On the particular day I have in mind there was an unusually large crowd in attendance, and the police had their hands full keeping the people back.  There was much pushing and shoving, and the ropes were bulging with the pressure of men, women and children.  As I came down from the dressing room I noticed two girls outside the ropes, of about fourteen and sixteen, and inside the rope a youngster of eight or nine.  They were holding him by the hands, and he was struggling, excitedly and half in laughter, to get away from them.  I thought nothing of it at the time—­just a bit of childish play, no more; and it was only in the light of after events that the scene was impressed 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, and because of his coolness, judgment and absolute reliability I had come to trust my life in his hands with the utmost confidence.  His business it was to overlook the inflating of the balloon, and to see that everything about the parachute was in perfect working order.

The “Little Nassau” was already filled and straining at the guys.  The parachute lay flat along the ground and beyond it the trapeze.  I tossed aside my overcoat, took my position, and gave the signal to let go.  As you know, the first rush upward from the earth is very sudden, and this time the balloon, when it first caught the wind, heeled violently over and was longer than usual in righting.  I looked down at the old familiar sight of the world rushing away 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 catch their first breath and send up a roar of applause.  But there was no hand-clapping, whistling, cheering—­only silence.  And instead, clear as a bell and distinct, without the slightest shake or quaver, came George’s voice through the megaphone: 

“Ride her down, Charley!  Ride the balloon down!”

What had happened?  I waved my hand to show that I had heard, and began to think.  Had something gone wrong with the parachute?  Why should I ride the balloon down instead of making the jump which thousands were waiting to see?  What was the matter?  And as I puzzled, I received another start.  The earth was a thousand feet beneath, and yet I heard a child crying softly, and seemingly very close to hand.  And though the “Little Nassau” was shooting skyward like a rocket, the crying did not grow fainter and fainter and die away.  I confess I was almost on the edge of a funk, when, unconsciously following up the noise with my eyes, I looked above me and saw a boy astride the sandbag which was to bring the “Little Nassau” to earth.  And it was the same little boy I had seen struggling with the two girls—­his sisters, as I afterward learned.