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. CHAPTER VII AN ENCOUNTER As a rule I am bad at topography, and do not easily find my way in places that I see for the first time. But my faculties had been made keen by danger during our aerial voyage and my sustained attention remembered everything that my eyes had seen.