Taking events in their due sequence, we have now to record a
voyage which the terrors of sky and sea together combined to
make memorable. Winter had come--early January of 1785--when,
in spite of short dark days and frosty air, M. Blanchard,
accompanied by an American, Dr. Jeffries, determined on an
attempt to cross the Channel. They chose the English side, and
inflating their balloon with hydrogen at Dover, boldly cast
off, and immediately drifted out to sea. Probably they had not
paid due thought to the effect of low sun and chilly
atmosphere, for their balloon rose sluggishly and began
settling down ere little more than a quarter of their course
was run. Thereupon they parted with a large portion of their
ballast, with the result that they crept on as far as mid-
Channel, when they began descending again, and cast out the
residue of their sand, together with some books, and this, too,
with the uncomfortable feeling that even these measures would
not suffice to secure their safety.

This was in reality the first time that a sea passage had been
made by sky, and the gravity of their situation must not be
under-estimated. We are so accustomed in a sea passage to the
constant passing of other vessels that we allow ourselves to
imagine that a frequented portion of the ocean, such as the
Channel, is thickly dotted over with shipping of some sort. But
in entertaining this idea we are forgetful of the fact that we
are all the while on a steamer track. The truth, however, is
that anywhere outside such a track, even from the commanding
point of view of a high-flying balloon, the ocean is seen to be
more vast than we suppose, and bears exceedingly little but the
restless waves upon its surface. Once fairly in the water with