The danger was here, and our position seemed absolutely desperate. Death is not the most fearful thing in the destinies of man. It was when we first embarked on the “Vauban” that we offered the sacrifice of our lives, knowing perfectly well that we were exposing ourselves to the danger of falling on the road. We had, therefore, foreseen the possibility of death; but to die torn by a blind force, to be dragged over trees and not to know if the branches will first wrench off your head or your arms, is a thing more painful than death. And there was no physical power nor intelligence—no means whatever which might save us. We had nothing to fall back on, absolutely nothing but hazard, as blind as the force which was playing with our existence. The situation caused a strange thing to happen in my imagination, which I have never been able to explain and which I should like at this point to describe.

For a few moments I had a sort of vision. There is nothing extraordinary in this. It can be easily explained. But what I at least find more difficult to explain and what up till now I have never been able to understand is that I was at the same time absolutely and entirely master of myself, in full control of my intelligence, my will, and my self-command. I felt the vision, knowing that it was a vision, as an interested observer of an extraordinary phenomenon.

This is what I saw:—

I was back in my birthplace, in my father’s house. The big parlour was lit up as if for some festival. The room was full of people; all my family, as well as my boyhood’s friends and companions, were around me.

My mother was among them, beautiful but pale, and she kissed me and cried. My dear father, who has since left us and now rests in eternity, my little sister, my brothers, and everyone, thronged round me and I said good-bye to them. It was dark outside, but the big chandelier shed its light on this numerous concourse. They were all in holiday attire, but it was a silent festival and the only voice was the caressing one of my mother, who said to me: “Don’t leave me yet.”... “No, Mother.” And then the vision vanished.

If I had not the most indisputable proof that at the moment when I had this vision I was absolutely cool and in control of my faculties, there would be nothing extraordinary in this and it might be easily explained by my nervous state and by the fatigue and over-excitement of the journey.

But I looked at the vision simply as a vision, taking my part in it, but knowing at the same time that it was a chimera and that I was perfectly calm and self-controlled. My intelligence and my powers of comprehension were absolutely lucid, and here is the proof:—

From the moment that I saw the first impact of the car against the trees threatening, I thought of a plan for protecting myself, which both argued that my wits were at work and required presence of mind.

Anyone who has seen a balloon will know that between the gas-bag and the car there is a solid ring of wood to one side of which the gas-bag is attached, the other side supporting the car. This wooden ring is called the “crown” and is between the balloon and the basket, which are both strongly roped to it.

Now the crown, by reason of its being between the two rope attachments, is the best place of refuge from a crash which must necessarily be considerably broken after being transmitted over the ropes to the crown, particularly as the latter is a considerable distance from the car. In order to reach it one has to get up on the seat and hoist oneself along the ropes from the edge of the basket to the crown, which is several metres distant.

As soon as I saw that there was no more hope of maintaining ourselves in the air and that our car was inevitably bound to crash against the summits of the trees, I jumped on the seat and climbed up to the crown. The formation of this plan and its rapid execution in the exact moment of danger was sufficient proof of my presence of mind at the moment of our fall and of the vision which accompanied it. I even remember that I laughed at a remark, which really was laughable, of my companions in distress.

When they saw me climb on to the seat, and from there to the side of the basket, in order to swarm up the ropes to the crown, they asked me in all seriousness if I was going to get out. The question made me laugh. There was really something comical in the contrast between our situation and my friend’s question. To get out of a balloon in motion which is about to fall upon the spiked branches of a forest! They had asked me seriously, and with a certain amount of anxiety: “Are you going to get out?...” “No,” said I, and laughed. “Where do you want me to go?” It was at that moment that I saw my vision.

But to go back to our descent. The balloon, which thus dragged us over the trees, had kept all its power, for it was still filled with gas, and might drag us a long time yet.

What could we do? Opening the valve would by no means have stopped it, as it would have taken too much time and the gas would not have escaped quickly enough. We therefore decided to cut the ropes which bound the car to the crown in order to separate it from the infuriated balloon.

The good sailor took out his trusty axe, but scarcely had he given the first cut when the balloon succeeded in disengaging the basket from the branches which held it back and impeded its course. It then recommenced its flight, rising like an eagle towards higher regions.

We were stupified. So we were to have a new journey and fresh adventures!

Fortunately it was not one of long duration. The wind and the rain whipped the balloon from all sides and prevented it from regaining its original vigour and mounting higher. Then a last struggle engaged between the balloon and the storm, which had continued raging. The balloon, once free, tried to rise, but was held back by the extreme violence of the tempest. In its struggles it leapt and bounded, making us fear at any moment that the basket would upset and precipitate its contents pell-mell into space. Twice a squall threw us to the ground—that is to say, into the trees—and twice the unexhausted strength of the balloon snatched us from their branches. A third, more violent, gust enveloped the balloon entirely, bent it to the ground in front of the car, and hurled it against a large and magnificent oak—which I can see to-day before my eyes. We were in safety—the balloon gave the expiring yell of a strong fabric torn by violent explosion. It burst, rent along its side, and hung in a thousand enormous rags against the ancient branches of the great oak which had destroyed it.

We were at once enveloped by clouds of gas escaping from the disembowelled balloon. In a moment all was over. The car had stopped and we were safe. My watch pointed to one o’clock when I jumped down from the tree.

But in what part of the country were we? Whose was the wood which protected us? Should we meet Frenchmen or had we fallen into the enemy’s country? That old navigator Ulysses, when he walked on the beach of Ithaca, was not more ignorant of his fate than we when we left our car in the branches of the trees in which it remained captive.