A Winter Amid the Ice Part 23

"At daybreak they found themselves opposite Pesaro, four miles from the coast. They were about to reach it, when a gale blew them back into the open sea. They were lost! The frightened boats fled at their approach. Happily, a more intelligent boatman accosted them, hoisted them on board, and they landed at Ferrada.

"A frightful journey, was it not? But Zambecarri was a brave and energetic man. Scarcely recovered from his sufferings, he resumed his ascensions. During one of them he struck against a tree; his spirit-lamp was broken on his clothes; he was enveloped in fire, his balloon began to catch the flames, and he came down half consumed.

"At last, on the 21st of September, 1812, he made another ascension at Boulogne. The balloon clung to a tree, and his lamp again set it on fire. Zambecarri fell, and was killed! And in presence of these facts, we would still hesitate! No. The higher we go, the more glorious will be our death!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Zambecarri fell, and was killed!"]

The balloon being now entirely relieved of ballast and of all it contained, we were carried to an enormous height. It vibrated in the atmosphere. The least noise resounded in the vaults of heaven. Our globe, the only object which caught my view in immensity, seemed ready to be annihilated, and above us the depths of the starry skies were lost in thick darkness.

I saw my companion rise up before me.

"The hour is come!" he said. "We must die. We are rejected of men. They despise us. Let us crush them!"

"Mercy!" I cried.

"Let us cut these cords! Let this car be abandoned in s.p.a.ce. The attractive force will change its direction, and we shall approach the sun!"

Despair galvanized me. I threw myself upon the madman, we struggled together, and a terrible conflict took place. But I was thrown down, and while he held me under his knee, the madman was cutting the cords of the car.

"One!" he cried.

"My G.o.d!"

"Two! Three!"

I made a superhuman effort, rose up, and violently repulsed the madman.

"Four!"

The car fell, but I instinctively clung to the cords and hoisted myself into the meshes of the netting.

The madman disappeared in s.p.a.ce!

[Ill.u.s.tration: The madman disappeared in s.p.a.ce!]

The balloon was raised to an immeasurable height. A horrible cracking was heard. The gas, too much dilated, had burst the balloon. I shut my eyes--

Some instants after, a damp warmth revived me. I was in the midst of clouds on fire. The balloon turned over with dizzy velocity.

Taken by the wind, it made a hundred leagues an hour in a horizontal course, the lightning flas.h.i.+ng around it.

Meanwhile my fall was not a very rapid one. When I opened my eyes, I saw the country. I was two miles from the sea, and the tempest was driving me violently towards it, when an abrupt shock forced me to loosen my hold. My hands opened, a cord slipped swiftly between my fingers, and I found myself on the solid earth!

It was the cord of the anchor, which, sweeping along the surface of the ground, was caught in a crevice; and my balloon, unballasted for the last time, careered off to lose itself beyond the sea.

When I came to myself, I was in bed in a peasant's cottage, at Harderwick, a village of La Gueldre, fifteen leagues from Amsterdam, on the sh.o.r.es of the Zuyder-Zee.

A miracle had saved my life, but my voyage had been a series of imprudences, committed by a lunatic, and I had not been able to prevent them.

May this terrible narrative, though instructing those who read it, not discourage the explorers of the air.

A WINTER AMID THE ICE.

CHAPTER I.

THE BLACK FLAG.

The cure of the ancient church of Dunkirk rose at five o'clock on the 12th of May, 18--, to perform, according to his custom, low ma.s.s for the benefit of a few pious sinners.

Attired in his priestly robes, he was about to proceed to the altar, when a man entered the sacristy, at once joyous and frightened. He was a sailor of some sixty years, but still vigorous and st.u.r.dy, with, an open, honest countenance.

"Monsieur the cure," said he, "stop a moment, if you please."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Monsieur the cure," said he, "stop a moment, if you please."]

"What do you want so early in the morning, Jean Cornb.u.t.te?" asked the cure.

"What do I want? Why, to embrace you in my arms, i' faith!"

"Well, after the ma.s.s at which you are going to be present--"

"The ma.s.s?" returned the old sailor, laughing. "Do you think you are going to say your ma.s.s now, and that I will let you do so?"

"And why should I not say my ma.s.s?" asked the cure. "Explain yourself. The third bell has sounded--"

"Whether it has or not," replied Jean Cornb.u.t.te, "it will sound many more times to-day, monsieur the cure, for you have promised me that you will bless, with your own hands, the marriage of my son Louis and my niece Marie!"

"He has arrived, then," said the cure "joyfully.

"It is nearly the same thing," replied Cornb.u.t.te, rubbing his hands. "Our brig was signalled from the look out at sunrise,--our brig, which you yourself christened by the good name of the 'Jeune-Hardie'!"

"I congratulate you with all my heart, Cornb.u.t.te," said the cure, taking off his chasuble and stole. "I remember our agreement. The vicar will take my place, and I will put myself at your disposal against your dear son's arrival."

"And I promise you that he will not make you fast long," replied the sailor. "You have already published the banns, and you will only have to absolve him from the sins he may have committed between sky and water, in the Northern Ocean. I had a good idea, that the marriage should be celebrated the very day he arrived, and that my son Louis should leave his s.h.i.+p to repair at once to the church."

"Go, then, and arrange everything, Cornb.u.t.te."

"I fly, monsieur the cure. Good morning!"

The sailor hastened with rapid steps to his house, which stood on the quay, whence could be seen the Northern Ocean, of which he seemed so proud.

Jean Cornb.u.t.te had ama.s.sed a comfortable sum at his calling.