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The many experiments made during this last quarter of the nineteenth
century have given considerable impetus to the question of guidable balloons.
The cars furnished with propellers attached in 1852 to the aerostats of the
elongated form introduced by Henry Giffard, the machines of Dupuy de Lome in
1872, of the Tissandier brothers in 1883, and of Captain Krebs and Renard in
1884, yielded many important results. But if these machines, moving in a medium
heavier than themselves, maneuvering under the propulsion of a screw, working at
an angle to the direction of the wind, and even against the wind, to return to
their point of departure, had been really “guidable,” they had only
succeeded under very favorable conditions. In large, covered halls their
success was perfect. In a calm atmosphere they did very well. In a light wind
of five or six yards a second they still moved. But nothing practical had been
obtained. Against a miller’s wind— nine yards a second—the
machines had remained almost stationary. Against a fresh breeze—eleven
yards a second—they would have advanced backwards. In a
storm—twenty-seven to thirty-three yards a second—they would have
been blown about like a feather. In a hurricane—sixty yards a
second—they would have run the risk of being dashed to pieces. And in one
of those cyclones which exceed a hundred yards a second not a fragment of them
would have been left. It remained, then, even after the striking experiments of
Captains Krebs and Renard, that though guidable aerostats had gained a little
speed, they could not be kept going in a moderate breeze. Hence the
impossibility of making practical use of this mode of aerial locomotion.
With regards to the means employed to give the aerostat its motion a
great deal of progress had been made. For the steam engines of Henry Giffard,
and the muscular force of Dupuy de Lome, electric motors had gradually been
substituted. The batteries of bichromate of potassium of the Tissandier
brothers had given a speed of four yards a second. The dynamo-electric machines
of Captain Krebs and Renard had developed a force of twelve horsepower and
yielded a speed of six and a half yards per second.
With regard to this motor, engineers and electricians had been
approaching more and more to that desideratum which is known as a steam horse
in a watch case. Gradually the results of the pile of which Captains Krebs and
Renard had kept the secret had been surpassed, and aeronauts had become able to
avail themselves of motors whose lightness increased at the same time as their
power.
In this there was much to encourage those who believed in the
utilization of guidable balloons. But yet how many good people there are who
refuse to admit the possibility of such a thing! If the aerostat finds support
in the air it belongs to the medium in which it moves; under such conditions,
how can its mass, which offers so much resistance to the currents of the
atmosphere, make its way against the wind?
In this struggle of the inventors after a light and powerful motor, the
Americans had most nearly attained what they sought. A dynamo-electric
apparatus, in which a new pile was employed the composition of which was still
a mystery, had been bought from its inventor, a Boston chemist up to then
unknown. Calculations made with the greatest care, diagrams drawn with the utmost
exactitude, showed that by means of this apparatus driving a screw of given
dimensions a displacement could be obtained of from twenty to twenty-two yards
a second.
Now this was magnificent!
“And it is not dear,” said Uncle Prudent, as he handed to the
inventor in return for his formal receipt the last installment of the hundred
thousand paper dollars he had paid for his invention.
Immediately the Weldon Institute set to work. When there comes along a
project of practical utility the money leaps nimbly enough from American
pockets. The funds flowed in even without its being necessary to form a
syndicate. Three hundred thousand dollars came into the club’s account at
the first appeal. The work began under the superintendence of the most
celebrated aeronaut of the United States, Harry W. Tinder, immortalized by
three of his ascents out of a thousand, one in which he rose to a height of
twelve thousand yards, higher than Gay Lussac, Coxwell, Sivet, Crocé-Spinelli,
Tissandier, Glaisher; another in which he had crossed America from New York to
San Francisco, exceeding by many hundred leagues the journeys of Nadar, Godard,
and others, to say nothing of that of John Wise, who accomplished eleven
hundred and fifty miles from St. Louis to Jefferson county; the third, which
ended in a frightful fall from fifteen hundred feet at the cost of a slight
sprain in the right thumb, while the less fortunate Pilâtre de Rozier fell only
seven hundred feet, and yet killed himself on the spot!
At the time this story begins the Weldon institute had got their work
well in hand. In the Turner yard at Philadelphia there reposed an enormous
aerostat, whose strength had been tried by highly compressed air. It well
merited the name of the monster balloon.
How large was Nadar’s Géant? Six thousand cubic meters. How large
was John Wise’s balloon? Twenty thousand cubic meters. How large was the
Giffard balloon at the 1878 Exhibition? Twenty-five thousand cubic meters.
Compare these three aerostats with the aerial machine of the Weldon Institute,
whose volume amounted to forty thousand cubic meters, and you will understand
why Uncle Prudent and his colleagues were so justifiably proud of it.
This balloon not being destined for the exploration of the higher strata
of the atmosphere, was not called the Excelsior, a name which is rather too
much held in honor among the citizens of America. No! It was called, simply,
the “Go-Ahead,” and all it had to do was to justify its name by
going ahead obediently to the wishes of its commander.
The dynamo-electric machine, according to the patent purchased by the
Weldon Institute, was nearly ready. In less than six weeks the
“Go-Ahead” would start for its first cruise through space.
But, as we have seen, all the mechanical difficulties had not been
overcome. Many evenings had been devoted to discussing, not the form of its
screw nor its, dimensions, but whether it ought to be put behind, as the
Tissandier brothers had done, or before as Captains Krebs and Renard had done.
It is unnecessary to add that the partisans of the two systems had almost come
to blows. The group of “Beforists” were equaled in number by the
group of “Behindists.” Uncle Prudent, who ought to have given the
casting vote—Uncle Prudent, brought up doubtless in the school of
Professor Buridan— could not bring himself to decide.
Hence the impossibility of getting the screw into place. The dispute
might last for some time, unless the government interfered. But in the United
States the government meddles with private affairs as little as it possibly
can. And it is right.
Things were in this state at this meeting on the 13th of June, which
threatened to end in a riot—insults exchanged, fisticuffs succeeding the
insults, cane thrashings succeeding the fisticuffs, revolver shots succeeding
the cane thrashings—when at thirty-seven minutes past eight there
occurred a diversion.
The porter of the Weldon Institute coolly and calmly, like a policeman
amid the storm of the meeting, approached the presidential desk. On it he
placed a card. He awaited the orders that Uncle Prudent found it convenient to
give.
Uncle Prudent turned on the steam whistle, which did duty for the
presidential bell, for even the Kremlin clock would have struck in vain! But
the tumult slackened not.
Then the president removed his hat. Thanks to this extreme measure a
semi-silence was obtained.
“A communication!” said Uncle Prudent, after taking a huge
pinch from the snuff-box which never left him.
“Speak up!” answered eighty-nine voices, accidentally in
agreement on this one point.
“A stranger, my dear colleagues, asks to be admitted to the
meeting.”
“Never!” replied every voice.
“He desires to prove to us, it would appear,” continued
Uncle Prudent, ‘that to believe in guiding balloons is to believe in the
absurdest of Utopias!”
“Let him in! Let him in!”
“What is the name of this singular personage?” asked
secretary Phil Evans.
“Robur,” replied Uncle Prudent.
“Robur! Robur! Robur!” yelled the assembly. And the welcome
accorded so quickly to the curious name was chiefly due to the Weldon Institute
hoping to vent its exasperation on the head of him who bore it!
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