One of these presumptuous “quittings of one's sphere,” to “rush
into the skies,” was attempted in our little capital city, on Friday, the 21st
inst., and with very handsome success. Popular curiosity poured in to witness
it, under umbrellas and cloaks, from all the surrounding country. — We wish
they would take half the pains to free their country from slavery, that they
will to see a great soap-bubble go up into the air, with a gaseous man
subjoined to it. It was a novel sight, to be sure, and if it is to be done, perhaps
it may as well be seen; though going to see it, is all the occasion of
the poor skyman's venturing up. He can have no other. — This aerostation can
never, probably, come to any thing useful. We can't navigate, for the purposes
of commerce, travel, or discovery, “the brave o'er-hanging firmament,” or
explore, in this gas-distended craft, the great orb of day, the waning moon, or
those islands of light, that sprinkle at night the boundless Pacific “hung on
high.” — No rudder can be invented, that shall steer the light air-ship through
the billowy clouds. The compass will not traverse, to point to the celestial
pole, and no anchor can fix its crooked fluke in the bottom of the aeronaut's
ocean.
The utmost result of a voyage is the escape of the voyager
with a whole neck. Science can derive no accessions from it. It cannot promise
even the north-west passage to China, to explore which, English audacity has
braved the horrors of the polar half-year's night — the formidable ice-islands —
and all the terrors of the arctic winter — a passage which commerce of course
could not use, if they could find one, without a Parry or a Ross in every
merchantman.
Mr. Lauriat went up at Concord. His balloon, made of oiled
silk, containing, as was said, seven hundred yards, and covered with a fine
netting, was about two hours inflating. The gas was made in hogsheads, passed
from them through tin tubes, going out of the tight headings, as the casks
stood on end—and leading into reservoirs of lime water, which purified the gas
as it passed through it,—out of which it was conducted, in large cloth ducts,
into one which entered the throat of the balloon. The balloon, when filled, was
about sixty feet high and thirty through. As it filled and struggled to rise,
like an overgrown elephant, it was held down by the cords attached to the
netting, by a circle of spectators and others standing round it. The car was
brought and suspended directly under the centre, by these cords. It was of
basket work, about a foot high, and from four to five feet over; a net work
connected a hoop with it about eighteen inches above, to keep the navigator
from falling overboard. About 5 o'clock, in the midst of a rain, he got on
board his frail vessel, and they let him up, by a cord about twenty feet, when
he made a short valedictory, cut his cable with his pocket knife, with rather
an agitated hand, as we thought, and went up.
The ascent was very graceful and gentle, and reminded us of
the ascent of thistle-down. The multitude dismissed him with a good-natured
hurrah — and he was soon so high that he looked more like a puppet than a man.
He waved a little flag, which, if it was the starred and striped one we
sometimes see flapping at liberty poles down here, could be more appropriately
unfurled after he had passed beyond the clouds, than this side of them. When
his vehicle was reduced to about the size of a hand, he went in behind a
cloud-curtain, and disappeared. He went to Canterbury, about a dozen miles
distant, and lighted down among the broad-brimmed hats of our friends the
Shakers, about twenty minutes after he started, took a drop, as we are told, of
their imperial cider, to keep the clouds from striking to his stomach, remounted
and rode on, upon the twilight air, to Northfield, and landed near where Samuel
Tilton, Esq, once arrested George Storrs for prayer. He was dripping
wet, having rode in the rain and among the very springs of foul weather, most
of his way — though a portion of his journey was, we understand, above them in
clear sky. When he was above the clouds, he said it seemed to him he was
stationary, though he knew he must be moving. he knew not whither, with great
velocity. He could not see the earth. His greatest elevation was eleven
thousand feet.
One of the greatest balloon feats we believe ever performed,
was by a Mr. Blanchard and another adventurer, who sailed from Dover cliffs in
England, crossed the entire British channel, and landed safely in France. It
would have been much safer, however, and quite as rational, to take the Calais
packet. The chief end and result of ballooning seem to be, as in the case of
the intrepid Samuel Patch, (who ascended the other way,) to show that “some
things can be done as well as others.”
SOURCE: Collection from the Miscellaneous Writings
of Nathaniel Peabody Rogers, Second Edition, p. 27-9 which states it was
published in the Herald of Freedom of September 29, 1838.
No comments:
Post a Comment