yes, a real telegram.

You have not forgotten that M. Cassier, Director of the French Pigeon Post, was with me, and that he had brought a score of pigeons with him. One of these graceful birds was charged with a message for M. Jules Favre. I had promised to inform him as well as I could of the events of our journey. The most hazardous part seemed to me to be already accomplished.

This was far from being the case, as will be seen later, but that is what I thought at the moment. We had been crossing the enemy’s lines for a considerable time and our balloon had not ceased moving with very great and noticeable rapidity and without changing its direction. We therefore had reason to suppose that we were not far from those western latitudes where we were to descend. This was the sense of my message. I added a few notes on the regions we had traversed and the different altitudes to which we had attained--for it is interesting to remark that our balloon, without apparent reason, often rose to a height of two thousand yards or more, and afterwards, again without reason, fell to one hundred and fifty yards and less.

When I had finished my note, I rolled up tightly the square of paper on which it had been written and tied it up. M. Cassier concealed the little roll under the pigeon’s wings by skilfully attaching it to the upper part of one of the bird’s legs. And then “_Bon voyage_ for Paris!”

It was curious to see the departure of our messenger. The little bird seemed to share our own uncertainty as to the direction we were taking and did not appear to know its bearings. But its embarrassment did not last as long as ours: once it had left the balloon it flew two or three times round it, always coming back on its traces as if to find out where it was and seeking its route, and sheltering itself near us as long as it felt uncertain. But suddenly it lifted its delicate little head, gave a cry of joy, and flew off like an arrow in a straight line, without deviating or looking to the left or right. It had found its way and was going straight back to its nest in Paris.