All hands simultaneously let go of the ropes and quickly cut the moorings. The balloon was free, and mounted swiftly, turning round its axis, great and majestic as an eagle in flight. “_Bon voyage_, bold travellers, _bon voyage_!” shouted the crowd, and everybody waved their hands, handkerchiefs, and hats. There were even flags floating gaily in the breeze. It was a touching thing to see all these arms held out to us, and sending us a last goodbye from the beloved earth which we were leaving. It was a very short moment and passed like a flash. The balloon turned on itself with dizzy swiftness. It went up, and up, and up, always turning. The _Gare d’Orleans_, the streets of Paris with their houses, the monuments, the last lines of the city, the circle of fortifications, the countryside with its fortresses, all appeared and disappeared with maddening rapidity. The eye no longer saw and the intelligence ceased in stupefaction, paralysed by this mad, gigantic dance, without purpose and without end. Where were we and where were we going? What was the meaning of this continual turning? When would we stop and what would be the end of this phenomenal journey? The sun was radiant and the shadows were deep and clearly defined. The wind whipped and hastened the spinning of our balloon. Contrasts followed each other with such prodigious swiftness that it became impossible to follow them. Sight and mind slid over this marvellous ocean as if in a dream, no longer distinguishing shape or time or space. Where were we? We did not know; one half-minute of the balloon’s free course was enough to make us feel completely lost. If the balloon had only proceeded in a straight line in the same way as any other known craft, we should not have lost the bearing of our starting-point, in spite of the swiftness of our progress; but the balloon twisted ceaselessly and with terrible rapidity about its own axis. After a few revolutions that were quicker than lightning, it was impossible to recognise the direction in which we were going or to know our position. Whither were we going? Left, right, south or north--it was impossible to say. A compass might have told us. But, as I have already said, our balloon had no compass, a thing so necessary to every navigator. Our only instrument was a little barometric scale which registered the height at which the balloon was travelling. In addition the unfortunate sailor, who was our improvised aeronaut and who was to direct our expedition, had as much knowledge of the art of aerial navigation as an inhabitant of the moon has of the mysteries of the Indian Brahmans. This will give you an exact idea of the manner in which our journey was undertaken. Our expedition went off, in a doubly true sense, at the mercy of chance and the wind. CHAPTER III WONDERS AND EVENTS OF AN AERIAL VOYAGE