about six o'clock
No one was excited even when a fracas on the steps of a leading hotel in Piccadilly , in which he tried to horse-whip a prominent German musician upon some personal account , delayed his promised ascent . The quarrel was inadequately reported , and his name spelt variously Betteridge and Betridge . Until his flight indeed , he did not and could not contrive to exist in the public mind . There were scarcely thirty people on the look-out for him , in spite of all his clamour , when about six o'clock one summer morning the doors of the big shed in which he had been putting together his apparatus opened -- it was near the big model of a megatherium in the Crystal Palace grounds -- and his giant insect came droning out into a negligent and incredulous world . But before he had made his second circuit of the Crystal Palace towers , Fame was lifting her trumpet , she drew a deep breath as the startled tramps who sleep on the seats of Trafalgar Square were roused by his buzz and awoke to discover him circling the Nelson column , and by the time he had got to Birmingham , which place he crossed about half-past ten , her deafening blast was echoing throughout the country . The despaired-of thing was done . A man was flying securely and well .