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At last, at about two in the afternoon, we reached the outskirts of Paris herself.
From the air Paris is a rough oval through which the Seine cuts neatly from east to west. With the
periscope we could quite clearly see the islands which lie at the heart of the city, and we studied the
elegant roof of the Cathedral of Notre Dame untouched as yet by the Prussian artillery which had
been brought into close order around the city. Just to the north of the water, we could make out the
Rue de Rivoli which runs parallel to the river. Tracing the road to its western extent I found the
Champs Elysées, and I puzzled over fallen trees scattered over the roadway, looking like spilled
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matchstalks. I wondered if they had been felled by German artillery, but Traveller suggested that the
grand avenue was being cut down in order to supply firewood for the city's beleaguered citizens.
Around the brown-gray carcass of the city lay the main defensive fortifications: we tracked twenty
miles of walls from the Bois de Boulogne in the west to the Bois de Vincennes in the east. And, in
the countryside beyond the walls, we could clearly see the encampments of the besieging Prussian
armies. Officers' tents lay like scattered handkerchiefs among the woods and fields; and when we
descended a little lower we could make out the pits in which artillery pieces had been
lodged hundreds of them, all with their sinister snouts trained on the hapless citizens of Paris. And
we could even espy the flashing red, blue and silver uniforms of the Prussian soldiery themselves.
As I stared down at the wondering, upturned faces of these conquering Germans it occurred to me
how simple it would be for me to drop, say, a Dewar-ful of anti-ice among them with quite
devastating effect. The Prussians could do nothing in response; we could easily rise above the range
of their guns, even if they could be trained on an object floating in the air.
I shuddered, wondering if I had had a vision of some future war.
Now we were fascinated to see, rising from the brown mass of the city, the bulky, ponderous form of
a hot air balloon. The Manchester newspapers had been full of the Parisians' brave attempts to
communicate with the rest of France by means of such vessels, and by the even more desperate
expedient of carrier pigeons; but nevertheless the actual sight was quite startling. The clumsy vessel
resembled a patchwork quilt in its jumble of colors and roughly-cut panels, and it bobbed
uncertainly in the brisk westerly winds which soared over the roofs of the city, but off to the east it
sailed with a semblance of grace, crossing the city walls in minutes.
We scanned the horizon with Traveller's telescopes but of the Prince Albert there was no sign.
Traveller frowned. "Well, Ned, what next?"
I shook my head, baffled and disappointed; the scale of the martial drama laid out below me was so
great that my impulsive dreams that one man could alter the course of unfolding events, even armed
with such a tool as Phaeton, seemed foolish fantasies. "I don't know what we can do here," I said at
length. "But I think I should still very much like to find Françoise."
Traveller pulled at his chin. "Then we must gather more information as to the Albert's whereabouts."
"Should we land in the city itself?"
He studied the maps on his chest for a few moments. "I am reluctant to follow such a course. We
would have no way of warning the citizens of our approach, or of ensuring the area was made
clear indeed, in the Parisians' present excitable state, our imminent landing might attract large
crowds, who would rush into the path of our steam jets.
"No, Ned; I can't recommend a landing in the city. But I have an alternative suggestion."
"Which is?"
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"Let us follow that balloon pilot. When he comes down we can land in safety and approach him."
I thought this over. I felt reluctant to waste hours in gentle pursuit of the primitive craft. But on the
other hand the balloon's pilot would surely have a wider understanding of the situation than the
average Parisian, for otherwise he would not have been assisted to escape. A few moments quizzing
this intrepid fellow might replace hours of scouring the Parisian mobs.
"Very well," I said to Traveller. "Let us pursue this brave pilot, and hope that he can assist us."
* * *
To the east of Paris lies the Champagne region of France; and it was here, some twenty miles from
the city walls, that the westerly winds deposited our balloon pilot. Amid neat little vineyards his
deflated vessel lay like a colorful pool, quite unmistakable from the air.
Traveller landed the Phaeton a quarter of a mile to the north. Before the rocket nozzles had cooled
we unraveled rope ladders and scrambled to the ground. It was now late afternoon and we stood for a
few seconds, blinking up at a cloudy sky. The Phaeton, having arrived in its usual spectacular style,
sat at the center of a disc of charred and fallen vines; never again would these plants bear fruit! And
just beyond the burned region a young man in a simple smock stood staring; even from here I could
see how his mouth hung open.
Traveller strode confidently toward this rustic and pressed money into his hands. The engineer told
the fellow, in broken French, that he was to take this offering to his employer as recompense for the
destruction of a portion of his vines. Bemused, the poor chap unfolded the money and stared at it, as
if he had never seen an English five-pound note before. But we left no time for further explanations;
with the curtest of farewells to our reluctant host we strode off through acres of hedgerow and vine.
Five minutes later we came upon the balloon. The craft, deflated now, was constructed of crudely-
sewn oddments of cloth I spotted tablecloths, bedsheets, curtains, and even a soft, white fabric
which reminded me of the gentler items of ladies' apparel. The sac was breached by panels attached
to lengths of twine; these panels were clearly intended to be ripped open in order to deflate the sac;
but around these neat rectangles the balloon wall had torn, and so the craft must have descended
with more velocity than the pilot intended. I remarked to Traveller, "Good Lord, Sir Josiah, this [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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