Up in the Clouds: Balloon Voyages, R. M. Ballantyne [top e book reader .txt] 📗

the force of the argument, and inwardly infer that I am in no way dependent upon chance, and not likely to suffer from carelessness with Mr Coxwell. We are now far beyond all ordinary sounds from the earth; a sea of clouds is below us, so dense that it is difficult to persuade ourselves that we have passed through them. Up to this time little or no inconvenience is met with; but on passing above four miles, much personal discomfort is experienced; respiration becomes difficult; the beating of the heart at times is audible; the hands and lips become blue, and at higher elevations the face also; and it requires the exercise of a strong will to make and record observations. Before getting to our highest point, Mr Coxwell counts the number of his sandbags, and calculates how much higher we can go, with respect to the reserve of ballast necessary to regulate the descent.

“Then I feel a vibration in the car, and, on turning round, see Mr Coxwell in the act of lowering down the grapnel, then looking up at the balloon, then scanning the horizon, and weighing apparently in his mind some distant clouds through which we are likely to pass in going down.

“A glance suffices to show that his mind is made up how much higher it is prudent to rise, and how much ballast it is expedient to preserve.

“The balloon is now lingering, as it were, under the deep blue vault of space, hesitating whether to mount higher or begin its descent without further warning. We now hold a consultation, and then look around from the highest point, giving silent scope to those emotions of the soul which are naturally called forth by such a wide-spread range of creation.

“Our course is now about to change. But here I interpose with ‘No, no; stop; not yet; let us remain so long that the instruments are certain to take up the true temperature, and that no doubt can rest upon the observations here. When I am satisfied I shall say, “Pull.”’

“Then in silence—for here we respire with difficulty, and talk but little—in the centre of this immense space, in solitude, without a single object to interrupt the view for 200 miles or more all round, abstracted from the earth, upheld by an invisible medium, our mouths so dry that we cannot eat, a white sea below us, so far below, we see few, if any, irregularities. I watch the instruments; but, forcibly impelled, again look round from the centre of this vacuity, whose boundary-line is 1500 miles, commanding nearly 130,000 square miles, till I catch Mr Coxwell’s eye turned towards me, when I again direct mine to the instruments; and when I find no further changes are proceeding, I wave my hand and say, ‘Pull.’

“A deep resonant sound is heard overhead; a second pull is followed by a second report, that rings as with shrill accompaniment down the very sides of the balloon. It is the working of the valve, which causes a loud booming noise, as from a sounding-board, as the springs force the shutters back.

“But this sound in that solitary region, amid silence so profound that no silence on earth is equal to it,—a drum-like sound meeting the ear from above, from whence we do not usually hear sounds—strikes one forcibly. It is, however, one sound only; there is no reverberation, no reflection; and this is characteristic of all sounds in the balloon,—one clear sound continuing during its vibrations, then gone in a moment. No sound ever reaches the ear a second time. But though the sound from the closing of the valve in those silent regions is striking, it is also cheering,—it is reassuring; it proves all to be right, that the balloon is sound, that the colder regions have not frozen tight the outlet for gas, and that we are so far safe. We have descended a mile, and our feelings improve with the increase of air and warmth. But silence reigns supreme, and Mr Coxwell, I observe, turns his back upon me, scanning intently the cloudscape, speculating as to when and where we shall break through and catch sight of the earth. We have been now two hours without seeing terra firma. How striking and impressive is it to realise a position such as this; and yet as men of action, whose province it is to subordinate mere feelings, we refrain from indulging in sentiment. I say refrain, for presently Mr Coxwell breaks out, no longer able to contain himself: ‘Here, Mr Glaisher, you must welcome another balloon. It is the counterpart of our own.’ This spectral balloon is charming to look upon, and presents itself under a variety of imposing aspects, which are magnified or diminished by the relative distance of our balloon from the clouds, and by its position in relation to the sun, which produces the shadow. At mid-day it is deep down, almost underneath; but it is more grandly defined towards evening, when the golden and ruby tints of the declining sun impart a gorgeous colouring to cloudland. You may then see the spectre balloon magnified upon the distant cloud-tops, with three beautiful circles of rainbow tints. Language fails utterly to describe these illuminated photographs, which spring up with matchless truthfulness and choice decoration.

“Just before we enter the clouds, Mr Coxwell, having made all preparations for the descent, strictly enjoins me to be ready to put up the instruments, lest, when we lose the powerful rays of the sun, and absorb the moisture of the lower clouds, we should approach the earth with too great rapidity.

“We now near the confines of the clouds, and dip swiftly into the thickest of them; we experience a decided chill, and hear the rustling of the collapsing balloon, which is now but one-third full, but cannot see it, so dense is the mass of vapour. One, two, three, or more minutes pass, and we are still in the cloud. How thick it must be, considering the rapidity of the descent! Presently we pass below, and the earth is visible. There is a high road intersecting green pastures; a piece of water looking like polished steel presents itself; a farmhouse, with stacks and cattle, is directly under us. We see the sea-coast, but at a distance. An open country lies before us. A shout comes up, and announces that we are seen, and all goes well, save the rapidity of our descent, which has been caused by that dark frowning cloud which shut us out from the sun’s rays, and bedewed us with moisture. Mr Coxwell, however, is counteracting it by means of the ballast, and streams out one bag, which appears to fly up instead of falling down; now another is cast forth, but still it goes up, up. A third reduces the wayward balloon within the bounds of moderation, and Mr Coxwell exultingly exclaims that ‘he has it now under perfect command, with sand enough, and to spare.’

“Delighted to find the balloon is thus checked, as it is favourable to good readings of the several instruments at this elevation, I work as quickly as I can, noticing also the landscape below; rich mounds of green foliage, fields of various shades of green, like a tessellated pavement in motion; with roads, rivers, rivulets, and the undulatory nature of the ground varying the scene every instant. Should our passage be over a town, it is like a model in motion; and all is seen with a distinctness superior to that from the earth; the line of sight is through a purer and less dense medium; everything seems clearer, though smaller; even at the height of four miles above Birmingham we distinguished the New Street Station and the streets.

“We have been descending slowly for a little time, when I am challenged to signify when I can close my observations, as yonder, about two miles distant, is a fine park, where Mr Coxwell’s eye seems to wander with something like a desire to enter it. I approve of the spot, as it is in every way suitable for a descent. The under-current, which is oftentimes stronger than the upper, is wafting us merrily in that direction. We are now only a few hundred feet above the surface. ‘Put up your instruments,’ cries Mr Coxwell, ‘and we will keep on this level until you are ready.’

“A little more sand is let out, and I pack up the instruments quickly in their wadded cases. ‘Are you all right?’ inquires the aeronaut. ‘All right,’ I respond; ‘look out then, and hold fast by the ropes, as the grapnel will stop us in that large meadow, with the hedgerow in front.’

“There, sure enough, we land. The cattle stand at bay affrighted, their tails are horizontal, and they run wildly away. But a group of friends from among the gentry and villagers draws up near the balloon, and although some few question whether we belong to this planet, or whether we are just imported from another, yet any doubt upon this point is soon set at rest, and we are greeted with a hearty welcome from all when we tell our story, how we travelled the realms of space, not from motives of curiosity, but for the advancement of science, its applicability to useful purposes, and the good of mankind.”

In commenting on the several ascents thus combined in one description, Mr Glaisher gives us various pieces of information which are highly interesting. The clouds, he says, on which the sun was shining brightly, each moment opened up to view deep ravines, and shining masses appeared like mountain ranges, some rising perpendicularly from rolling seas or plains, with summits of dazzling brightness, some pyramidal, others undulatory, with deep shadows between.

While passing over London on one occasion at night, at the height of about one mile, he heard the hum of the great city, and saw its lights. The river looked dull, but the bridges that spanned it, and the many miles of straight, intersecting, and winding streets were distinctly visible.

In referring to sound, he tells us that, on different occasions, at a height of 11,800 feet above the earth, a band was heard playing. At between four and five thousand feet a railway whistle and the shouting of people were heard, and at 10,070 feet the report of a gun. A dog was also heard barking at a height of two miles. At a height of 19,000 feet the hands and lips were observed, during one ascent, to be of a dark bluish colour. At four miles the palpitations of the heart were audible, and the breathing was affected. Considerable difficulty was experienced in respiration at higher elevations. From his various observations he found that the effect of high elevation is different upon the same individuals at different times, and believed that, up to heights less than three miles—to which persons of ordinary self-possession might ascend—delicate and accurate scientific observations might be made with ease, but at heights approaching to four miles, such observations could not be made so well, because of the personal distress of the observer, and on approaching to five miles above the earth it required the exercise of a strong will to take any observations at all.

The most wonderful and alarming of the experiences of Mr Glaisher appear to have occurred to him and his companion, Mr Coxwell, during an ascent made from Wolverhampton on the 5th September, when they reached the enormous elevation of between six and seven miles.

They felt no particular inconvenience until after passing above the fifth mile. When at a height of 26,000 feet, Mr Glaisher could not see the column of mercury in the tube; then the fine divisions on the scale of the instrument became invisible. Shortly afterwards he laid his arm on the table, and on attempting again to use it found that the limb was powerless. He tried to move the other arm, and found that it also was paralysed.