“The humours of the body cannot withstand such elevations. Think of the tawny men of the Andes who have been raised in the clouds. They are slow-witted, with arms and legs like tree trunks and the brain of orangutans. They are born to it and their humours have had time to shift accordingly. But a normal man would be overwhelmed by a rapid shift in altitude. You are risking you life sir, and your reputation.”
Dr. Prescott Fullerton was lecturing Sir Shelton about the eminent risk he was about to undertake in his flying balloon. But Sir Shelton has having none of it.
“I have experimented with a lamb, a pig, and a dog and all of them returned safely to earth, my dear Doctor.”
“You cannot compare the humours of simple beasts to those of a refined individual. Such creatures have only the basest of instincts and drives. They have no feelings, no memories, no ambition; you may as well have flown my wife’s roast into the sky for as much as you’ll learn from such animals,” said Dr. Fullerton.
“I also had my footman take a test flight, and he is still the same loyal and hearty fellow he was before he entered the heavens,” Sir Shelton retorted.
“Again I say, you will learn nothing from beasts.”
“Well, regardless, I shall be taking to the heavens in short order. Imagine if man could fly, the advantages it would bring to King and Country … and to trade. Flying goods above bog-ridden roads, pirated seas, wild bramble and beyond the reach of highwaymen. And spectacular views to assist mapmakers and to make lovers’ hearts race unforgettably.”
“Romance will be your undoing sir, and again I urge you abandon this fool’s errand.”
“I will look forward to you eating crow sir, for we launch at dawn.”
The next morning, all the preparations were in place. A silk balloon stiffened and made airtight with shellac hung from ropes as a metal box filled with crackling wood heated the air beneath it. A fine screen kept out any embers. Most of the court had turned out to see Sir Shelton’s attempt, as well as the Council of Scientists and the Queen’s sister who helped fund the flight. Sir Shelton stepped onto the open platform, under the firebox with extra wood secured all around him. In the middle, a chair was secured to the platform, with handles attached so he could move about safely. The fire was stoked, the ropes securing the balloon to the ground creaked under the strain, and Sir Shelton finally gave the signal for release. He shot into the air like a bird released from a cage. The crowd’s gasp was followed by applause, which quickly faded from Sir Shelton’s ears, which popped as he rose ever higher. He found that he felt not only well but exhilarated.
As he drifted to the south, the crowd scurried to following him. Gathering up horses and carriages, they clamored to keep him in view. Seeing the countryside from on high, Sir Shelton felt pride for his homeland. Normally his view was obscured by the giant live oaks and majestic alder obscuring his view, but now from above, he felt he was seeing England as God could see it; green and lush and beautiful. Castles and fine homes, rolling green pastures, and fields of wheat and barley growing to the horizon.
At last, he felt he had proved his point. He let the fire dwindle, and began his descent. His audience was far behind, slowly navigating their way to his position, which was over a farm owned by Prince Stephen, and run by the peasants living in huts dotted around the stead. He yelled “Hello” and “Good Morning” to them, his heart filled with pride and accomplishment. The peasants yelled and waved back to him, but he was still too high to hear their calls. The crowd grew as he sank lower and lower, now just above the roof of their huts with children, women and men running to keep up, still holding whatever tool they had in their hands when they first spotted the balloon.
The platform began to brush against the tops of the barley, until finally an edge of the platform caught the earth, crashing the balloon to the ground, knocking the firebox and wood into it, which ignited like a bomb once the embers met the shellac.
Sir Shelton was thrown clear, and arose slightly shaken but undamaged to meet the peasants who no doubt wondered about this miracle from the sky.
A man with a pitchfork ran Sir Shelton through the middle, and the blacksmith cracked his skull with length of iron. Others joined in with knives and clubs and scythes reducing Sir Shelton to bloody ribbons.
“Do ya see now wot I mean?” the farmer asked the blacksmith.
“Aye, I canna argue wit wot I seen wit my own eyes. The devil comes from the sky as easily as from Hades.”
“The cocksure demon, cursin’ us from above, and callin’ on his fires to scare us off. But we showed ‘im. And protected Prince Stephen’s farm! Sure to be a reward for ‘ery man who drove a weapon into this devil!”
Dr. Fullerton arrived with the courtiers in tow. The peasants backed away, but were hopeful for their reward.
“Just as I said,” he observed standing over Sir Shelton’s maimed corpse, “The humours cannot tolerate such changes. Balanced humors are key to our good health, and poor Sir Shelton has tragically revealed this truth. May God have mercy on his soul.”
Dr. Fullerton and the court returned to their leisure. The peasants were fined for the damaged barley.