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128
Wonderful Balloon Ascents; Or, The Conquest of the Skies
·
Fulgence Marion
101
brilliant
lighting
by
gas,
we
recognise
as
Brussels.
There
could
be
no
mistake,
for
close
by,
more
modest
in
size
and
appearance,
we
see
Catholic
Malines.
We
have
left
it
behind
us.
“Onward!
Onward!
Behind
us
the
fires
fade
gradually
away,
and
disappear
one
after
another.
Before
us
nothing
at
present
visible.
We
seemed
to
drift
on
for
about
one
hundred
or
one
hundred
and
fifty
yards
more.
We
cannot
distinguish
a
single
point
in
front
of
us
on
which
to
fix
our
gaze.
But
we
still
continue
our
course
in
silence.
“This
mournful
darkness,
this
endless
shroud,
in
which
we
can
discover
neither
rent
nor
spangle,
still
continues.
Where
are
we?
Over
what
strange
country,
possessing
neither
cities,
towns,
nor
villages,
are
we
hovering
in
the
tomb-like
silence
of
this
interminable
darkness?
We
seem,
indeed,
to
have
been
carried
by
a
puff
of
wind
towards
the
west.
“But
something
seems
to
approach
us.
What
are
those
pale
rays
of
light
which
we
can
faintly
see
a
long,
long
way
before
us--rays
pale
and
soft,
quite
unlike
those
flaming
fires
we
have
left
behind
us?
Surely
these
do
not
denote
the
presence
of
human
activity!
As
we
continue
to
advance,
these
pale
flakes
of
light--resembling
nothing
so
much
in
appearance
as
molten
lead--which
at
first
were
scanty
and
isolated,
gradually
expand,
and
leave
only
narrow
strips
of
darkness
to
divide
them
into
fantastic
shapes.
By
their
help
we
discovered
we
were
passing
over
the
immense
marshes
of
Holland,
which
extended
to
and
lost
themselves
in
the
hazy
horizon.
On
our
right
hand
we
hear
a
deep
moan,
still
distant,
but
rapidly
approaching
every
moment.
It
is
undoubtedly
the
rushing
of
the
wind.
A
fresh
breeze
for
five
minutes
would
bring
us
to
the
sea.
“We
experienced
another
shock
not
less
formidable
than
the
first.
The
‘Geant’
is
trembling
from
its
effects.
The
cable
of
our
first
anchor
has
just
broken
like
a
piece
of
thread.
We
could
not
hope
for
a
better
result.
The
violence
of
the
wind
which
is
carrying
us
along
seems
to
be
redoubled.
A
bump:
another
and
another--then
shock
after
shock.
“‘The
second
dead
men!’
“Our
swift
pace
was
shock
after
shock.
“‘The
anchor
is
lost,’
cries
Jules;
‘we
are
all
dead
men!
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