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202 general and the captain of the Prince’s ocean-going steam-yacht, the ‘‘Princesse Alice,’’ had started on the course ahead of time. The forty horse-power Mors road-racing automobile of Mr. Clarence Grey Dinsmore, and the thirty horse-power Panhard of M. Isidore Kahenstein were prepared to follow along the lower coast-road.

Immediately on leaving the bay, in spite of the wind that came head-on, M. Santos-Dumont set his course straight up the coast in the direction of the Italian frontier. The crowd, unaccustomed to see the airship take a straight course undiversified by evolutions, and unaware that the programme was simply to push on to Cap Martin and return in the best time rendered possible by the new advantage of the maritime guide-rope’s comparative vertical stability, began immediately to murmur: ‘‘He is going to return the visit of the Empress Eugenie.’’

The airship sped straight on its course against the wind. Along the winding coast-road the two racing automobiles managed to keep abreast of it, being driven at high speed. ‘‘It was all we could do to follow him along the curves of the coast-road,’’ said one of the passengers in Mr. Dinsmore’s automobile, ‘‘so rapid was his speed. In less than five minutes he had arrived opposite the Villa Camille Blane, which is about a kilometer (three-fifths of a mile) distant from Cap Martin as the crow flies. At this moment the air-ship was absolutely alone. Between the air-ship and Cap Martin I saw a single rowboat, while far behind was visible the smoke from the Prince’s steam chaloupe. It was really no commonplace sight, the airship thus hovering isolated above the immense sea.’’

The same thought doubtless struck M. Santos-Dumont. The wind, instead of subsiding, had been increasing. Here and there below him he could see sail-boats driven before it. Those who could still observe him through opera-glasses from the heights of Monaco Town and Monte Carlo, observed him turn abruptly and start back on the homestretch. Now he had the wind with him. To those watching from the heights the airship increased in size every moment, bearing down upon them with the swiftness of an eagle. In an incredibly short space of time the grumbling of the motor could be heard, louder and louder, until it grew into the familiar thunder-spitting, and, amid a thousand cheers, the balloon entered the Bay of Monaco again. ‘‘Half an hour after the aëronaut’s return to the Aerodrome the wind became violent, a heavy rainstorm followed, and the sea became very rough.’’

Helped onward by the rising storm, the air-ship reached the Bay of Monaco with a rapidity and ease that stirred the crowd to intense admiration. Approaching the landing-stage, M. Santos-Dumont gave the signal to seize the guide-rope. The steam chaloupe, which had turned back when midway between Monte Carlo and Cap Martin, reached the Bay while the aëronaut was manœuvering in those circles and figure eights that so amused the crowd. The Prince was still on board, and he desired to seize the guide-rope. A first time the heavy cordage slipped past the darting chaloupe. Instead of catching it, his Most Serene Highness managed to get struck by it on the arm—an accident which knocked him to the bottom of the chaloupe and produced a severe contusion. A second attempt was more successful.

Like everything else in aerial navigation, this manœuver is new. The steam-launch resists by its inertia the oscillations of the balloon in the little air currents; on the other hand, the necessarily brusque action of the steam-power may always exercise a dangerous traction on the guide-rope. On the present occasion some of the piano wire by which the keel of the airship is suspended to the balloon were broken by the shock. A heavier shock, as M. Santos-Dumont remarked, might threaten not only the entire system of suspension, but even the stuff of the balloon to which it is attached. May not this jarring have had some effect in the final accident of the air-ship’s next trial?

Thanks to the aid of a heavy rowboat manned by two hardy fishers, the airship was at last held firmly, and M. Santos-Dumont stopped its motor, which he had kept working full speed to prevent the strong wind blowing him ashore. It was towed to above the landing-stage, and lifted into its balloon-house. It was not a moment too soon. Within five minutes the rain was falling in torrents, and great waves were breaking over the landing-stage.

What speed the ‘‘Santos-Dumont No. 6’’ made on this trial has not been published. From the best possible information I am able to say that it was not sought to be minutely calculated. M. Santos-Dumont is not