The balloon, relieved of the heavy load, at once shot up again. There were wild cries of “Seize the rope!” “Hang on to her!” “Hold her down!” But all the shouts were of no avail; the balloon continued to rush upwards, while we peered helplessly over the edge of the car. Several men, realizing the dangerous position we were in, soaring up aloft at great speed, rushed into the middle of the crowd of excited onlookers and seized the trailing rope, but all to no purpose; it was now impossible to check the balloon’s rapid ascent. “Let go!” roared somebody, and by the sudden bound our car gave we knew the men had obeyed. All, that is, save one. He, Tickner, a hard-working, much-respected farm labourer, clung to the rope like a monkey, only to be drawn up into the air as the balloon rose. Higher and higher we went, with the hapless man dangling two hundred feet below us and the crowd watching with horror in their eyes. Presently, when he was about eighty feet from the earth, the poor fellow’s strength gave out and he was compelled to let go, falling with an awful thud to the ground. Then, for the first time since the accident, I found my tongue. “Good heavens! this is awful!” I cried. “Where shall we drop?” I could say no more, for my knees shook under me and my very blood seemed frozen with horror. Still, steadily and inexorably, the balloon continued to rise. I dared not look over the side, but I knew we must have reached a considerable altitude. What would happen to us, and should we ever see our homes again? All this time the boy beside me, shivering with fright, yet not realising his desperate position, kept dinning into my ears in a whining monotone, “They’ve let us go! They’ve let us go!” There was nothing to be seen around us now but mountains of clouds--clouds white, black, and grey. I saw them, and yet, somehow or other, I could not bring myself to realize what they meant. I could not think, but simply stood there, bewildered and dazed, leaning against the side of the car. On my right hand the boy still continued his maddening wail; on the left my second companion, a man, kept asking what his father and mother would think. Our peril seemed to have temporarily turned his brain. [Illustration: 2 SEPTEMBER 1902. BALLON DISASTER. A LEATHERHEAD LABORER KILLED. THRILLING ADVENTURES OF AMATEUR AERONAUTS. The ballon versus cyclists, which was arranged by the Rev. G. M. Bacon, of Newbury, the ballooning enthusiast, with the sanction of the War Office, and which took place from Stamford-bridge athletic grounds on Saturday, was, it was transpire, attended with an accident of a very serious character, resulting in the death of one man, injuries to several others, and an experience which three of those involved are never likely to forget as long as they live. The A CUTTING FROM THE “MORNING LEADER” REFERRING TO THE BALLOON DISASTER.]