Part 6

I said, therefore, to the British representative of this amalgamated balloon company, that I was under the impression I was purely and solely engaged by the lessee of the Prado to make these ascents, and that he was a well-to-do and competent proprietor.

“So I thought,” observed the seedy Englishman.

“It appears to me that there are a prodigious number of cooks to prepare this simple mess of broth, and I tell you candidly,” I continued, “that unless the cash for the first ascent, and the requisite supply of gas are forthcoming within twenty-four hours I shall retire from Brussels but not without publicly alleging as a reason, that I have been deceived by the party inviting us to come over.”

On due inquiry, I ascertained that no pipes had been brought into the gardens of adequate size for the inflation, and that it was intended, without my approval or consent, to accomplish that all important task at a distant gas-works, outside the capital, and then before daybreak, to pass it over the housetops, and finally deposit it in the Prado, until such time as the public had assembled.

Now, although this process is one which I have frequently accomplished under favourable circumstances as to wind and locality, still to drag a balloon through Brussels, and risk its contact with high houses and chimneys, was an injudicious beginning, and I protested emphatically, and indeed declined it altogether.

I had, however, stood out, according to the letter of my own request, for cash and a supply of gas, and these terms, after no small altercation, were agreed to.

The cash was to be paid just when my part of the contract was about to be fulfilled; but the gas could not be delivered in the gardens, as the cost would be enormous, no such large pipes as those required being in the neighbourhood.

When the Englishman, with short sleeves and sight, first wrote to us in London, I was assured that “all the customary facilities for filling balloons would be found in the Vauxhall of Brussels,” and “that no doubt or hesitation need be felt on that score.”

But surely such discordant bickerings and confusion of languages, as we had, never before preceded the arrangements for this kind of work.

There was no money, no head, no gas, and no order in any step that had been taken, until I personally superintended the whole affair.

A certain amount of pressure and decision, however, brought this heterogeneous mixture of nationalities entirely to book, but they _had me_ on one point, and at a tremendous advantage, namely, I was driven to fill the “Sylph” at the gas-works, and endeavour to transport it through the town.

This attempt was made in May, 1848, and on that occasion grey-eyed morn broke in with a high dawn and a reddish sky, an appearance which was interpreted as being very fine by those who assembled for an exciting view before breakfast.

We soon beat to quarters, as nautical men say, and, although we had “time by the forelock,” we were none too soon, as I was most anxious to be moving before the morning breezes were astir; and, though I had little time for noticing the barometer, still I had observed a decided drop, and did not altogether admire present appearances.

No sooner was the gas turned on than the “Sylph” began to display its proportions satisfactorily, and the lookers on threw themselves into various postures indicative of approbation.

“_Ah! Monsieur Coxvel_,” said one of the party, stroking down his beard, “_you vil hav vun vary fine day; no vind, no nothink. Your transport vil no be difficile._”

Hereupon I glanced around the horizon, but returned the weather wise Belgian no reply. He then looked with such a scrutinizing glance, as to provoke an expression of discontent.

“_Ah! vat you mean_,” inquired he, “_vy you frown?_”

The fact was, a small solitary, dark-looking cloud had made its appearance to the westward; and, although a goodly distance off, was wending its way up with great rapidity. The configuration of this little intruder on the blue sky was such as to forbode wind.

“Gentlemen,” said I to those who were helping, “there is a fresh wind springing up, at no great distance from the earth, and if it does not extend downwards before reaching the gardens, we may consider ourselves fortunate.”

Several bystanders protested against the probability of this, and discussed the matter with flourishing action of the hands and much useless talk.

The Frenchman and the English agent grew quite warm as they expressed opposite views about the matter; but the Dutchman, who was one of the party, avowed his firm belief that squally weather was approaching, and the way in which he gave a furtive and semi-nautical glance above, showed at once that he shared my opinions and fears.

Our attention was directed as quickly as possible to securing the net lines to the hoop, so as to get a fair and equal bearing from a strong centre, and we had just completed this necessary precaution, when the long grass around us bent to leeward with a low, murmuring sound, and in less than half-an-hour after the first symptoms of an approaching gale, one fitful gust broke upon us, creating, as it acted upon the partially-filled balloon, a flapping, blustering sort of music, which only loud Boreas is accustomed to indulge in.

Around the hoop and in the car were placed about forty half-hundredweights, in order to steady the restless machine, which on being filled and let up to the extent of the netting rolled round in graceful sweeps over our heads.

The manager of the gardens, a sturdy Frenchman, was for a precipitate dash through the city, regardless of all risk, but the adventurous Englishman asked “How would Monsieur act if the balloon were his own property?”

“_Vat you vil do?_” said the military looking Belgian, who promised us “_no vind, no nothink_.”

“Why Sir,” I replied, “the fact is we have to contend with a most formidable opponent, and I think we can’t do better than act purely on the defensive, the assaults of this strong wind are quite as much as the balloon can bear, and if we attempt to charge in the teeth of the wind we shall only be repulsed, perhaps with heavy loss.”

As there appeared to be some doubt about the correctness of my views, which required translation, I ordered a general move forward, by way of demonstrating whether it were possible to keep on or whether it was better to lay-to until the wind dropped.

Our forces, so to speak, were thus divided:--twenty burly mechanics at the car, six to each guy-rope, about thirty to two ropes fastened to the hoop with a view of pulling the balloon along, myself in the car giving directions, the Englishman, whose sleeves were shorter than ever, at my right acting as interpreter, Mr. S---- on my left pulling for example’s sake; the manager of the Prado public garden, with subordinates, and small fry, were at their posts shouting vociferously, and thereby confounding the interpreter.

Away we marched, to the infinite delight of the Frenchmen, for a few steps right bravely, but suddenly, flap, round, up, down, went the “Sylph,” upsetting several of the party, and at last we were driven further back than we had actually advanced, which proved sufficient to convince everybody present as to who was right and who were wrong.

We now essayed to move laterally towards a somewhat sheltered spot, but here a fresh difficulty soon presented itself in the shape of a file of soldiers, who drew up near the balloon. An officer then advanced and summoned me to his presence.

There was something decidedly ominous in the undertoned conversation betwixt the officer and myself. I could perceive that all persons present preserved silence, and displayed a large amount of curiosity to ascertain what was going to happen.

The effect of the wind, which was gradually increasing, was not so apparent when the “Sylph” was sheltered behind some trees as it was previously, when each blast came upon us in its full fury, without break or hindrance. I therefore betook myself to the car and stowed away the sand-bags, getting rid of some half-hundredweights in their stead. Lastly I attached my liberating iron to the hoop, and passed into the hands of the workmen a rope connected therewith, which they were requested to hold, and I then informed the assistants that I wished to learn what ascending power the gas had, to effect which it would be necessary to allow the car to rise once or twice a few feet above the ground.

I noticed that the Belgians, Dutchman, and Frenchman, who were most interested in these proceedings, stood aloof in earnest conversation. Quite unexpectedly I found a pair of long hands and bare wrists over the side of the car, and before I could make the first trial with the balloon the Englishman, although short-sighted be it remembered, had vaulted in by my side, without explaining himself or asking of me an explanation, but I guessed when I put out a few bags of sand to equalize his weight that he knew as much of my real intentions as I did myself.

The moment I found the balloon had a buoyant tendency, I suddenly and unexpectedly pulled the trigger, when away went the “Sylph” with a bound, allowing the holders of the rope to go head-over-heels, and everybody else to be seized with the conviction that the balloon had broken away from its moorings.

My intrepid companion was not long in convincing me that he overheard the officer’s secret request, which was, that “owing to the then unsettled state of political affairs persons were not allowed to collect in numbers in the public thoroughfare, and that if I found it impossible to reach the Prado, the authorities requested that I would let out the gas and stop the proceedings.”

“In what way did you pledge yourself to the official?” asked my countryman, as he looked down upon the receding knot of astonished spectators beneath.

“Just allow me to let off a little gas, and I will tell you; we are rising fast notwithstanding our rapid movement forward. Replying to your question then, I merely promised the officer that the balloon should be removed with all possible expedition. It is not likely that I was going to haul down my colours, or in other words, to let out the gas without ascending.”

“But my partners in this speculation, the Frenchman and the others, will hardly comprehend this hasty exit.”

“Indeed they will,” I replied, “the officer will surely intimate his instructions, and my own way of executing his orders will not be displeasing in the long run.”

“What a magnificent view of fair Brussels, but how insignificant in size. Look at the Tower of Malines.”

“And far beyond,” I added, “you can see Antwerp.”

“I knew by your preparations you were going to ascend.”

“Did you,” I observed, “well, I told no one of my intentions, not even Mr. S----, I thought it would be better to clear off first and explain afterwards. It would have been useless to keep the balloon where it was, and I have no doubt the friends with whom you are connected will appreciate my motives by and bye.”

“We are now passing over a village,” said my companion, “which I have just recognised, and you will be astonished to hear that we are least sixteen miles from Brussels, and that we have not been up more than a quarter of an hour.”

“I am not surprised at our rate of travelling, but rather at your good sight in picking out a place well known to you.”

“Ah,” said the Englishman, “mine is a long sight, you will hardly believe that I command the entire panoramic view as clearly as you do; for instance, do you see anything besides those microscopic dots in that green patch? I mean anything besides the cows which graze in the meadows to the right of the farm-house.”

I looked attentively, and just detected a number of ducks, chiefly white ones, on the banks of a pond, but should not have noticed them unless I had examined minutely.

“How far do you suppose those insignificant specks are down?”

“I should guess 3000 feet, but not having my instruments I cannot accurately ascertain our height or the temperature of the air; indeed, we have little time even for landscape viewing, as I suppose we both wish to make Brussels again to-night, there to account for our unceremonious flight.”

I now let off some gas, and in a few minutes we found ourselves travelling with considerable velocity across a large common, where there were canals and banks in which the grapnel was likely to get hold.

I prepared my companion for a rough landing, telling him he must not mind it, as it was his own seeking.

To do him justice he seemed to like the aërial mode of transit, and when the iron took in a water-course and hung fast in the bank, causing the balloon and car to roll over, and then to break away again, he became conscious of the terrible force of the wind, and prepared for a succession of bumps and shocks.

We were soon trailing along towards another canal, the car keeping just clear of the ground, when I found that it was a good spot to catch in, and begged my fellow-traveller to keep fast and look out for squalls. Fortunately this we held fast, but the wayward “Sylph” struggled hard for freedom, and we were thrice driven down with unpleasant violence before I crippled the balloon so as to be able to get out.

We lost no time in returning from whence we came.

On the whole, people were well pleased, both those who were present at the start and those who had only heard of the peculiar circumstances under which it became expedient to make the ascent thus early in the morning.

The newspaper accounts of this first attempt of mine in Belgium eulogised it as “daring and extraordinary.” Public attention therefore was not only called to it, but to another, which was spoken of as certain to take place, provided the gas directors would bestir themselves for the public good.

Thus politely challenged, how could they reasonably refrain from obliging?

To do them justice, they came forward readily, and in less than a week a six-inch main was introduced into the Prado Gardens.

On the 2nd of June a large attendance of the inhabitants of Brussels testified the pleasure they derived from a close inspection of the balloon. They were invited to see something like novelty in connection with the ascent, as I had undertaken to show, on a miniature scale, how practicable it was to discharge aërial shells from a balloon, supposing they were needed in warfare, when it was not possible to bombard in the usual way, owing to the intervention of hills, water, or other impediments.

As there was hardly a breath of air stirring during inflation, the “Sylph” stood proudly erect, and seemed to bask in the sunshine, occasionally evincing a tendency to rise into the upper air, as if to escape the heat below, by soaring into the refreshing coolness of the skies.

A Belgian pyrotechnist having made the explosive shells, in strict accordance with my instructions, and in exact imitation of a model to scale, I was rather anxious to have them all brought out and adjusted before the last moment of setting off.

Great interest was manifested and some apprehension felt about these fireworks, which I had promised to ignite when 2,000 feet high.

The danger connected with their use rested in a great measure with the manufacturer.

If my instructions were rigidly adhered to, they would go off as certainly as a well-made military shell from a mortar. I had taken the precaution of attaching them to a separate battery, which was ready to lower when the balloon left the earth, and I could then pass down a rope ladder, something after the plan of Lieut. Gale, and by communicating with a fuse at a safe distance from the gas, the shells would be ignited.

Being perfectly satisfied with the entire disposition of this part of the contrivance, I invited my intended fellow travellers to enter the car. These were Mr. N----, a railway engineer, and Mr. S----. At eight o’clock p.m., barometer 30·2 and thermometer 66°, we set out for a calm, delightful journey.

The “Sylph” rose almost perpendicularly, so that there was no necessity for hurry in lowering the battery, or in going down to fire the shells.

In less than two minutes, a bluish outburst of smoke, followed by a sharp sound, announced that the first aërial shell had burst in mid-air; a second ring of smoke formed higher up near the balloon, and then a third and fourth exploded at about the original range, the rest following at stated intervals, and with remarkable precision.

Cheer succeeded cheer as each “bang” reached the earth.

“Look out for the next,” cried Mr. N---- as the twelfth shell darted down towards the housetops, and then detonated with a loud ringing report, which echoed in the still air like distant artillery. “That, indeed, is a splendid sight.”

“And sound too,” added Mr. S----. “How many more are there to go off now?”

“As many more,” I replied, “but there is no danger, they are all trimmed to a nicety, and made to fall at least 300 feet before exploding.”

“If these things were used on a large scale, how would you manage their ignition?” enquired the engineer.

“That might be by concussion, supposing the shells were formed like a pear, with two or three nipples at the heavier end, and by fuse as well in case of failure when striking, but we will speak of these matters by and bye; please to note down, barometer 25·4 and thermometer 47° Fahrenheit; we have been so busy as not to have observed the pressure and temperature, which were considerable.”

“It does not feel so much colder,” observed Mr. N----.

“No,” I answered, “for my part, it appears to me warmer, owing to my going up and down the ladder and otherwise exerting myself; but pray notice our course: you, as a resident, know all about that.”

“I am much mistaken,” said the engineer, “if we are not going direct for Waterloo. We are too, by Jove!”

“Bravo,” I exclaimed; “how stands the barometer?”

“About 5·800 feet, we will lower gradually, as we clear the forest of Soignes so as to have a good bird’s-eye view of the battle-fields.”

Mr. S----, who had been looking through a telescope, and who had only recently accompanied us to Waterloo, now caught sight of the lion on the mound.

“Sure enough,” he said, “we shall pass directly over.”

A balloon view of Waterloo with the surrounding country, and bold acclivities, fails entirely to convey the martial associations, which those noted Belgic plains would be expected to arouse. We felt hardly reconciled to the fact, that, on that cluster of fields, which looked so rural, and cultivated, the fate of Europe had been decided, in so great and sanguinary a contest.

As our survey happened to be made in the same month as that on which the memorable battle was fought; the general appearances of nature could not have been very dissimilar to what they were on June 17th, 1815, just when the British infantry bivouacked on the rising ground near the village, and the cavalry rested in those hollows in the rear.

It is true we gazed upon a landscape which was comparatively tame, when unenlivened by the armies of Wellington, Blücher, and Napoleon.

An aërial glance at that great historical picture would indeed have been a sight worth seeing. But the mere bird’s-eye view of the site was somewhat disappointing.

Could we have seen the downtrodden corn and rye, the clouds of smoke, the prancing horses, and helmeted riders, the splendid French columns impetuously advancing against the solid squares of red. Could we have heard the din and roar of musketry and cannon, and the wild hurrah of the last grand charge, then indeed the scene would have appeared fresh and imposing. Our bird’s-eye view of Waterloo, so far from being lively and soul-stirring, was rather of a philosophical and contemplative character.

One could not pass over the ruins of Hougomont, or the farm-house of La Haye Saint, without thinking of the dust and ashes of countrymen and fees which were there scattered in profusion; when we recollect that on the small surface of two square miles, 50,000 men and horses were ascertained to be lying, we can form some idea of the mouldering remains which lie beneath the ripening crops, which presented themselves to our view.

The sun had just set on the peaceful plains in rosy and majestic grandeur. The glorious King of Day declined also on June 18th, thirty-three years before we passed over in a balloon. But how different the scene!

On that evening after the battle, when the cries of the wounded filled the air, as the roar of artillery ceased, and, as night approached, the earth was red dyed and sodden; but on this--inviting cheers of welcome came to us on all sides, and at Waterloo we met with a most friendly reception.

I made one more ascent in the year 1848, in Belgium; this time from the Bourse, at Antwerp. The voyage which was made under great disadvantages presented a rare and remarkable feature. The Englishman, with whom the reader has been made acquainted, was again commissioned to negociate with the gas directors of Antwerp, respecting an ample supply for the inflation; but it again happened that the delivery was by no means equal to our expectations. In fact, when the hour for departure arrived, the “Sylph” was not half full.

What was to be done? The visitors would be disappointed, and my own name connected with a failure.

“Well, that won’t do,” I remember saying, “if there is any means of rising above the Exchange, and clearing Antwerp, I must resort to it.”

“Give me a supply of cordage, and let me tie a few lines across the hoop, and see if there is gas enough to take me up without a car. Do not say a word to anyone, lest our plans are thwarted.”

Having placed myself in the hoop, without any other protection whatever, I found that the balloon would just raise me. The spectators were not aware that I was about to leave them, minus a car to sit in, so that, on mounting over their heads, great surprise was at first manifested, but followed quickly by expressions of approbation, when my risky position was known to be owing to a determination to fulfil my contract. I attained a great elevation during this trip, but, being without a barometer, I could only estimate it approximately at two and a half miles, and this was done by observing that the balloon rose until it became fully distended, and as it was not half inflated at starting, I knew I was quite, if not over two and a half miles high, because a volume of gas will double its bulk at an elevation of nearly three miles and three-quarters.

The excessive cold I experienced was no doubt to be attributed to the current of air passing through the ring, without being in any way broken either by a wicker car or extra clothing.

Not having any ballast to put out or to work with, I was anxious to allow the balloon to rise and fall by alternate expansion and condensation, without letting out gas through the upper valve.

My descent was safely made near Turnhout.

A messenger from Brussels, direct from Callow’s Hotel, arrived on the morning after the ascent, requesting an immediate interview on the part of a gentleman from Prussia, who was anxious to take me over the Rhine.

At the appointed hour, two cards were sent up, and a local solicitor presented himself, and introduced me to Herr Abraham Küpper, the proprietor of Johannisberg, a celebrated _locale_, as it was styled, at Elberfeld.

Herr Küpper, a fine stout fellow with an immense beard, which spread over a spotless white waistcoat, was one of those men who make a pleasing first impression.