I am a retired captain of the upper sea. That is to say，when I was a younger man （which is not so long ago） I wasan aeronaut and navigated that aerial ocean which is allaround about us and above us. Naturally it is a hazardousprofession， and naturally I have had many thrillingexperiences， the most thrilling， or at least the most nerveracking，being the one I am about to relate.
It happened before I went in for hydrogen gas balloons，all of varnished silk， doubled and lined， and all that， andfit for voyages of days instead of mere hours. The “LittleNassau” （named after the “Great Nassau” of many yearsback） was the balloon I was making ascents in at thetime. It was a fair-sized， hot-air affair， of single thickness，good for an hour’s flight or so and capable of attaining analtitude of a mile or more. It answered my purpose， formy act at the time was making half-mile parachute jumpsat recreation parks and country fairs. I was in Oakland，a California town， filling a summer’s engagement with astreet railway company. The company owned a large parkoutside the city， and of course it was to its interest toprovide attractions which would send the townspeopleover its line when they went out to get a whiff of countryair. My contract called for two ascensions weekly， and myact was an especially taking feature， for it was on my daysthat the largest crowds were drawn.
Before you can understand what happened， I must firstexplain a bit about the nature of the hot air balloon whichis used for parachute jumping. If you have ever witnessedsuch a jump， you will remember that directly the parachutewas cut loose the balloon turned upside down， emptieditself of its smoke and heated air， flattened out and fellstraight down， beating the parachute to the ground. Thusthere is no chasing a big deserted bag for miles and milesacross the country， and much time， as well as trouble，is thereby saved. This maneuver is accomplished byattaching a weight， at the end of a long rope， to the top ofthe balloon. The aeronaut， with his parachute and trapeze，hangs to the bottom of the balloon， and， weighing more，keeps it right side down. But when he lets go， the weightattached to the top immediately drags the top down， andthe bottom， which is the open mouth， goes up， the heatedair pouring out. The weight used for this purpose on the“Little Nassau” was a bag of sand.
On the particular day I have in mind there was anunusually large crowd in attendance， and the police hadtheir hands full keeping the people back. There was muchpushing and shoving， and the ropes were bulging with thepressure of men， women and children. As I came downfrom the dressing room I noticed two girls outside theropes， of about fourteen and sixteen， and inside the ropea youngster of eight or nine. They were holding him bythe hands， and he was struggling， excitedly and half inlaughter， to get away from them. I thought nothing of itat the time—just a bit of childish play， no more； and itwas only in the light of after events that the scene wasimpressed vividly upon me.
“Keep them cleared out， George！” I called to my assistant.
“We don’t want any accidents.”
“Ay，” he answered， “that I will， Charley.”
George Guppy had helped me in no end of ascents， andbecause of his coolness， judgment and absolute reliabilityI had come to trust my life in his hands with the utmostconfidence. His business it was to overlook the inflatingof the balloon， and to see that everything about theparachute was in perfect working order.
The “Little Nassau” was already filled and strainingat the guys. The parachute lay flat along the ground andbeyond it the trapeze. I tossed aside my overcoat， took myposition， and gave the signal to let go. As you know， thefirst rush upward from the earth is very sudden， and thistime the balloon， when it first caught the wind， heeledviolently over and was longer than usual in righting. Ilooked down at the old familiar sight of the world rushingaway from me. And there were the thousands of people，every face silently upturned. And the silence startled me，for， as crowds went， this was the time for them to catchtheir first breath and send up a roar of applause. But therewas no hand-clapping， whistling， cheering—only silence.
And instead， clear as a bell and distinct， without theslightest shake or quaver， came George’s voice through themegaphone：
“Ride her down， Charley！ Ride the balloon down！”
What had happened？ I waved my hand to show that Ihad heard， and began to think. Had something gone wrongwith the parachute？ Why should I ride the balloon downinstead of making the jump which thousands were waitingto see？ What was the matter？ And as I puzzled， I receivedanother start. The earth was a thousand feet beneath， andyet I heard a child crying softly， and seemingly very closeto hand. And though the “Little Nassau” was shootingskyward like a rocket， the crying did not grow fainter andfainter and die away. I confess I was almost on the edge ofa funk， when， unconsciously following up the noise withmy eyes， I looked above me and saw a boy astride thesandbag which was to bring the “Little Nassau” to earth.
And it was the same little boy I had seen struggling withthe two girls—his sisters， as I afterward learned.
