The journey was eventful, for the Germans repeatedly fired at the balloon. A first attempt at descent had to be abandoned when the car was at an altitude of no more than 200 feet, for at that moment some German soldiers were seen almost immediately beneath it. They fired, and before the balloon could rise again a bullet grazed Gambetta's head. At four o'clock in the afternoon, however, the descent was renewed near Roye in the Somme, when the balloon was caught in an oak-tree, Gambetta at one moment hanging on to the ropes of the car, with his head downward. Some countryfolk came up in great anger, taking the party to be Prussians; but, on learning the truth, they rendered all possible assistance, and Gambetta and his companions repaired to the house of the mayor of the neighbouring village of Tricot. Alluding in after days to his experiences on this journey, the great man said that the earth, as seen by him from the car of the balloon, looked like a huge carpet woven chance-wise with different coloured wools. It did not impress him at all, he added, as it was really nothing but "une vilaine chinoiserie." It was from Rouen, where he arrived on the following day, that he issued the famous proclamation in which he called on France to make a compact with victory or death. On October 9, he joined the other delegates at Tours and took over the post of Minister of War as well as that of Minister of the Interior. His departure from the capital was celebrated by that clever versifier of the period, Albert Millaud, who contributed to _Le Figaro_ an amusing effusion, the first verse of which was to this effect: "Gambetta, pale and gloomy, Much wished to go to Tours, But two hundred thousand Prussians In his project made him pause. To aid the youthful statesman Came the aeronaut Nadar, Who sent up the 'Armand Barbes' With Gambetta in its car." Further on came the following lines, supposed to be spoken by Gambetta himself whilst he was gazing at the German lines beneath him-- "See how the plain is glistening With their helmets in a mass! Impalement would be dreadful On those spikes of polished brass!" Millaud, who was a Jew, the son, I think--or, at all events, a near relation--of the famous founder of _Le Petit Journal_, the advent of which constituted a great landmark in the history of the French Press--set himself, during several years of his career, to prove the truth of the axiom that in France "tout finit par des chansons." During those anxious siege days he was for ever striving to sound a gay note, something which, for a moment, at all events, might drive dull care away. Here is an English version of some verses which he wrote on Nadar: What a strange fellow is Nadar, Photographer and aeronaut! He is as clever as Godard. What a strange fellow is Nadar, Although, between ourselves, as far As art's concerned he knoweth naught. What a strange fellow is Nadar, Photographer and aeronaut!