n the 7th June, 1896, the steam-ship Virgo sailed from the port of Gothenburg in Sweden with a very distinguished company on board. Rising young engineers, students of the Stockholm Polytechnic, and gentlemen of scientific fame, had engaged themselves as common sailors, so deep was their interest in the object for which the Virgo sailed. The principal person on board was Herr Solomon Auguste AndrÉe, who, with two companions, Dr. Erkholm and Dr. Strindberg, was bent on making an adventurous attempt to reach the North Pole by means of a balloon. The Virgo was therefore steering for the lonely shores of Spitzbergen, six hundred miles south of the Pole. Here the balloon would be inflated to carry Herr AndrÉe and his companions (it was hoped) over the rest of that pathless, snowbound journey. The balloon itself, at present, lay carefully packed in its berth, together with the car and the apparatus for making the necessary gas. It had been manufactured in France a month before, and while on exhibition for four days at the Champ de Mars, had been seen by thirty thousand visitors.

But the very finest balloon in the world could not sail against the wind, and, though on the 27th July it was inflated and quite ready for flight, the north wind blew steadily down from the Pole as though to say, 'You are not wanted here! You are not wanted here!'

Herr AndrÉe and his friends waited patiently for three weeks, and then, as it still blew from the north, he ordered the gas to be let out and the silk bag packed for a return to the south. The captain of the Virgo said that he feared, if they stayed longer, his ship would be frozen in. The shed which they had erected on Dane's Island was left standing for use another time, together with the machinery for making the gas.

Nine months later, on May 30th, 1897, the Svensksund (a ship lent to the expedition by the King of Sweden) landed AndrÉe once more at Dane's Island, and once more he filled his air-ship with gas. This time it had been considerably increased in size, and measured sixty-six feet in diameter, with room for one hundred and seventy-six thousand cubic feet of gas. The globe was made of bands of silk eighteen inches wide, varying in thickness according to the strains it would have to bear. It was provided with two additional valves and an arrangement called a 'rending flap.' This flap was intended to avoid bumping, when, at the end of the voyage, the aeronauts would descend for the last time. A rope, carrying a small grapnel at one end, was at the other end attached to the 'flap.' The moment the grapnel was thrown out and caught in the ground, the tightened rope would tear a large opening in the balloon and let out all the gas instantaneously. If care in construction had been all that was necessary to make Herr AndrÉe's journey a success, then our story would surely have had a happier ending.

Again, as in 1896, the contrary wind delayed the start, but on July 11th it veered round to the south, and though it was by no means a settled wind, Herr AndrÉe decided to weigh anchor. All was ready. A hasty note to the King of Sweden was written by the leader. Farewells were spoken, and the captain leapt into his car.

'Strindberg! Frankel!'[5] he cried, 'we must be off!'

The next moment his two fellow-travellers stood at his side. Each held a knife with which to cut loose three bags of ballast that kept the balloon from rising. It was an impressive moment, and those who stood on that lonely shore to wish Godspeed to the tiny expedition are not likely to forget the smallest detail of the scene. The ballast fell, and the 'Ornen' (as the balloon was named) rose a little way, being still held by three strong ropes. Near each of these a sailor stood with a knife ready to cut the rope the moment Herr AndrÉe gave the word. A little more delay, till the great globe swayed to a favourable puff of wind, and then Herr AndrÉe called, 'One, two! Cut the ropes!'—and the balloon rose into the air, while the quiet shores of the lonely little island echoed the hearty cheers of the company left behind.

From the car of the balloon hung a long 'trailing' rope, which it was AndrÉe's intention to keep always in contact with the earth or water, and by so doing control the direction of the balloon. Between the car and the balloon itself was an arrangement of three sails, which could be trimmed to the wind against the resistance of the trailing rope. The great difficulty in steering balloons has always been that since they travel at exactly the same speed as the wind, there is nothing for sails to react against; but by checking the speed of the balloon (just as the speed of a ship is checked by the water) this difficulty may be got over to some extent.

So Herr AndrÉe dropped his trailing rope, and, as he left Dane's Island, those who had gone to see him off watched the little bubbling wake that was left behind by the rope. Narrower and narrower it grew in the distance till it was no more than a silver line, and the vast balloon above it moved like a grey shadow on the Arctic sky. The three explorers in the car were soon beyond the reach of sight, but the crew of the Svensksund never took their eyes from the air-ship till, sailing in a north-easterly direction at a height of about one hundred and fifty feet, it disappeared behind a range of low hills.

Eleven days later a message was received by carrier pigeon (the fourth dispatched by Herr AndrÉe). It stated that on July 13th, two days after the departure, all was going well. On August 31st a floating buoy was found in the Arctic seas, and contained another message, but as it was dated July 11th it was of less interest than the first.

Since then the explorer and his companions have passed from our knowledge as completely as the silver wake of his trailing rope has faded from the Arctic sea. The efforts made to follow its mysterious path have failed for eight years, and the traveller's fate is another secret locked in these frozen regions.

John Lea.