Decreased Pressure 965 



Time Altitude 



12:48 4602 meters . . . Tissandier, pulse 110 



12:55 5210 meters . . . Croce, buccal temperature 37.50°. 



1:03 5300 meters . . . Croce, pulse 120. 



1:05 5300 meters . . . Tissandier, number of inspirations 



determined by Croce, 26. 



1:05 5300 meters . . . Sivel, pulse 155. 



1:05 5300 meters . . . Sivel, buccal temperature 37.90°. 



Here is the average of the observations which had been taken 

 previously on the ground for several days in succession: 



Pulse Respiratory Rate Buccal Temperature 



Croce-Spinelli 74 to 85 24 37.3° 



Sivel 76 to 86 unknown 37.5° 



Tissandier 70 to 80 19 to 23 37.4° 



I come to the fatal hour when we were about to be seized by the 

 terrible influence of the atmospheric decompression. At 7000 meters 

 we are all standing in the basket; Sivel, numbed for a moment, has 

 revived; Croce-Spinelli is motionless in front of me. "Look", he says 

 to me, "how beautiful these cirrus clouds are!" The sublime spectacle 

 before our eyes was indeed beautiful. Cirrus clouds, in different 

 forms, some long, others rounded, formed a circle of silvery white 

 around us. And leaning out of the basket one could see, as if at the 

 bottom of a well, whose walls were formed by the cirrus clouds and 

 the vapor below, the surface of the earth which appeared in the 

 abysses of the atmosphere. The sky, far from being dark or black, 

 was a clear and limpid blue; the glowing sun burned our faces. How- 

 ever the cold had already begun to be felt, and we had already 

 wrapped ourselves up. Numbness had seized me; my hands were cold, 

 icy. I wanted to put on my fur gloves; but without my realizing it, the 

 action of taking them from my pocket demanded an effort which I 

 could no longer make. 



At this height of 7000 meters, however, I was writing in my note- 

 book almost mechanically; I copy verbatim the following lines, which 

 were written without my having a clear memory of them at present; 

 they are nearly illegible, written by a hand which the cold caused to 

 tremble strangely: 



"My hands are icy. I am well. We are well. Vapor on the horizon 

 with little rounded cirrus clouds. We are rising. Croce is panting. 

 We breathe oxygen. Sivel closes his eyes. Croce also closes his eyes. 

 I empty the aspirator. Temp. —10°. 1:20. H = 320 mm. Sivel is 

 drowsy . . . 1:25. Temp. — 11°, H = 300 mm. Sivel throws out ballast. 

 Sivel throws out ballast." The last words are hardly legible. 



Sivel, in fact, who had remained for some instants thoughtful 

 and motionless, sometimes closing his eyes, had no doubt just remem- 

 bered that he wanted to pass above the limits where the Zenith was 

 then soaring. He drew himself up, his energetic face lighted up sud- 

 denly with unusual animation; he turned towards me and said to me: 

 "What is the pressure?" — "30 centimeters (about 7450 meters alti- 

 tude)". "We have plenty of ballast, shall I throw some out?" — I 

 answered, "Do as you please". — He turns to Croce and asks him the 



