The Project Gutenberg eBook of From the Earth to the Moon, by Jules Verne

Published：2026-07-30 03:58:13 Source: dress up accessories for 11 year olds under 100 dollars Author: Play Mats

From the Earth to the Moon

by Jules Verne

Contents: From the Earth to the Moon

Contents: Round the Moon

FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON

CHAPTER I.
THE GUN CLUB

During the War of the Rebellion, a new and influential club was established inthe city of Baltimore in the State of Maryland. It is well known with whatenergy the taste for military matters became developed among that nation ofship-owners, shopkeepers, and mechanics. Simple tradesmen jumped their countersto become extemporized captains, colonels, and generals, without having everpassed the School of Instruction at West Point; nevertheless; they quicklyrivaled their compeers of the old continent, and, like them, carried offvictories by dint of lavish expenditure in ammunition, money, and men.

But the point in which the Americans singularly distanced the Europeans was inthe science of gunnery. Not, indeed, that their weapons retained ahigher degree of perfection than theirs, but that they exhibited unheard-ofdimensions, and consequently attained hitherto unheard-of ranges. In point ofgrazing, plunging, oblique, or enfilading, or point-blank firing, the English,French, and Prussians have nothing to learn; but their cannon, howitzers, andmortars are mere pocket-pistols compared with the formidable engines of theAmerican artillery.

This fact need surprise no one. The Yankees, the first mechanicians in theworld, are engineers—just as the Italians are musicians and the Germansmetaphysicians—by right of birth. Nothing is more natural, therefore,than to perceive them applying their audacious ingenuity to the science ofgunnery. Witness the marvels of Parrott, Dahlgren, and Rodman. The Armstrong,Palliser, and Beaulieu guns were compelled to bow before their transatlanticrivals.

Now when an American has an idea, he directly seeks a second American to shareit. If there be three, they elect a president and two secretaries. Givenfour, they name a keeper of records, and the office is ready for work;five, they convene a general meeting, and the club is fully constituted.So things were managed in Baltimore. The inventor of a new cannon associatedhimself with the caster and the borer. Thus was formed the nucleus of the“Gun Club.” In a single month after its formation it numbered 1,833effective members and 30,565 corresponding members.

One condition was imposed as a sine quâ nonupon every candidate foradmission into the association, and that was the condition of having designed,or (more or less) perfected a cannon; or, in default of a cannon, at least afirearm of some description. It may, however, be mentioned that mere inventorsof revolvers, fire-shooting carbines, and similar small arms, met with littleconsideration. Artillerists always commanded the chief place of favor.

The estimation in which these gentlemen were held, according to one of the mostscientific exponents of the Gun Club, was “proportional to the masses oftheir guns, and in the direct ratio of the square of the distances attained bytheir projectiles.”

The Gun Club once founded, it is easy to conceive the result of the inventivegenius of the Americans. Their military weapons attained colossal proportions,and their projectiles, exceeding the prescribed limits, unfortunatelyoccasionally cut in two some unoffending pedestrians. These inventions, infact, left far in the rear the timid instruments of European artillery.

It is but fair to add that these Yankees, brave as they have ever provedthemselves to be, did not confine themselves to theories and formulae, but thatthey paid heavily, in propriâ personâ, for their inventions. Among themwere to be counted officers of all ranks, from lieutenants to generals;military men of every age, from those who were just making their débutin the profession of arms up to those who had grown old in the gun-carriage.Many had found their rest on the field of battle whose names figured in the“Book of Honor” of the Gun Club; and of those who made good theirreturn the greater proportion bore the marks of their indisputable valor.Crutches, wooden legs, artificial arms, steel hooks, caoutchouc jaws, silvercraniums, platinum noses, were all to be found in the collection; and it wascalculated by the great statistician Pitcairn that throughout the Gun Clubthere was not quite one arm between four persons and two legs between six.

Nevertheless, these valiant artillerists took no particular account of theselittle facts, and felt justly proud when the despatches of a battle returnedthe number of victims at ten-fold the quantity of projectiles expended.

One day, however—sad and melancholy day!—peace was signed betweenthe survivors of the war; the thunder of the guns gradually ceased, the mortarswere silent, the howitzers were muzzled for an indefinite period, the cannon,with muzzles depressed, were returned into the arsenal, the shot were repiled,all bloody reminiscences were effaced; the cotton-plants grew luxuriantly inthe well-manured fields, all mourning garments were laid aside, together withgrief; and the Gun Club was relegated to profound inactivity.

Some few of the more advanced and inveterate theorists set themselves again towork upon calculations regarding the laws of projectiles. They revertedinvariably to gigantic shells and howitzers of unparalleled caliber. Still indefault of practical experience what was the value of mere theories?Consequently, the clubrooms became deserted, the servants dozed in theantechambers, the newspapers grew mouldy on the tables, sounds of snoring camefrom dark corners, and the members of the Gun Club, erstwhile so noisy in theirseances, were reduced to silence by this disastrous peace and gave themselvesup wholly to dreams of a Platonic kind of artillery.

“This is horrible!” said Tom Hunter one evening, while rapidlycarbonizing his wooden legs in the fireplace of the smoking-room;“nothing to do! nothing to look forward to! what a loathsome existence!When again shall the guns arouse us in the morning with their delightfulreports?”

“Those days are gone by,” said jolly Bilsby, trying to extend hismissing arms. “It was delightful once upon a time! One invented a gun,and hardly was it cast, when one hastened to try it in the face of the enemy!Then one returned to camp with a word of encouragement from Sherman or afriendly shake of the hand from McClellan. But now the generals are gone backto their counters; and in place of projectiles, they despatch bales of cotton.By Jove, the future of gunnery in America is lost!”

“Ay! and no war in prospect!” continued the famous James T. Maston,scratching with his steel hook his gutta-percha cranium. “Not a cloud onthe horizon! and that too at such a critical period in the progress of thescience of artillery! Yes, gentlemen! I who address you have myself this verymorning perfected a model (plan, section, elevation, etc.) of a mortar destinedto change all the conditions of warfare!”

“No! is it possible?” replied Tom Hunter, his thoughts revertinginvoluntarily to a former invention of the Hon. J. T. Maston, by which, at itsfirst trial, he had succeeded in killing three hundred and thirty-seven people.

“Fact!” replied he. “Still, what is the use of so manystudies worked out, so many difficulties vanquished? It’s mere waste oftime! The New World seems to have made up its mind to live in peace; and ourbellicose Tribunepredicts some approaching catastrophes arising out ofthis scandalous increase of population.”

“Nevertheless,” replied Colonel Blomsberry, “they are alwaysstruggling in Europe to maintain the principle of nationalities.”

“Well?”

“Well, there might be some field for enterprise down there; and if theywould accept our services—”

“What are you dreaming of?” screamed Bilsby; “work at gunneryfor the benefit of foreigners?”

“That would be better than doing nothing here,” returned thecolonel.

“Quite so,” said J. T. Matson; “but still we need not dreamof that expedient.”

“And why not?” demanded the colonel.

“Because their ideas of progress in the Old World are contrary to ourAmerican habits of thought. Those fellows believe that one can’t become ageneral without having served first as an ensign; which is as much as to saythat one can’t point a gun without having first cast it oneself!”

“Ridiculous!” replied Tom Hunter, whittling with his bowie-knifethe arms of his easy chair; “but if that be the case there, all that isleft for us is to plant tobacco and distill whale-oil.”

“What!” roared J. T. Maston, “shall we not employ theseremaining years of our life in perfecting firearms? Shall there never be afresh opportunity of trying the ranges of projectiles? Shall the air neveragain be lighted with the glare of our guns? No international difficulty everarise to enable us to declare war against some transatlantic power? Shall notthe French sink one of our steamers, or the English, in defiance of the rightsof nations, hang a few of our countrymen?”

“No such luck,” replied Colonel Blomsberry; “nothing of thekind is likely to happen; and even if it did, we should not profit by it.American susceptibility is fast declining, and we are all going to thedogs.”

“It is too true,” replied J. T. Maston, with fresh violence;“there are a thousand grounds for fighting, and yet we don’t fight.We save up our arms and legs for the benefit of nations who don’t knowwhat to do with them! But stop—without going out of one’s way tofind a cause for war—did not North America once belong to theEnglish?”

“Undoubtedly,” replied Tom Hunter, stamping his crutch with fury.

“Well, then,” replied J. T. Maston, “why should not Englandin her turn belong to the Americans?”

“It would be but just and fair,” returned Colonel Blomsberry.

“Go and propose it to the President of the United States,” criedJ. T. Maston, “and see how he will receive you.”

“Bah!” growled Bilsby between the four teeth which the war had lefthim; “that will never do!”

“By Jove!” cried J. T. Maston, “he mustn’t count on myvote at the next election!”

“Nor on ours,” replied unanimously all the bellicose invalids.

“Meanwhile,” replied J. T. Maston, “allow me to say that, ifI cannot get an opportunity to try my new mortars on a real field of battle, Ishall say good-by to the members of the Gun Club, and go and bury myself in theprairies of Arkansas!”

“In that case we will accompany you,” cried the others.

Matters were in this unfortunate condition, and the club was threatened withapproaching dissolution, when an unexpected circumstance occurred to prevent sodeplorable a catastrophe.

On the morrow after this conversation every member of the association receiveda sealed circular couched in the following terms:

BALTIMORE, October 3. The president of the Gun Club has the honor to inform hiscolleagues that, at the meeting of the 5th instant, he will bring before them acommunication of an extremely interesting nature. He requests, therefore, thatthey will make it convenient to attend in accordance with the presentinvitation. Very cordially, IMPEY BARBICANE, P.G.C.

CHAPTER II.
PRESIDENT BARBICANE’S COMMUNICATION

On the 5th of October, at eight p.m., a dense crowd pressed toward the saloonsof the Gun Club at No. 21 Union Square. All the members of the associationresident in Baltimore attended the invitation of their president. As regardsthe corresponding members, notices were delivered by hundreds throughout thestreets of the city, and, large as was the great hall, it was quite inadequateto accommodate the crowd of savants. They overflowed into the adjoiningrooms, down the narrow passages, into the outer courtyards. There they ranagainst the vulgar herd who pressed up to the doors, each struggling to reachthe front ranks, all eager to learn the nature of the important communicationof President Barbicane; all pushing, squeezing, crushing with that perfectfreedom of action which is so peculiar to the masses when educated in ideas of“self-government.”

On that evening a stranger who might have chanced to be in Baltimore could nothave gained admission for love or money into the great hall. That was reservedexclusively for resident or corresponding members; no one else could possiblyhave obtained a place; and the city magnates, municipal councilors, and“select men” were compelled to mingle with the mere townspeople inorder to catch stray bits of news from the interior.

Nevertheless the vast hall presented a curious spectacle. Its immense area wassingularly adapted to the purpose. Lofty pillars formed of cannon, superposedupon huge mortars as a base, supported the fine ironwork of the arches, aperfect piece of cast-iron lacework. Trophies of blunderbuses, matchlocks,arquebuses, carbines, all kinds of firearms, ancient and modern, werepicturesquely interlaced against the walls. The gas lit up in full glaremyriads of revolvers grouped in the form of lustres, while groups of pistols,and candelabra formed of muskets bound together, completed this magnificentdisplay of brilliance. Models of cannon, bronze castings, sights covered withdents, plates battered by the shots of the Gun Club, assortments of rammers andsponges, chaplets of shells, wreaths of projectiles, garlands ofhowitzers—in short, all the apparatus of the artillerist, enchanted theeye by this wonderful arrangement and induced a kind of belief that their realpurpose was ornamental rather than deadly.

At the further end of the saloon the president, assisted by four secretaries,occupied a large platform. His chair, supported by a carved gun-carriage, wasmodeled upon the ponderous proportions of a 32-inch mortar. It was pointed atan angle of ninety degrees, and suspended upon truncheons, so that thepresident could balance himself upon it as upon a rocking-chair, a veryagreeable fact in the very hot weather. Upon the table (a huge iron platesupported upon six carronades) stood an inkstand of exquisite elegance, made ofa beautifully chased Spanish piece, and a sonnette, which, when required, couldgive forth a report equal to that of a revolver. During violent debates thisnovel kind of bell scarcely sufficed to drown the clamor of these excitableartillerists.

In front of the table benches arranged in zigzag form, like thecircumvallations of a retrenchment, formed a succession of bastions andcurtains set apart for the use of the members of the club; and on this especialevening one might say, “All the world was on the ramparts.” Thepresident was sufficiently well known, however, for all to be assured that hewould not put his colleagues to discomfort without some very strong motive.

Impey Barbicane was a man of forty years of age, calm, cold, austere; of asingularly serious and self-contained demeanor, punctual as a chronometer, ofimperturbable temper and immovable character; by no means chivalrous, yetadventurous withal, and always bringing practical ideas to bear upon the veryrashest enterprises; an essentially New Englander, a Northern colonist, adescendant of the old anti-Stuart Roundheads, and the implacable enemy of thegentlemen of the South, those ancient cavaliers of the mother country. In aword, he was a Yankee to the backbone.

Barbicane had made a large fortune as a timber merchant. Being nominateddirector of artillery during the war, he proved himself fertile in invention.Bold in his conceptions, he contributed powerfully to the progress of that armand gave an immense impetus to experimental researches.

He was personage of the middle height, having, by a rare exception in the GunClub, all his limbs complete. His strongly marked features seemed drawn bysquare and rule; and if it be true that, in order to judge a man’scharacter one must look at his profile, Barbicane, so examined, exhibited themost certain indications of energy, audacity, and sang-froid.

At this moment he was sitting in his armchair, silent, absorbed, lost inreflection, sheltered under his high-crowned hat—a kind of black cylinderwhich always seems firmly screwed upon the head of an American.

Just when the deep-toned clock in the great hall struck eight, Barbicane, as ifhe had been set in motion by a spring, raised himself up. A profound silenceensued, and the speaker, in a somewhat emphatic tone of voice, commenced asfollows:

“My brave, colleagues, too long already a paralyzing peace has plungedthe members of the Gun Club in deplorable inactivity. After a period of yearsfull of incidents we have been compelled to abandon our labors, and to stopshort on the road of progress. I do not hesitate to state, baldly, that any warwhich would recall us to arms would be welcome!” (Tremendousapplause!) “But war, gentlemen, is impossible under existingcircumstances; and, however we may desire it, many years may elapse before ourcannon shall again thunder in the field of battle. We must make up our minds,then, to seek in another train of ideas some field for the activity which weall pine for.”

The meeting felt that the president was now approaching the critical point, andredoubled their attention accordingly.

“For some months past, my brave colleagues,” continued Barbicane,“I have been asking myself whether, while confining ourselves to our ownparticular objects, we could not enter upon some grand experiment worthy of thenineteenth century; and whether the progress of artillery science would notenable us to carry it out to a successful issue. I have been considering,working, calculating; and the result of my studies is the conviction that weare safe to succeed in an enterprise which to any other country would appearwholly impracticable. This project, the result of long elaboration, is theobject of my present communication. It is worthy of yourselves, worthy of theantecedents of the Gun Club; and it cannot fail to make some noise in theworld.”

A thrill of excitement ran through the meeting.

Barbicane, having by a rapid movement firmly fixed his hat upon his head,calmly continued his harangue:

“There is no one among you, my brave colleagues, who has not seen theMoon, or, at least, heard speak of it. Don’t be surprised if I am aboutto discourse to you regarding the Queen of the Night. It is perhaps reservedfor us to become the Columbuses of this unknown world. Only enter into myplans, and second me with all your power, and I will lead you to its conquest,and its name shall be added to those of the thirty-six states which composethis Great Union.”

“Three cheers for the Moon!” roared the Gun Club, with one voice.

“The moon, gentlemen, has been carefully studied,” continuedBarbicane; “her mass, density, and weight; her constitution, motions,distance, as well as her place in the solar system, have all been exactlydetermined. Selenographic charts have been constructed with a perfection whichequals, if it does not even surpass, that of our terrestrial maps. Photographyhas given us proofs of the incomparable beauty of our satellite; all is knownregarding the moon which mathematical science, astronomy, geology, and opticscan learn about her. But up to the present moment no direct communication hasbeen established with her.”

A violent movement of interest and surprise here greeted this remark of thespeaker.

“Permit me,” he continued, “to recount to you briefly howcertain ardent spirits, starting on imaginary journeys, have penetrated thesecrets of our satellite. In the seventeenth century a certain David Fabriciusboasted of having seen with his own eyes the inhabitants of the moon. In 1649 aFrenchman, one Jean Baudoin, published a ‘Journey performed from theEarth to the Moon by Domingo Gonzalez,’ a Spanish adventurer. At the sameperiod Cyrano de Bergerac published that celebrated ‘Journeys in theMoon’ which met with such success in France. Somewhat later anotherFrenchman, named Fontenelle, wrote ‘The Plurality of Worlds,’ achef-d’œuvreof its time. About 1835 a small treatise, translatedfrom the New York American, related how Sir John Herschel, having beendespatched to the Cape of Good Hope for the purpose of making there someastronomical calculations, had, by means of a telescope brought to perfectionby means of internal lighting, reduced the apparent distance of the moon toeighty yards! He then distinctly perceived caverns frequented by hippopotami,green mountains bordered by golden lace-work, sheep with horns of ivory, awhite species of deer and inhabitants with membranous wings, like bats. Thisbrochure, the work of an American named Locke, had a great sale. But,to bring this rapid sketch to a close, I will only add that a certain HansPfaal, of Rotterdam, launching himself in a balloon filled with a gas extractedfrom nitrogen, thirty-seven times lighter than hydrogen, reached the moon aftera passage of nineteen hours. This journey, like all previous ones, was purelyimaginary; still, it was the work of a popular American author—I meanEdgar Poe!”

“Cheers for Edgar Poe!” roared the assemblage, electrified by theirpresident’s words.

“I have now enumerated,” said Barbicane, “the experimentswhich I call purely paper ones, and wholly insufficient to establish seriousrelations with the Queen of the Night. Nevertheless, I am bound to add thatsome practical geniuses have attempted to establish actual communication withher. Thus, a few days ago, a German geometrician proposed to send a scientificexpedition to the steppes of Siberia. There, on those vast plains, they were todescribe enormous geometric figures, drawn in characters of reflectingluminosity, among which was the proposition regarding the ‘square of thehypothenuse,’ commonly called the ‘Ass’s Bridge’by the French. ‘Every intelligent being,’ said the geometrician,‘must understand the scientific meaning of that figure. The Selenites, dothey exist, will respond by a similar figure; and, a communication being thusonce established, it will be easy to form an alphabet which shall enable us toconverse with the inhabitants of the moon.’ So spoke the Germangeometrician; but his project was never put into practice, and up to thepresent day there is no bond in existence between the Earth and her satellite.It is reserved for the practical genius of Americans to establish acommunication with the sidereal world. The means of arriving thither aresimple, easy, certain, infallible—and that is the purpose of my presentproposal.”

A storm of acclamations greeted these words. There was not a single person inthe whole audience who was not overcome, carried away, lifted out of himself bythe speaker’s words!

Long-continued applause resounded from all sides.

As soon as the excitement had partially subsided, Barbicane resumed his speechin a somewhat graver voice.

“You know,” said he, “what progress artillery science hasmade during the last few years, and what a degree of perfection firearms ofevery kind have reached. Moreover, you are well aware that, in general terms,the resisting power of cannon and the expansive force of gunpowder arepractically unlimited. Well! starting from this principle, I ask myselfwhether, supposing sufficient apparatus could be obtained constructed upon theconditions of ascertained resistance, it might not be possible to project ashot up to the moon?”

At these words a murmur of amazement escaped from a thousand panting chests;then succeeded a moment of perfect silence, resembling that profound stillnesswhich precedes the bursting of a thunderstorm. In point of fact, a thunderstormdid peal forth, but it was the thunder of applause, or cries, and of uproarwhich made the very hall tremble. The president attempted to speak, but couldnot. It was fully ten minutes before he could make himself heard.

“Suffer me to finish,” he calmly continued. “I have looked atthe question in all its bearings, I have resolutely attacked it, and byincontrovertible calculations I find that a projectile endowed with an initialvelocity of 12,000 yards per second, and aimed at the moon, must necessarilyreach it. I have the honor, my brave colleagues, to propose a trial of thislittle experiment.”

CHAPTER III.
EFFECT OF THE PRESIDENT’S COMMUNICATION

It is impossible to describe the effect produced by the last words of thehonorable president—the cries, the shouts, the succession of roars,hurrahs, and all the varied vociferations which the American language iscapable of supplying. It was a scene of indescribable confusion and uproar.They shouted, they clapped, they stamped on the floor of the hall. All theweapons in the museum discharged at once could not have more violently set inmotion the waves of sound. One need not be surprised at this. There are somecannoneers nearly as noisy as their own guns.

Barbicane remained calm in the midst of this enthusiastic clamor; perhaps hewas desirous of addressing a few more words to his colleagues, for by hisgestures he demanded silence, and his powerful alarum was worn out by itsviolent reports. No attention, however, was paid to his request. He waspresently torn from his seat and passed from the hands of his faithfulcolleagues into the arms of a no less excited crowd.

Nothing can astound an American. It has often been asserted that the word“impossible” is not a French one. People have evidently beendeceived by the dictionary. In America, all is easy, all is simple; and as formechanical difficulties, they are overcome before they arise. BetweenBarbicane’s proposition and its realization no true Yankee would haveallowed even the semblance of a difficulty to be possible. A thing with them isno sooner said than done.

The triumphal progress of the president continued throughout the evening. Itwas a regular torchlight procession. Irish, Germans, French, Scotch, all theheterogeneous units which make up the population of Maryland shouted in theirrespective vernaculars; and the “vivas,” “hurrahs,” and“bravos” were intermingled in inexpressible enthusiasm.

Just at this crisis, as though she comprehended all this agitation regardingherself, the moon shone forth with serene splendor, eclipsing by her intenseillumination all the surrounding lights. The Yankees all turned their gazetoward her resplendent orb, kissed their hands, called her by all kinds ofendearing names. Between eight o’clock and midnight one optician inJones’-Fall Street made his fortune by the sale of opera-glasses.

Midnight arrived, and the enthusiasm showed no signs of diminution. It spreadequally among all classes of citizens—men of science, shopkeepers,merchants, porters, chair-men, as well as “greenhorns,” werestirred in their innermost fibres. A national enterprise was at stake. Thewhole city, high and low, the quays bordering the Patapsco, the ships lying inthe basins, disgorged a crowd drunk with joy, gin, and whisky. Every onechattered, argued, discussed, disputed, applauded, from the gentleman loungingupon the barroom settee with his tumbler of sherry-cobbler before him down tothe waterman who got drunk upon his “knock-me-down” in the dingytaverns of Fell Point.

About two A.M., however, the excitement began to subside. President Barbicanereached his house, bruised, crushed, and squeezed almost to a mummy. Herculescould not have resisted a similar outbreak of enthusiasm. The crowd graduallydeserted the squares and streets. The four railways from Philadelphia andWashington, Harrisburg and Wheeling, which converge at Baltimore, whirled awaythe heterogeneous population to the four corners of the United States, and thecity subsided into comparative tranquility.

On the following day, thanks to the telegraphic wires, five hundred newspapersand journals, daily, weekly, monthly, or bi-monthly, all took up the question.They examined it under all its different aspects, physical, meteorological,economical, or moral, up to its bearings on politics or civilization. Theydebated whether the moon was a finished world, or whether it was destined toundergo any further transformation. Did it resemble the earth at the periodwhen the latter was destitute as yet of an atmosphere? What kind of spectaclewould its hidden hemisphere present to our terrestrial spheroid? Granting thatthe question at present was simply that of sending a projectile up to the moon,every one must see that that involved the commencement of a series ofexperiments. All must hope that some day America would penetrate the deepestsecrets of that mysterious orb; and some even seemed to fear lest its conquestshould not sensibly derange the equilibrium of Europe.

The project once under discussion, not a single paragraph suggested a doubt ofits realization. All the papers, pamphlets, reports—all the journalspublished by the scientific, literary, and religious societies enlarged uponits advantages; and the Society of Natural History of Boston, the Society ofScience and Art of Albany, the Geographical and Statistical Society of NewYork, the Philosophical Society of Philadelphia, and the Smithsonian ofWashington sent innumerable letters of congratulation to the Gun Club, togetherwith offers of immediate assistance and money.

From that day forward Impey Barbicane became one of the greatest citizens ofthe United States, a kind of Washington of science. A single trait of feeling,taken from many others, will serve to show the point which this homage of awhole people to a single individual attained.

Some few days after this memorable meeting of the Gun Club, the manager of anEnglish company announced, at the Baltimore theatre, the production of“Much ado about Nothing.” But the populace, seeing in that title anallusion damaging to Barbicane’s project, broke into the auditorium,smashed the benches, and compelled the unlucky director to alter his playbill.Being a sensible man, he bowed to the public will and replaced the offendingcomedy by “As you like it”; and for many weeks he realized fabulousprofits.

CHAPTER IV.
REPLY FROM THE OBSERVATORY OF CAMBRIDGE

Barbicane, however, lost not one moment amid all the enthusiasm of which he hadbecome the object. His first care was to reassemble his colleagues in theboard-room of the Gun Club. There, after some discussion, it was agreed toconsult the astronomers regarding the astronomical part of the enterprise.Their reply once ascertained, they could then discuss the mechanical means, andnothing should be wanting to ensure the success of this great experiment.

A note couched in precise terms, containing special interrogatories, was thendrawn up and addressed to the Observatory of Cambridge in Massachusetts. Thiscity, where the first university of the United States was founded, is justlycelebrated for its astronomical staff. There are to be found assembled all themost eminent men of science. Here is to be seen at work that powerful telescopewhich enabled Bond to resolve the nebula of Andromeda, and Clarke to discoverthe satellite of Sirius. This celebrated institution fully justified on allpoints the confidence reposed in it by the Gun Club. So, after two days, thereply so impatiently awaited was placed in the hands of President Barbicane.

It was couched in the following terms:

The Director of the Cambridge Observatory to the President of the Gun Clubat Baltimore.

CAMBRIDGE, October 7. On the receipt of your favor of the 6th instant,addressed to the Observatory of Cambridge in the name of the members of theBaltimore Gun Club, our staff was immediately called together, and it wasjudged expedient to reply as follows:

The questions which have been proposed to it are these—

“1. Is it possible to transmit a projectile up to the moon?

“2. What is the exact distance which separates the earth from itssatellite?

“3. What will be the period of transit of the projectile when endowedwith sufficient initial velocity? and, consequently, at what moment ought it tobe discharged in order that it may touch the moon at a particular point?

“4. At what precise moment will the moon present herself in the mostfavorable position to be reached by the projectile?

“5. What point in the heavens ought the cannon to be aimed at which isintended to discharge the projectile?

“6. What place will the moon occupy in the heavens at the moment of theprojectile’s departure?”

Regarding the firstquestion, “Is it possible to transmit aprojectile up to the moon?”

Answer.—Yes; provided it possess an initial velocity of 12,000yards per second; calculations prove that to be sufficient. In proportion as werecede from the earth the action of gravitation diminishes in the inverse ratioof the square of the distance; that is to say, at three times a givendistance the action is nine times less.Consequently, the weight of a shotwill decrease, and will become reduced to zeroat the instant that theattraction of the moon exactly counterpoises that of the earth; that is to sayat 47/52 of its passage. At that instant the projectile will have no weightwhatever; and, if it passes that point, it will fall into the moon by the soleeffect of the lunar attraction. The theoretical possibilityof theexperiment is therefore absolutely demonstrated; its successmust dependupon the power of the engine employed.

As to the secondquestion, “What is the exact distance whichseparates the earth from its satellite?”

Answer.—The moon does not describe a circleround theearth, but rather an ellipse, of which our earth occupies one of thefoci; the consequence, therefore, is, that at certain times itapproaches nearer to, and at others it recedes farther from, the earth; inastronomical language, it is at one time in apogee, at another inperigee. Now the difference between its greatest and its least distanceis too considerable to be left out of consideration. In point of fact, in itsapogee the moon is 247,552 miles, and in its perigee, 218,657 miles onlydistant; a fact which makes a difference of 28,895 miles, or more thanone-ninth of the entire distance. The perigee distance, therefore, is thatwhich ought to serve as the basis of all calculations.

To the thirdquestion:—

Answer.—If the shot should preserve continuously its initialvelocity of 12,000 yards per second, it would require little more than ninehours to reach its destination; but, inasmuch as that initial velocity will becontinually decreasing, it will occupy 300,000 seconds, that is 83hrs. 20m. inreaching the point where the attraction of the earth and moon will be inequilibrio. From this point it will fall into the moon in 50,000 seconds,or 13hrs. 53m. 20sec. It will be desirable, therefore, to discharge it 97hrs.13m. 20sec. before the arrival of the moon at the point aimed at.

Regarding question four, “At what precise moment will the moonpresent herself in the most favorable position, etc.?”

Answer.—After what has been said above, it will be necessary,first of all, to choose the period when the moon will be in perigee, andalsothe moment when she will be crossing the zenith, which latter eventwill further diminish the entire distance by a length equal to the radius ofthe earth, i. e.3,919 miles; the result of which will be that the finalpassage remaining to be accomplished will be 214,976 miles. But although themoon passes her perigee every month, she does not reach the zenith always atexactly the same moment. She does not appear under these two conditionssimultaneously, except at long intervals of time. It will be necessary,therefore, to wait for the moment when her passage in perigee shall coincidewith that in the zenith. Now, by a fortunate circumstance, on the 4th ofDecember in the ensuing year the moon willpresent these two conditions.At midnight she will be in perigee, that is, at her shortest distance from theearth, and at the same moment she will be crossing the zenith.

On the fifthquestion, “At what point in the heavens ought thecannon to be aimed?”

Answer.—The preceding remarks being admitted, the cannon ought tobe pointed to the zenith of the place. Its fire, therefore, will beperpendicular to the plane of the horizon; and the projectile will soonest passbeyond the range of the terrestrial attraction. But, in order that the moonshould reach the zenith of a given place, it is necessary that the place shouldnot exceed in latitude the declination of the luminary; in other words, it mustbe comprised within the degrees 0° and 28° of lat. N. or S. In every other spotthe fire must necessarily be oblique, which would seriously militate againstthe success of the experiment.

As to the sixthquestion, “What place will the moon occupy in theheavens at the moment of the projectile’s departure?”

Answer.—At the moment when the projectile shall be discharged intospace, the moon, which travels daily forward 13° 10′ 35″, will bedistant from the zenith point by four times that quantity, i. e.by 52°41′ 20″, a space which corresponds to the path which she willdescribe during the entire journey of the projectile. But, inasmuch as it isequally necessary to take into account the deviation which the rotary motion ofthe earth will impart to the shot, and as the shot cannot reach the moon untilafter a deviation equal to 16 radii of the earth, which, calculated upon themoon’s orbit, are equal to about eleven degrees, it becomes necessary toadd these eleven degrees to those which express the retardation of the moonjust mentioned: that is to say, in round numbers, about sixty-four degrees.Consequently, at the moment of firing the visual radius applied to the moonwill describe, with the vertical line of the place, an angle of sixty-fourdegrees.

These are our answers to the questions proposed to the Observatory of Cambridgeby the members of the Gun Club:—

To sum up—

1st. The cannon ought to be planted in a country situated between 0° and 28° ofN. or S. lat.

2nd. It ought to be pointed directly toward the zenith of the place.

3rd. The projectile ought to be propelled with an initial velocity of 12,000yards per second.

4th. It ought to be discharged at 10hrs. 46m. 40sec. of the 1st of December ofthe ensuing year.

5th. It will meet the moon four days after its discharge, precisely at midnighton the 4th of December, at the moment of its transit across the zenith.

The members of the Gun Club ought, therefore, without delay, to commence theworks necessary for such an experiment, and to be prepared to set to work atthe moment determined upon; for, if they should suffer this 4th of December togo by, they will not find the moon again under the same conditions of perigeeand of zenith until eighteen years and eleven days afterward.

The staff of the Cambridge Observatory place themselves entirely at theirdisposal in respect of all questions of theoretical astronomy; and herewith addtheir congratulations to those of all the rest of America. For the AstronomicalStaff, J. M. BELFAST, Director of the Observatory of Cambridge.

CHAPTER V.
THE ROMANCE OF THE MOON

An observer endued with an infinite range of vision, and placed in that unknowncenter around which the entire world revolves, might have beheld myriads ofatoms filling all space during the chaotic epoch of the universe. Little bylittle, as ages went on, a change took place; a general law of attractionmanifested itself, to which the hitherto errant atoms became obedient: theseatoms combined together chemically according to their affinities, formedthemselves into molecules, and composed those nebulous masses with which thedepths of the heavens are strewed. These masses became immediately endued witha rotary motion around their own central point. This center, formed ofindefinite molecules, began to revolve around its own axis during its gradualcondensation; then, following the immutable laws of mechanics, in proportion asits bulk diminished by condensation, its rotary motion became accelerated, andthese two effects continuing, the result was the formation of one principalstar, the center of the nebulous mass.

By attentively watching, the observer would then have perceived the othermolecules of the mass, following the example of this central star, becomelikewise condensed by gradually accelerated rotation, and gravitating round itin the shape of innumerable stars. Thus was formed the Nebulæ, ofwhich astronomers have reckoned up nearly 5,000.

Among these 5,000 nebulæ there is one which has received the name of the MilkyWay, and which contains eighteen millions of stars, each of which has becomethe center of a solar world.

If the observer had then specially directed his attention to one of the morehumble and less brilliant of these stellar bodies, a star of the fourth class,that which is arrogantly called the Sun, all the phenomena to which theformation of the Universe is to be ascribed would have been successivelyfulfilled before his eyes. In fact, he would have perceived this sun, as yet inthe gaseous state, and composed of moving molecules, revolving round its axisin order to accomplish its work of concentration. This motion, faithful to thelaws of mechanics, would have been accelerated with the diminution of itsvolume; and a moment would have arrived when the centrifugal force would haveoverpowered the centripetal, which causes the molecules all to tend toward thecenter.

Another phenomenon would now have passed before the observer’s eye, andthe molecules situated on the plane of the equator, escaping like a stone froma sling of which the cord had suddenly snapped, would have formed around thesun sundry concentric rings resembling that of Saturn. In their turn, again,these rings of cosmical matter, excited by a rotary motion about the centralmass, would have been broken up and decomposed into secondary nebulosities,that is to say, into planets. Similarly he would have observed these planetsthrow off one or more rings each, which became the origin of the secondarybodies which we call satellites.

Thus, then, advancing from atom to molecule, from molecule to nebulous mass,from that to principal star, from star to sun, from sun to planet, and hence tosatellite, we have the whole series of transformations undergone by theheavenly bodies during the first days of the world.

Now, of those attendant bodies which the sun maintains in their ellipticalorbits by the great law of gravitation, some few in turn possess satellites.Uranus has eight, Saturn eight, Jupiter four, Neptune possibly three, and theEarth one. This last, one of the least important of the entire solar system, wecall the Moon; and it is she whom the daring genius of the Americans professedtheir intention of conquering.

The moon, by her comparative proximity, and the constantly varying appearancesproduced by her several phases, has always occupied a considerable share of theattention of the inhabitants of the earth.

From the time of Thales of Miletus, in the fifth century B.C., down to that ofCopernicus in the fifteenth and Tycho Brahé in the sixteenth century A.D.,observations have been from time to time carried on with more or lesscorrectness, until in the present day the altitudes of the lunar mountains havebeen determined with exactitude. Galileo explained the phenomena of the lunarlight produced during certain of her phases by the existence of mountains, towhich he assigned a mean altitude of 27,000 feet. After him Hévelius, anastronomer of Dantzic, reduced the highest elevations to 15,000 feet; but thecalculations of Riccioli brought them up again to 21,000 feet.

At the close of the eighteenth century Herschel, armed with a powerfultelescope, considerably reduced the preceding measurements. He assigned aheight of 11,400 feet to the maximum elevations, and reduced the mean of thedifferent altitudes to little more than 2,400 feet. But Herschel’scalculations were in their turn corrected by the observations of Halley,Nasmyth, Bianchini, Gruithuysen, and others; but it was reserved for the laborsof Boeer and Maedler finally to solve the question. They succeeded in measuring1,905 different elevations, of which six exceed 15,000 feet, and twenty-twoexceed 14,400 feet. The highest summit of all towers to a height of 22,606 feetabove the surface of the lunar disc. At the same period the examination of themoon was completed. She appeared completely riddled with craters, and heressentially volcanic character was apparent at each observation. By the absenceof refraction in the rays of the planets occulted by her we conclude that sheis absolutely devoid of an atmosphere. The absence of air entails the absenceof water. It became, therefore, manifest that the Selenites, to support lifeunder such conditions, must possess a special organization of their own, mustdiffer remarkably from the inhabitants of the earth.

At length, thanks to modern art, instruments of still higher perfectionsearched the moon without intermission, not leaving a single point of hersurface unexplored; and notwithstanding that her diameter measures 2,150 miles,her surface equals the one-fifteenth part of that of our globe, and her bulkthe one-forty-ninth part of that of the terrestrial spheroid—not one ofher secrets was able to escape the eyes of the astronomers; and these skillfulmen of science carried to an even greater degree their prodigious observations.

Thus they remarked that, during full moon, the disc appeared scored in certainparts with white lines; and, during the phases, with black. On prosecuting thestudy of these with still greater precision, they succeeded in obtaining anexact account of the nature of these lines. They were long and narrow furrowssunk between parallel ridges, bordering generally upon the edges of thecraters. Their length varied between ten and 100 miles, and their width wasabout 1,600 yards. Astronomers called them chasms, but they could not get anyfurther. Whether these chasms were the dried-up beds of ancient rivers or notthey were unable thoroughly to ascertain.

The Americans, among others, hoped one day or other to determine thisgeological question. They also undertook to examine the true nature of thatsystem of parallel ramparts discovered on the moon’s surface byGruithuysen, a learned professor of Munich, who considered them to be “asystem of fortifications thrown up by the Selenitic engineers.” These twopoints, yet obscure, as well as others, no doubt, could not be definitelysettled except by direct communication with the moon.

Regarding the degree of intensity of its light, there was nothing more to learnon this point. It was known that it is 300,000 times weaker than that of thesun, and that its heat has no appreciable effect upon the thermometer. As tothe phenomenon known as the “ashy light,” it is explained naturallyby the effect of the transmission of the solar rays from the earth to the moon,which give the appearance of completeness to the lunar disc, while it presentsitself under the crescent form during its first and last phases.

Such was the state of knowledge acquired regarding the earth’s satellite,which the Gun Club undertook to perfect in all its aspects, cosmographic,geological, political, and moral.

CHAPTER VI.
PERMISSIVE LIMITS OF IGNORANCE AND BELIEF IN THE UNITED STATES

The immediate result of Barbicane’s proposition was to place upon theorders of the day all the astronomical facts relative to the Queen of theNight. Everybody set to work to study assiduously. One would have thought thatthe moon had just appeared for the first time, and that no one had ever beforecaught a glimpse of her in the heavens. The papers revived all the oldanecdotes in which the “sun of the wolves” played a part; theyrecalled the influences which the ignorance of past ages ascribed to her; inshort, all America was seized with selenomania, or had become moon-mad.

The scientific journals, for their part, dealt more especially with thequestions which touched upon the enterprise of the Gun Club. The letter of theObservatory of Cambridge was published by them, and commented upon withunreserved approval.

Until that time most people had been ignorant of the mode in which the distancewhich separates the moon from the earth is calculated. They took advantage ofthis fact to explain to them that this distance was obtained by measuring theparallax of the moon. The term parallax proving “caviare to thegeneral,” they further explained that it meant the angle formed by theinclination of two straight lines drawn from either extremity of theearth’s radius to the moon. On doubts being expressed as to thecorrectness of this method, they immediately proved that not only was the meandistance 234,347 miles, but that astronomers could not possibly be in error intheir estimate by more than seventy miles either way.

To those who were not familiar with the motions of the moon, they demonstratedthat she possesses two distinct motions, the first being that of rotation uponher axis, the second being that of revolution round the earth, accomplishingboth together in an equal period of time, that is to say, in twenty-seven andone-third days.

The motion of rotation is that which produces day and night on the surface ofthe moon; save that there is only one day and one night in the lunar month,each lasting three hundred and fifty-four and one-third hours. But, happily forher, the face turned toward the terrestrial globe is illuminated by it with anintensity equal to that of fourteen moons. As to the other face, alwaysinvisible to us, it has of necessity three hundred and fifty-four hours ofabsolute night, tempered only by that “pale glimmer which falls upon itfrom the stars.”

Some well-intentioned, but rather obstinate persons, could not at firstcomprehend how, if the moon displays invariably the same face to the earthduring her revolution, she can describe one turn round herself. To such theyanswered, “Go into your dining-room, and walk round the table in such away as to always keep your face turned toward the center; by the time you willhave achieved one complete round you will have completed one turn aroundyourself, since your eye will have traversed successively every point of theroom. Well, then, the room is the heavens, the table is the earth, and the moonis yourself.” And they would go away delighted.

So, then the moon displays invariably the same face to the earth; nevertheless,to be quite exact, it is necessary to add that, in consequence of certainfluctuations of north and south, and of west and east, termed her libration,she permits rather more than half, that is to say, five-sevenths, to be seen.

As soon as the ignoramuses came to understand as much as the director of theobservatory himself knew, they began to worry themselves regarding herrevolution round the earth, whereupon twenty scientific reviews immediatelycame to the rescue. They pointed out to them that the firmament, with itsinfinitude of stars, may be considered as one vast dial-plate, upon which themoon travels, indicating the true time to all the inhabitants of the earth;that it is during this movement that the Queen of Night exhibits her differentphases; that the moon is fullwhen she is in oppositionwith thesun, that is when the three bodies are on the same straight line, the earthoccupying the center; that she is newwhen she is in conjunctionwith the sun, that is, when she is between it and the earth; and, lastly thatshe is in her firstor lastquarter, when she makes with the sunand the earth an angle of which she herself occupies the apex.

Regarding the altitude which the moon attains above the horizon, the letter ofthe Cambridge Observatory had said all that was to be said in this respect.Every one knew that this altitude varies according to the latitude of theobserver. But the only zones of the globe in which the moon passes the zenith,that is, the point directly over the head of the spectator, are of necessitycomprised between the twenty-eighth parallels and the equator. Hence theimportance of the advice to try the experiment upon some point of that part ofthe globe, in order that the projectile might be discharged perpendicularly,and so the soonest escape the action of gravitation. This was an essentialcondition to the success of the enterprise, and continued actively to engagethe public attention.

Regarding the path described by the moon in her revolution round the earth, theCambridge Observatory had demonstrated that this path is a re-entering curve,not a perfect circle, but an ellipse, of which the earth occupies one of thefoci. It was also well understood that it is farthest removed from theearth during its apogee, and approaches most nearly to it at itsperigee.

Such was then the extent of knowledge possessed by every American on thesubject, and of which no one could decently profess ignorance. Still, whilethese principles were being rapidly disseminated many errors and illusory fearsproved less easy to eradicate.

For instance, some worthy persons maintained that the moon was an ancient cometwhich, in describing its elongated orbit round the sun, happened to pass nearthe earth, and became confined within her circle of attraction. Thesedrawing-room astronomers professed to explain the charred aspect of themoon—a disaster which they attributed to the intensity of the solar heat;only, on being reminded that comets have an atmosphere, and that the moon haslittle or none, they were fairly at a loss for a reply.

Others again, belonging to the doubting class, expressed certain fears as tothe position of the moon. They had heard it said that, according toobservations made in the time of the Caliphs, her revolution had becomeaccelerated in a certain degree. Hence they concluded, logically enough, thatan acceleration of motion ought to be accompanied by a corresponding diminutionin the distance separating the two bodies; and that, supposing the doubleeffect to be continued to infinity, the moon would end by one day falling intothe earth. However, they became reassured as to the fate of future generationson being apprised that, according to the calculations of Laplace, thisacceleration of motion is confined within very restricted limits, and that aproportional diminution of speed will be certain to succeed it. So, then, thestability of the solar system would not be deranged in ages to come.

There remains but the third class, the superstitious. These worthies were notcontent merely to rest in ignorance; they must know all about things which hadno existence whatever, and as to the moon, they had long known all about her.One set regarded her disc as a polished mirror, by means of which people couldsee each other from different points of the earth and interchange theirthoughts. Another set pretended that out of one thousand new moons that hadbeen observed, nine hundred and fifty had been attended with remarkabledisturbances, such as cataclysms, revolutions, earthquakes, the deluge, etc.Then they believed in some mysterious influence exercised by her over humandestinies—that every Selenite was attached to some inhabitant of theearth by a tie of sympathy; they maintained that the entire vital system issubject to her control, etc. But in time the majority renounced these vulgarerrors, and espoused the true side of the question. As for the Yankees, theyhad no other ambition than to take possession of this new continent of the sky,and to plant upon the summit of its highest elevation the star- spangled bannerof the United States of America.

CHAPTER VII.
THE HYMN OF THE CANNON-BALL

The Observatory of Cambridge in its memorable letter had treated the questionfrom a purely astronomical point of view. The mechanical part still remained.

President Barbicane had, without loss of time, nominated a working committee ofthe Gun Club. The duty of this committee was to resolve the three grandquestions of the cannon, the projectile, and the powder. It was composed offour members of great technical knowledge, Barbicane (with a casting vote incase of equality), General Morgan, Major Elphinstone, and J. T. Maston, to whomwere confided the functions of secretary. On the 8th of October the committeemet at the house of President Barbicane, 3 Republican Street. The meeting wasopened by the president himself.

“Gentlemen,” said he, “we have to resolve one of the mostimportant problems in the whole of the noble science of gunnery. It mightappear, perhaps, the most logical course to devote our first meeting to thediscussion of the engine to be employed. Nevertheless, after matureconsideration, it has appeared to me that the question of the projectile musttake precedence of that of the cannon, and that the dimensions of the lattermust necessarily depend on those of the former.”

“Suffer me to say a word,” here broke in J. T. Maston. Permissionhaving been granted, “Gentlemen,” said he with an inspired accent,“our president is right in placing the question of the projectile aboveall others. The ball we are about to discharge at the moon is our ambassador toher, and I wish to consider it from a moral point of view. The cannon-ball,gentlemen, to my mind, is the most magnificent manifestation of human power. IfProvidence has created the stars and the planets, man has called thecannon-ball into existence. Let Providence claim the swiftness of electricityand of light, of the stars, the comets, and the planets, of wind andsound—we claim to have invented the swiftness of the cannon-ball, ahundred times superior to that of the swiftest horses or railway train. Howglorious will be the moment when, infinitely exceeding all hitherto attainedvelocities, we shall launch our new projectile with the rapidity of seven milesa second! Shall it not, gentlemen—shall it not be received up there withthe honors due to a terrestrial ambassador?”

Overcome with emotion the orator sat down and applied himself to a huge plateof sandwiches before him.

“And now,” said Barbicane, “let us quit the domain of poetryand come direct to the question.”

“By all means,” replied the members, each with his mouth full ofsandwich.

“The problem before us,” continued the president, “is how tocommunicate to a projectile a velocity of 12,000 yards per second. Let us atpresent examine the velocities hitherto attained. General Morgan will be ableto enlighten us on this point.”

“And the more easily,” replied the general, “that during thewar I was a member of the committee of experiments. I may say, then, that the100-pounder Dahlgrens, which carried a distance of 5,000 yards, impressed upontheir projectile an initial velocity of 500 yards a second. The RodmanColumbiad threw a shot weighing half a ton a distance of six miles, with avelocity of 800 yards per second—a result which Armstrong and Palisserhave never obtained in England.”

“This,” replied Barbicane, “is, I believe, the maximumvelocity ever attained?”

“It is so,” replied the general.

“Ah!” groaned J. T. Maston, “if my mortar had notburst—”

“Yes,” quietly replied Barbicane, “but it did burst. We musttake, then, for our starting point, this velocity of 800 yards. We mustincrease it twenty-fold. Now, reserving for another discussion the means ofproducing this velocity, I will call your attention to the dimensions which itwill be proper to assign to the shot. You understand that we have nothing to dohere with projectiles weighing at most but half a ton.”

“Why not?” demanded the major.

“Because the shot,” quickly replied J. T. Maston, “must bebig enough to attract the attention of the inhabitants of the moon, if thereare any?”

“Yes,” replied Barbicane, “and for another reason moreimportant still.”

“What mean you?” asked the major.

“I mean that it is not enough to discharge a projectile, and then take nofurther notice of it; we must follow it throughout its course, up to the momentwhen it shall reach its goal.”

“What?” shouted the general and the major in great surprise.

“Undoubtedly,” replied Barbicane composedly, “or ourexperiment would produce no result.”

“But then,” replied the major, “you will have to give thisprojectile enormous dimensions.”

“No! Be so good as to listen. You know that optical instruments haveacquired great perfection; with certain instruments we have succeeded inobtaining enlargements of 6,000 times and reducing the moon to within fortymiles’ distance. Now, at this distance, any objects sixty feet squarewould be perfectly visible.

“If, then, the penetrative power of telescopes has not been furtherincreased, it is because that power detracts from their light; and the moon,which is but a reflecting mirror, does not give back sufficient light to enableus to perceive objects of lesser magnitude.”

“Well, then, what do you propose to do?” asked the general.“Would you give your projectile a diameter of sixty feet?”

“Not so.”

“Do you intend, then, to increase the luminous power of the moon?”

“Exactly so. If I can succeed in diminishing the density of theatmosphere through which the moon’s light has to travel I shall haverendered her light more intense. To effect that object it will be enough toestablish a telescope on some elevated mountain. That is what we willdo.”

“I give it up,” answered the major. “You have such a way ofsimplifying things. And what enlargement do you expect to obtain in thisway?”

“One of 48,000 times, which should bring the moon within an apparentdistance of five miles; and, in order to be visible, objects need not have adiameter of more than nine feet.”

“So, then,” cried J. T. Maston, “our projectile need not bemore than nine feet in diameter.”

“Let me observe, however,” interrupted Major Elphinstone,“this will involve a weight such as—”

“My dear major,” replied Barbicane, “before discussing itsweight permit me to enumerate some of the marvels which our ancestors haveachieved in this respect. I don’t mean to pretend that the science ofgunnery has not advanced, but it is as well to bear in mind that during themiddle ages they obtained results more surprising, I will venture to say, thanours. For instance, during the siege of Constantinople by Mahomet II., in 1453,stone shot of 1,900 pounds weight were employed. At Malta, in the time of theknights, there was a gun of the fortress of St. Elmo which threw a projectileweighing 2,500 pounds. And, now, what is the extent of what we have seenourselves? Armstrong guns discharging shot of 500 pounds, and the Rodman gunsprojectiles of half a ton! It seems, then, that if projectiles have gained inrange, they have lost far more in weight. Now, if we turn our efforts in thatdirection, we ought to arrive, with the progress on science, at ten times theweight of the shot of Mahomet II. and the Knights of Malta.”

“Clearly,” replied the major; “but what metal do youcalculate upon employing?”

“Simply cast iron,” said General Morgan.

“But,” interrupted the major, “since the weight of a shot isproportionate to its volume, an iron ball of nine feet in diameter would be oftremendous weight.”

“Yes, if it were solid, not if it were hollow.”

“Hollow? then it would be a shell?”

“Yes, a shell,” replied Barbicane; “decidely it must be. Asolid shot of 108 inches would weigh more than 200,000 pounds, a weightevidently far too great. Still, as we must reserve a certain stability for ourprojectile, I propose to give it a weight of 20,000 pounds.”

“What, then, will be the thickness of the sides?” asked the major.

“If we follow the usual proportion,” replied Morgan, “adiameter of 108 inches would require sides of two feet thickness, orless.”

“That would be too much,” replied Barbicane; “for you willobserve that the question is not that of a shot intended to pierce an ironplate; it will suffice to give it sides strong enough to resist the pressure ofthe gas. The problem, therefore, is this—What thickness ought a cast-ironshell to have in order not to weight more than 20,000 pounds? Our cleversecretary will soon enlighten us upon this point.”

“Nothing easier.” replied the worthy secretary of the committee;and, rapidly tracing a few algebraical formulae upon paper, among whichn²and x²frequently appeared, he presentlysaid:

“The sides will require a thickness of less than two inches.”

“Will that be enough?” asked the major doubtfully.

“Clearly not!” replied the president.

“What is to be done, then?” said Elphinstone, with a puzzled air.

“Employ another metal instead of iron.”

“Copper?” said Morgan.

“No! that would be too heavy. I have better than that to offer.”

“What then?” asked the major.

“Aluminum!” replied Barbicane.

“Aluminum?” cried his three colleagues in chorus.

“Unquestionably, my friends. This valuable metal possesses the whitenessof silver, the indestructibility of gold, the tenacity of iron, the fusibilityof copper, the lightness of glass. It is easily wrought, is very widelydistributed, forming the base of most of the rocks, is three times lighter thaniron, and seems to have been created for the express purpose of furnishing uswith the material for our projectile.”

“But, my dear president,” said the major, “is not the costprice of aluminum extremely high?”

“It was so at its first discovery, but it has fallen now to nine dollarsa pound.”

“But still, nine dollars a pound!” replied the major, who was notwilling readily to give in; “even that is an enormous price.”

“Undoubtedly, my dear major; but not beyond our reach.”

“What will the projectile weigh then?” asked Morgan.

“Here is the result of my calculations,” replied Barbicane.“A shot of 108 inches in diameter, and twelve inches in thickness, wouldweigh, in cast-iron, 67,440 pounds; cast in aluminum, its weight will bereduced to 19,250 pounds.”

“Capital!” cried the major; “but do you know that, at ninedollars a pound, this projectile will cost—”

“One hundred and seventy-three thousand and fifty dollars ($173,050). Iknow it quite well. But fear not, my friends; the money will not be wanting forour enterprise. I will answer for it. Now what say you to aluminum,gentlemen?”

“Adopted!” replied the three members of the committee. So ended thefirst meeting. The question of the projectile was definitely settled.

CHAPTER VIII.
HISTORY OF THE CANNON

The resolutions passed at the last meeting produced a great effect out ofdoors. Timid people took fright at the idea of a shot weighing 20,000 poundsbeing launched into space; they asked what cannon could ever transmit asufficient velocity to such a mighty mass. The minutes of the second meetingwere destined triumphantly to answer such questions. The following evening thediscussion was renewed.

“My dear colleagues,” said Barbicane, without further preamble,“the subject now before us is the construction of the engine, its length,its composition, and its weight. It is probable that we shall end by giving itgigantic dimensions; but however great may be the difficulties in the way, ourmechanical genius will readily surmount them. Be good enough, then, to give meyour attention, and do not hesitate to make objections at the close. I have nofear of them. The problem before us is how to communicate an initial force of12,000 yards per second to a shell of 108 inches in diameter, weighing 20,000pounds. Now when a projectile is launched into space, what happens to it? It isacted upon by three independent forces: the resistance of the air, theattraction of the earth, and the force of impulsion with which it is endowed.Let us examine these three forces. The resistance of the air is of littleimportance. The atmosphere of the earth does not exceed forty miles. Now, withthe given rapidity, the projectile will have traversed this in five seconds,and the period is too brief for the resistance of the medium to be regardedotherwise than as insignificant. Proceding, then, to the attraction of theearth, that is, the weight of the shell, we know that this weight will diminishin the inverse ratio of the square of the distance. When a body left to itselffalls to the surface of the earth, it falls five feet in the first second; andif the same body were removed 257,542 miles further off, in other words, to thedistance of the moon, its fall would be reduced to about half a line in thefirst second. That is almost equivalent to a state of perfect rest. Ourbusiness, then, is to overcome progressively this action of gravitation. Themode of accomplishing that is by the force of impulsion.”

“There’s the difficulty,” broke in the major.

“True,” replied the president; “but we will overcome that,for the force of impulsion will depend on the length of the engine and thepowder employed, the latter being limited only by the resisting power of theformer. Our business, then, to-day is with the dimensions of the cannon.”

“Now, up to the present time,” said Barbicane, “our longestguns have not exceeded twenty-five feet in length. We shall therefore astonishthe world by the dimensions we shall be obliged to adopt. It must evidently be,then, a gun of great range, since the length of the piece will increase thedetention of the gas accumulated behind the projectile; but there is noadvantage in passing certain limits.”

“Quite so,” said the major. “What is the rule in such acase?”

“Ordinarily the length of a gun is twenty to twenty-five times thediameter of the shot, and its weight two hundred and thirty-five to two hundredand forty times that of the shot.”

“That is not enough,” cried J. T. Maston impetuously.

“I agree with you, my good friend; and, in fact, following thisproportion for a projectile nine feet in diameter, weighing 30,000 pounds, thegun would only have a length of two hundred and twenty- five feet, and a weightof 7,200,000 pounds.”

“Ridiculous!” rejoined Maston. “As well take a pistol.”

“I think so too,” replied Barbicane; “that is why I proposeto quadruple that length, and to construct a gun of nine hundred feet.”

The general and the major offered some objections; nevertheless, theproposition, actively supported by the secretary, was definitely adopted.

“But,” said Elphinstone, “what thickness must we giveit?”

“A thickness of six feet,” replied Barbicane.

“You surely don’t think of mounting a mass like that upon acarriage?” asked the major.

“It would be a superb idea, though,” said Maston.

“But impracticable,” replied Barbicane. “No, I think ofsinking this engine in the earth alone, binding it with hoops of wrought iron,and finally surrounding it with a thick mass of masonry of stone and cement.The piece once cast, it must be bored with great precision, so as to precludeany possible windage. So there will be no loss whatever of gas, and all theexpansive force of the powder will be employed in the propulsion.”

“One simple question,” said Elphinstone: “is our gun to berifled?”

“No, certainly not,” replied Barbicane; “we require anenormous initial velocity; and you are well aware that a shot quits a rifledgun less rapidly than it does a smooth-bore.”

“True,” rejoined the major.

The committee here adjourned for a few minutes to tea and sandwiches.

On the discussion being renewed, “Gentlemen,” said Barbicane,“we must now take into consideration the metal to be employed. Our cannonmust be possessed of great tenacity, great hardness, be infusible by heat,indissoluble, and inoxidable by the corrosive action of acids.”

“There is no doubt about that,” replied the major; “and as weshall have to employ an immense quantity of metal, we shall not be at a lossfor choice.”

“Well, then,” said Morgan, “I propose the best alloy hithertoknown, which consists of one hundred parts of copper, twelve of tin, and six ofbrass.”

“I admit,” replied the president, “that this composition hasyielded excellent results, but in the present case it would be too expensive,and very difficult to work. I think, then, that we ought to adopt a materialexcellent in its way and of low price, such as cast iron. What is your advice,major?”

“I quite agree with you,” replied Elphinstone.

“In fact,” continued Barbicane, “cast iron costs ten timesless than bronze; it is easy to cast, it runs readily from the moulds of sand,it is easy of manipulation, it is at once economical of money and of time. Inaddition, it is excellent as a material, and I well remember that during thewar, at the siege of Atlanta, some iron guns fired one thousand rounds atintervals of twenty minutes without injury.”

“Cast iron is very brittle, though,” replied Morgan.

“Yes, but it possesses great resistance. I will now ask our worthysecretary to calculate the weight of a cast-iron gun with a bore of nine feetand a thickness of six feet of metal.”

“In a moment,” replied Maston. Then, dashing off some algebraicalformulae with marvelous facility, in a minute or two he declared the followingresult:

“The cannon will weigh 68,040 tons. And, at two cents a pound, it willcost—”

“Two million five hundred and ten thousand seven hundred and onedollars.”

Maston, the major, and the general regarded Barbicane with uneasy looks.

“Well, gentlemen,” replied the president, “I repeat what Isaid yesterday. Make yourselves easy; the millions will not be wanting.”

With this assurance of their president the committee separated, after havingfixed their third meeting for the following evening.

CHAPTER IX.
THE QUESTION OF THE POWDERS

There remained for consideration merely the question of powders. The publicawaited with interest its final decision. The size of the projectile, thelength of the cannon being settled, what would be the quantity of powdernecessary to produce impulsion?

It is generally asserted that gunpowder was invented in the fourteenth centuryby the monk Schwartz, who paid for his grand discovery with his life. It is,however, pretty well proved that this story ought to be ranked among thelegends of the middle ages. Gunpowder was not invented by any one; it was thelineal successor of the Greek fire, which, like itself, was composed of sulfurand saltpeter. Few persons are acquainted with the mechanical power ofgunpowder. Now this is precisely what is necessary to be understood in order tocomprehend the importance of the question submitted to the committee.

A litre of gunpowder weighs about two pounds; during combustion it produces 400litres of gas. This gas, on being liberated and acted upon by temperatureraised to 2,400 degrees, occupies a space of 4,000 litres: consequently thevolume of powder is to the volume of gas produced by its combustion as 1 to4,000. One may judge, therefore, of the tremendous pressure on this gas whencompressed within a space 4,000 times too confined. All this was, of course,well known to the members of the committee when they met on the followingevening.

The first speaker on this occasion was Major Elphinstone, who had been thedirector of the gunpowder factories during the war.

“Gentlemen,” said this distinguished chemist, “I begin withsome figures which will serve as the basis of our calculation. The old24-pounder shot required for its discharge sixteen pounds of powder.”

“You are certain of this amount?” broke in Barbicane.

“Quite certain,” replied the major. “The Armstrong cannonemploys only seventy-five pounds of powder for a projectile of eight hundredpounds, and the Rodman Columbiad uses only one hundred and sixty pounds ofpowder to send its half ton shot a distance of six miles. These facts cannot becalled in question, for I myself raised the point during the depositions takenbefore the committee of artillery.”

“Quite true,” said the general.

“Well,” replied the major, “these figures go to prove thatthe quantity of powder is not increased with the weight of the shot; that is tosay, if a 24-pounder shot requires sixteen pounds of powder;—in otherwords, if in ordinary guns we employ a quantity of powder equal to two-thirdsof the weight of the projectile, this proportion is not constant. Calculate,and you will see that in place of three hundred and thirty-three pounds ofpowder, the quantity is reduced to no more than one hundred and sixtypounds.”

“What are you aiming at?” asked the president.

“If you push your theory to extremes, my dear major,” said J. T.Maston, “you will get to this, that as soon as your shot becomessufficiently heavy you will not require any powder at all.”

“Our friend Maston is always at his jokes, even in seriousmatters,” cried the major; “but let him make his mind easy, I amgoing presently to propose gunpowder enough to satisfy his artillerist’spropensities. I only keep to statistical facts when I say that, during the war,and for the very largest guns, the weight of the powder was reduced, as theresult of experience, to a tenth part of the weight of the shot.”

“Perfectly correct,” said Morgan; “but before deciding thequantity of powder necessary to give the impulse, I think it would be aswell—”

“We shall have to employ a large-grained powder,” continued themajor; “its combustion is more rapid than that of the small.”

“No doubt about that,” replied Morgan; “but it is verydestructive, and ends by enlarging the bore of the pieces.”

“Granted; but that which is injurious to a gun destined to perform longservice is not so to our Columbiad. We shall run no danger of an explosion; andit is necessary that our powder should take fire instantaneously in order thatits mechanical effect may be complete.”

“We must have,” said Maston, “several touch-holes, so as tofire it at different points at the same time.”

“Certainly,” replied Elphinstone; “but that will render theworking of the piece more difficult. I return then to my large-grained powder,which removes those difficulties. In his Columbiad charges Rodman employed apowder as large as chestnuts, made of willow charcoal, simply dried in cast-iron pans. This powder was hard and glittering, left no trace upon the hand,contained hydrogen and oxygen in large proportion, took fire instantaneously,and, though very destructive, did not sensibly injure the mouth-piece.”

Up to this point Barbicane had kept aloof from the discussion; he left theothers to speak while he himself listened; he had evidently got an idea. He nowsimply said, “Well, my friends, what quantity of powder do youpropose?”

The three members looked at one another.

“Two hundred thousand pounds.” at last said Morgan.

“Five hundred thousand,” added the major.

“Eight hundred thousand,” screamed Maston.

A moment of silence followed this triple proposal; it was at last broken by thepresident.

“Gentlemen,” he quietly said, “I start from this principle,that the resistance of a gun, constructed under the given conditions, isunlimited. I shall surprise our friend Maston, then, by stigmatizing hiscalculations as timid; and I propose to double his 800,000 pounds ofpowder.”

“Sixteen hundred thousand pounds?” shouted Maston, leaping from hisseat.

“Just so.”

“We shall have to come then to my ideal of a cannon half a mile long; foryou see 1,600,000 pounds will occupy a space of about 20,000 cubic feet; andsince the contents of your cannon do not exceed 54,000 cubic feet, it would behalf full; and the bore will not be more than long enough for the gas tocommunicate to the projectile sufficient impulse.”

“Nevertheless,” said the president, “I hold to that quantityof powder. Now, 1,600,000 pounds of powder will create 6,000,000,000 litres ofgas. Six thousand millions! You quite understand?”

“What is to be done then?” said the general.

“The thing is very simple; we must reduce this enormous quantity ofpowder, while preserving to it its mechanical power.”

“Good; but by what means?”

“I am going to tell you,” replied Barbicane quietly.

“Nothing is more easy than to reduce this mass to one quarter of itsbulk. You know that curious cellular matter which constitutes the elementarytissues of vegetable? This substance is found quite pure in many bodies,especially in cotton, which is nothing more than the down of the seeds of thecotton plant. Now cotton, combined with cold nitric acid, become transformedinto a substance eminently insoluble, combustible, and explosive. It was firstdiscovered in 1832, by Braconnot, a French chemist, who called it xyloidine. In1838 another Frenchman, Pelouze, investigated its different properties, andfinally, in 1846, Schonbein, professor of chemistry at Bale, proposed itsemployment for purposes of war. This powder, now called pyroxyle, orfulminating cotton, is prepared with great facility by simply plunging cottonfor fifteen minutes in nitric acid, then washing it in water, then drying it,and it is ready for use.”

“Nothing could be more simple,” said Morgan.

“Moreover, pyroxyle is unaltered by moisture—a valuable property tous, inasmuch as it would take several days to charge the cannon. It ignites at170 degrees in place of 240, and its combustion is so rapid that one may setlight to it on the top of the ordinary powder, without the latter having timeto ignite.”

“Perfect!” exclaimed the major.

“Only it is more expensive.”

“What matter?” cried J. T. Maston.

“Finally, it imparts to projectiles a velocity four times superior tothat of gunpowder. I will even add, that if we mix it with one-eighth of itsown weight of nitrate of potassium, its expansive force is again considerablyaugmented.”

“Will that be necessary?” asked the major.

“I think not,” replied Barbicane. “So, then, in place of1,600,000 pounds of powder, we shall have but 400,000 pounds of fulminatingcotton; and since we can, without danger, compress 500 pounds of cotton intotwenty-seven cubic feet, the whole quantity will not occupy a height of morethan 180 feet within the bore of the Columbiad. In this way the shot will havemore than 700 feet of bore to traverse under a force of 6,000,000,000 litres ofgas before taking its flight toward the moon.”

At this juncture J. T. Maston could not repress his emotion; he flung himselfinto the arms of his friend with the violence of a projectile, and Barbicanewould have been stove in if he had not been boom-proof.

This incident terminated the third meeting of the committee.

Barbicane and his bold colleagues, to whom nothing seemed impossible, hadsucceeding in solving the complex problems of projectile, cannon, and powder.Their plan was drawn up, and it only remained to put it into execution.

“A mere matter of detail, a bagatelle,” said J. T. Maston.

CHAPTER X.
ONE ENEMY v.TWENTY-FIVE MILLIONS OF FRIENDS

The American public took a lively interest in the smallest details of theenterprise of the Gun Club. It followed day by day the discussion of thecommittee. The most simple preparations for the great experiment, the questionsof figures which it involved, the mechanical difficulties to beresolved—in one word, the entire plan of work—roused the popularexcitement to the highest pitch.

The purely scientific attraction was suddenly intensified by the followingincident:

We have seen what legions of admirers and friends Barbicane’s project hadrallied round its author. There was, however, one single individual alone inall the States of the Union who protested against the attempt of the Gun Club.He attacked it furiously on every opportunity, and human nature is such thatBarbicane felt more keenly the opposition of that one man than he did theapplause of all the others. He was well aware of the motive of this antipathy,the origin of this solitary enmity, the cause of its personality and oldstanding, and in what rivalry of self-love it had its rise.

This persevering enemy the president of the Gun Club had never seen. Fortunatethat it was so, for a meeting between the two men would certainly have beenattended with serious consequences. This rival was a man of science, likeBarbicane himself, of a fiery, daring, and violent disposition; a pure Yankee.His name was Captain Nicholl; he lived at Philadelphia.

Most people are aware of the curious struggle which arose during the Federalwar between the guns and armor of iron-plated ships. The result was the entirereconstruction of the navy of both the continents; as the one grew heavier, theother became thicker in proportion. The Merrimac, the Monitor, the Tennessee,the Weehawken discharged enormous projectiles themselves, after having beenarmor-clad against the projectiles of others. In fact they did to others thatwhich they would not they should do to them—that grand principle ofimmortality upon which rests the whole art of war.

Now if Barbicane was a great founder of shot, Nicholl was a great forger ofplates; the one cast night and day at Baltimore, the other forged day and nightat Philadelphia. As soon as ever Barbicane invented a new shot, Nichollinvented a new plate; each followed a current of ideas essentially opposed tothe other. Happily for these citizens, so useful to their country, a distanceof from fifty to sixty miles separated them from one another, and they hadnever yet met. Which of these two inventors had the advantage over the other itwas difficult to decide from the results obtained. By last accounts, however,it would seem that the armor-plate would in the end have to give way to theshot; nevertheless, there were competent judges who had their doubts on thepoint.

At the last experiment the cylindro-conical projectiles of Barbicane stuck likeso many pins in the Nicholl plates. On that day the Philadelphia iron-forgerthen believed himself victorious, and could not evince contempt enough for hisrival; but when the other afterward substituted for conical shot simple600-pound shells, at very moderate velocity, the captain was obliged to givein. In fact, these projectiles knocked his best metal plate to shivers.

Matters were at this stage, and victory seemed to rest with the shot, when thewar came to an end on the very day when Nicholl had completed a new armor-plateof wrought steel. It was a masterpiece of its kind, and bid defiance to all theprojectiles of the world. The captain had it conveyed to the Polygon atWashington, challenging the president of the Gun Club to break it. Barbicane,peace having been declared, declined to try the experiment.

Nicholl, now furious, offered to expose his plate to the shock of any shot,solid, hollow, round, or conical. Refused by the president, who did not chooseto compromise his last success.

Nicholl, disgusted by this obstinacy, tried to tempt Barbicane by offering himevery chance. He proposed to fix the plate within two hundred yards of the gun.Barbicane still obstinate in refusal. A hundred yards? Not even seventy-five!

“At fifty then!” roared the captain through the newspapers.“At twenty-five yards! and I’ll stand behind!”

Barbicane returned for answer that, even if Captain Nicholl would be so good asto stand in front, he would not fire any more.

Nicholl could not contain himself at this reply; threw out hints of cowardice;that a man who refused to fire a cannon-shot was pretty near being afraid ofit; that artillerists who fight at six miles distance are substitutingmathematical formulae for individual courage.

To these insinuations Barbicane returned no answer; perhaps he never heard ofthem, so absorbed was he in the calculations for his great enterprise.

When his famous communication was made to the Gun Club, the captain’swrath passed all bounds; with his intense jealousy was mingled a feeling ofabsolute impotence. How was he to invent anything to beat this 900-feetColumbiad? What armor-plate could ever resist a projectile of 30,000 poundsweight? Overwhelmed at first under this violent shock, he by and by recoveredhimself, and resolved to crush the proposal by weight of his arguments.

He then violently attacked the labors of the Gun Club, published a number ofletters in the newspapers, endeavored to prove Barbicane ignorant of the firstprinciples of gunnery. He maintained that it was absolutely impossible toimpress upon any body whatever a velocity of 12,000 yards per second; that evenwith such a velocity a projectile of such a weight could not transcend thelimits of the earth’s atmosphere. Further still, even regarding thevelocity to be acquired, and granting it to be sufficient, the shell could notresist the pressure of the gas developed by the ignition of 1,600,000 pounds ofpowder; and supposing it to resist that pressure, it would be less able tosupport that temperature; it would melt on quitting the Columbiad, and fallback in a red-hot shower upon the heads of the imprudent spectators.

Barbicane continued his work without regarding these attacks.

Nicholl then took up the question in its other aspects. Without touching uponits uselessness in all points of view, he regarded the experiment as fraughtwith extreme danger, both to the citizens, who might sanction by their presenceso reprehensible a spectacle, and also to the towns in the neighborhood of thisdeplorable cannon. He also observed that if the projectile did not succeed inreaching its destination (a result absolutely impossible), it must inevitablyfall back upon the earth, and that the shock of such a mass, multiplied by thesquare of its velocity, would seriously endanger every point of the globe.Under the circumstances, therefore, and without interfering with the rights offree citizens, it was a case for the intervention of Government, which oughtnot to endanger the safety of all for the pleasure of one individual.

In spite of all his arguments, however, Captain Nicholl remained alone in hisopinion. Nobody listened to him, and he did not succeed in alienating a singleadmirer from the president of the Gun Club. The latter did not even take thepains to refute the arguments of his rival.

Nicholl, driven into his last entrenchments, and not able to fight personallyin the cause, resolved to fight with money. He published, therefore, in theRichmond Inquirera series of wagers, conceived in these terms, and onan increasing scale:

No. 1 ($1,000).—That the necessary funds for the experiment of the GunClub will not be forthcoming.

No. 2 ($2,000).—That the operation of casting a cannon of 900 feet isimpracticable, and cannot possibly succeed.

No. 3 ($3,000).—That is it impossible to load the Columbiad, and that thepyroxyle will take fire spontaneously under the pressure of the projectile.

No. 4 ($4,000).—That the Columbiad will burst at the first fire.

No. 5 ($5,000).—That the shot will not travel farther than six miles, andthat it will fall back again a few seconds after its discharge.

It was an important sum, therefore, which the captain risked in his invincibleobstinacy. He had no less than $15,000 at stake.

Notwithstanding the importance of the challenge, on the 19th ofMay he received a sealed packet containing the followingsuperbly laconic reply:

“BALTIMORE, October 19.
”Done.
”BARBICANE.”

CHAPTER XI.
FLORIDA AND TEXAS

One question remained yet to be decided; it was necessary to choose a favorablespot for the experiment. According to the advice of the Observatory ofCambridge, the gun must be fired perpendicularly to the plane of the horizon,that is to say, toward the zenith. Now the moon does not traverse the zenith,except in places situated between 0° and 28° of latitude. It became, then,necessary to determine exactly that spot on the globe where the immenseColumbiad should be cast.

On the 20th of October, at a general meeting of the Gun Club, Barbicaneproduced a magnificent map of the United States. “Gentlemen,” saidhe, in opening the discussion, “I presume that we are all agreed thatthis experiment cannot and ought not to be tried anywhere but within the limitsof the soil of the Union. Now, by good fortune, certain frontiers of the UnitedStates extend downward as far as the 28th parallel of the north latitude. Ifyou will cast your eye over this map, you will see that we have at our disposalthe whole of the southern portion of Texas and Florida.”

It was finally agreed, then, that the Columbiad must be cast on the soil ofeither Texas or Florida. The result, however, of this decision was to create arivalry entirely without precedent between the different towns of these twoStates.

The 28th parallel, on reaching the American coast, traverses the peninsula ofFlorida, dividing it into two nearly equal portions. Then, plunging into theGulf of Mexico, it subtends the arc formed by the coast of Alabama,Mississippi, and Louisiana; then skirting Texas, off which it cuts an angle, itcontinues its course over Mexico, crosses the Sonora, Old California, and losesitself in the Pacific Ocean. It was, therefore, only those portions of Texasand Florida which were situated below this parallel which came within theprescribed conditions of latitude.

Florida, in its southern part, reckons no cities of importance; it is simplystudded with forts raised against the roving Indians. One solitary town, TampaTown, was able to put in a claim in favor of its situation.

In Texas, on the contrary, the towns are much more numerous and important.Corpus Christi, in the county of Nueces, and all the cities situated on the RioBravo, Laredo, Comalites, San Ignacio on the Web, Rio Grande City on the Starr,Edinburgh in the Hidalgo, Santa Rita, Elpanda, Brownsville in the Cameron,formed an imposing league against the pretensions of Florida. So, scarcely wasthe decision known, when the Texan and Floridan deputies arrived at Baltimorein an incredibly short space of time. From that very moment President Barbicaneand the influential members of the Gun Club were besieged day and night byformidable claims. If seven cities of Greece contended for the honor of havinggiven birth to a Homer, here were two entire States threatening to come toblows about the question of a cannon.

The rival parties promenaded the streets with arms in their hands; and at everyoccasion of their meeting a collision was to be apprehended which might havebeen attended with disastrous results. Happily the prudence and address ofPresident Barbicane averted the danger. These personal demonstrations found adivision in the newspapers of the different States. The New York Heraldand the Tribunesupported Texas, while the Timesand theAmerican Reviewespoused the cause of the Floridan deputies. The membersof the Gun Club could not decide to which to give the preference.

Texas produced its array of twenty-six counties; Florida replied that twelvecounties were better than twenty-six in a country only one-sixth part of thesize.

Texas plumed itself upon its 330,000 natives; Florida, with a far smallerterritory, boasted of being much more densely populated with 56,000.

The Texans, through the columns of the Heraldclaimed that some regardshould be had to a State which grew the best cotton in all America, producedthe best green oak for the service of the navy, and contained the finest oil,besides iron mines, in which the yield was fifty per cent. of pure metal.

To this the American Reviewreplied that the soil of Florida, althoughnot equally rich, afforded the best conditions for the moulding and casting ofthe Columbiad, consisting as it did of sand and argillaceous earth.

“That may be all very well,” replied the Texans; “but youmust first get to this country. Now the communications with Florida aredifficult, while the coast of Texas offers the bay of Galveston, whichpossesses a circumference of fourteen leagues, and is capable of containing thenavies of the entire world!”

“A pretty notion truly,” replied the papers in the interest ofFlorida, “that of Galveston bay below the 29th parallel!Have wenot got the bay of Espiritu Santo, opening precisely upon the 28thdegree, and by which ships can reach Tampa Town by direct route?”

“A fine bay; half choked with sand!”

“Choked yourselves!” returned the others.

Thus the war went on for several days, when Florida endeavored to draw heradversary away on to fresh ground; and one morning the Timeshintedthat, the enterprise being essentially American, it ought not to be attemptedupon other than purely American territory.

To these words Texas retorted, “American! are we not as much so as you?Were not Texas and Florida both incorporated into the Union in 1845?”

“Undoubtedly,” replied the Times; “but we havebelonged to the Americans ever since 1820.”

“Yes!” returned the Tribune; “after having beenSpaniards or English for two hundred years, you were sold to the United Statesfor five million dollars!”

“Well! and why need we blush for that? Was not Louisiana bought fromNapoleon in 1803 at the price of sixteen million dollars?”

“Scandalous!” roared the Texas deputies. “A wretched littlestrip of country like Florida to dare to compare itself to Texas, who, in placeof selling herself, asserted her own independence, drove out the Mexicans inMarch 2, 1846, and declared herself a federal republic after the victory gainedby Samuel Houston, on the banks of the San Jacinto, over the troops of SantaAnna!—a country, in fine, which voluntarily annexed itself to the UnitedStates of America!”

“Yes; because it was afraid of the Mexicans!” replied Florida.

“Afraid!” From this moment the state of things became intolerable.A sanguinary encounter seemed daily imminent between the two parties in thestreets of Baltimore. It became necessary to keep an eye upon the deputies.

President Barbicane knew not which way to look. Notes, documents, letters fullof menaces showered down upon his house. Which side ought he to take? Asregarded the appropriation of the soil, the facility of communication, therapidity of transport, the claims of both States were evenly balanced. As forpolitical prepossessions, they had nothing to do with the question.

This dead block had existed for some little time, when Barbicane resolved toget rid of it all at once. He called a meeting of his colleagues, and laidbefore them a proposition which, it will be seen, was profoundly sagacious.

“On carefully considering,” he said, “what is going on nowbetween Florida and Texas, it is clear that the same difficulties will recurwith all the towns of the favored State. The rivalry will descend from State tocity, and so on downward. Now Texas possesses eleven towns within theprescribed conditions, which will further dispute the honor and create us newenemies, while Florida has only one. I go in, therefore, for Florida and TampaTown.”

This decision, on being made known, utterly crushed the Texan deputies. Seizedwith an indescribable fury, they addressed threatening letters to the differentmembers of the Gun Club by name. The magistrates had but one course to take,and they took it. They chartered a special train, forced the Texans into itwhether they would or no; and they quitted the city with a speed of thirtymiles an hour.

Quickly, however, as they were despatched, they found time to hurl one last andbitter sarcasm at their adversaries.

Alluding to the extent of Florida, a mere peninsula confined between two seas,they pretended that it could never sustain the shock of the discharge, and thatit would “bust up” at the very first shot.

“Very well, let it bust up!” replied the Floridans, with a brevityof the days of ancient Sparta.

CHAPTER XII.
URBI ET ORBI

The astronomical, mechanical, and topographical difficulties resolved, finallycame the question of finance. The sum required was far too great for anyindividual, or even any single State, to provide the requisite millions.

President Barbicane undertook, despite of the matter being a purely Americanaffair, to render it one of universal interest, and to request the financialco-operation of all peoples. It was, he maintained, the right and duty of thewhole earth to interfere in the affairs of its satellite. The subscriptionopened at Baltimore extended properly to the whole world—Urbi etorbi.

This subscription was successful beyond all expectation; notwithstanding thatit was a question not of lending but of giving the money. It was a purelydisinterested operation in the strictest sense of the term, and offered not theslightest chance of profit.

The effect, however, of Barbicane’s communication was not confined to thefrontiers of the United States; it crossed the Atlantic and Pacific, invadingsimultaneously Asia and Europe, Africa and Oceanica. The observatories of theUnion placed themselves in immediate communication with those of foreigncountries. Some, such as those of Paris, Petersburg, Berlin, Stockholm,Hamburg, Malta, Lisbon, Benares, Madras, and others, transmitted their goodwishes; the rest maintained a prudent silence, quietly awaiting the result. Asfor the observatory at Greenwich, seconded as it was by the twenty- twoastronomical establishments of Great Britain, it spoke plainly enough. Itboldly denied the possibility of success, and pronounced in favor of thetheories of Captain Nicholl. But this was nothing more than mere Englishjealousy.

On the 8th of October President Barbicane published a manifesto full ofenthusiasm, in which he made an appeal to “all persons of good will uponthe face of the earth.” This document, translated into all languages, metwith immense success.

Subscription lists were opened in all the principal cities of the Union, with acentral office at the Baltimore Bank, 9 Baltimore Street.

In addition, subscriptions were received at the following banks in thedifferent states of the two continents:

At Vienna, with S. M. de Rothschild.
At Petersburg, Stieglitz and Co.
At Paris, The Credit Mobilier.
At Stockholm, Tottie and Arfuredson.
At London, N. M. Rothschild and Son.
At Turin, Ardouin and Co.
At Berlin, Mendelssohn.
At Geneva, Lombard, Odier and Co.
At Constantinople, The Ottoman Bank.
At Brussels, J. Lambert.
At Madrid, Daniel Weisweller.
At Amsterdam, Netherlands Credit Co.
At Rome, Torlonia and Co.
At Lisbon, Lecesne.
At Copenhagen, Private Bank.
At Rio de Janeiro, Private Bank.
At Montevideo, Private Bank.
At Valparaiso and Lima, Thomas la Chambre and Co.
At Mexico, Martin Daran and Co.

Three days after the manifesto of President Barbicane $4,000,000 were paid intothe different towns of the Union. With such a balance the Gun Club might beginoperations at once. But some days later advices were received to the effectthat foreign subscriptions were being eagerly taken up. Certain countriesdistinguished themselves by their liberality; others untied their purse-stringswith less facility—a matter of temperament. Figures are, however, moreeloquent than words, and here is the official statement of the sums which werepaid in to the credit of the Gun Club at the close of the subscription.

Russia paid in as her contingent the enormous sum of 368,733 roubles. No oneneed be surprised at this, who bears in mind the scientific taste of theRussians, and the impetus which they have given to astronomicalstudies—thanks to their numerous observatories.

France began by deriding the pretensions of the Americans. The moon served as apretext for a thousand stale puns and a score of ballads, in which bad tastecontested the palm with ignorance. But as formerly the French paid beforesinging, so now they paid after having had their laugh, and they subscribed fora sum of 1,253,930 francs. At that price they had a right to enjoy themselves alittle.

Austria showed herself generous in the midst of her financial crisis. Herpublic contributions amounted to the sum of 216,000 florins—a perfectgodsend.

Fifty-two thousand rix-dollars were the remittance of Sweden and Norway; theamount is large for the country, but it would undoubtedly have beenconsiderably increased had the subscription been opened in Christianasimultaneously with that at Stockholm. For some reason or other the Norwegiansdo not like to send their money to Sweden.

Prussia, by a remittance of 250,000 thalers, testified her high approval of theenterprise.

Turkey behaved generously; but she had a personal interest in the matter. Themoon, in fact, regulates the cycle of her years and her fast of Ramadan. Shecould not do less than give 1,372,640 piastres; and she gave them with aneagerness which denoted, however, some pressure on the part of the government.

Belgium distinguished herself among the second-rate states by a grant of513,000 francs—about two centimes per head of her population.

Holland and her colonies interested themselves to the extent of 110,000florins, only demanding an allowance of five per cent. discount for payingready money.

Denmark, a little contracted in territory, gave nevertheless 9,000 ducats,proving her love for scientific experiments.

The Germanic Confederation pledged itself to 34,285 florins. It was impossibleto ask for more; besides, they would not have given it.

Though very much crippled, Italy found 200,000 lire in the pockets of herpeople. If she had had Venetia she would have done better; but she had not.

The States of the Church thought that they could not send less than 7,040 Romancrowns; and Portugal carried her devotion to science as far as 30,000 cruzados.It was the widow’s mite—eighty-six piastres; but self-constitutedempires are always rather short of money.

Two hundred and fifty-seven francs, this was the modest contribution ofSwitzerland to the American work. One must freely admit that she did not seethe practical side of the matter. It did not seem to her that the mere despatchof a shot to the moon could possibly establish any relation of affairs withher; and it did not seem prudent to her to embark her capital in so hazardousan enterprise. After all, perhaps she was right.

As to Spain, she could not scrape together more than 110 reals. She gave as anexcuse that she had her railways to finish. The truth is, that science is notfavorably regarded in that country, it is still in a backward state; andmoreover, certain Spaniards, not by any means the least educated, did not forma correct estimate of the bulk of the projectile compared with that of themoon. They feared that it would disturb the established order of things. Inthat case it were better to keep aloof; which they did to the tune of somereals.

There remained but England; and we know the contemptuous antipathy with whichshe received Barbicane’s proposition. The English have but one soul forthe whole twenty-six millions of inhabitants which Great Britain contains. Theyhinted that the enterprise of the Gun Club was contrary to the “principleof non-intervention.” And they did not subscribe a single farthing.

At this intimation the Gun Club merely shrugged its shoulders and returned toits great work. When South America, that is to say, Peru, Chili, Brazil, theprovinces of La Plata and Columbia, had poured forth their quota into theirhands, the sum of $300,000, it found itself in possession of a considerablecapital, of which the following is a statement:

     United States subscriptions, . . $4,000,000
     Foreign subscriptions . . . . . . . $1,446,675
                                                  ——————
            Total, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . $5,446,675

Such was the sum which the public poured into the treasury of the Gun Club.

Let no one be surprised at the vastness of the amount. The work of casting,boring, masonry, the transport of workmen, their establishment in an almostuninhabited country, the construction of furnaces and workshops, the plant, thepowder, the projectile, and incipient expenses, would, according to theestimates, absorb nearly the whole. Certain cannon-shots in the Federal warcost one thousand dollars apiece. This one of President Barbicane, unique inthe annals of gunnery, might well cost five thousand times more.

On the 20th of October a contract was entered into with the manufactory atColdspring, near New York, which during the war had furnished the largestParrott, cast-iron guns. It was stipulated between the contracting parties thatthe manufactory of Coldspring should engage to transport to Tampa Town, insouthern Florida, the necessary materials for casting the Columbiad. The workwas bound to be completed at latest by the 15th of October following, and thecannon delivered in good condition under penalty of a forfeit of one hundreddollars a day to the moment when the moon should again present herself underthe same conditions—that is to say, in eighteen years and eleven days.

The engagement of the workmen, their pay, and all the necessary details of thework, devolved upon the Coldspring Company.

This contract, executed in duplicate, was signed by Barbicane, president of theGun Club, of the one part, and T. Murchison director of the Coldspringmanufactory, of the other, who thus executed the deed on behalf of theirrespective principals.

CHAPTER XIII.
STONES HILL

When the decision was arrived at by the Gun Club, to the disparagement ofTexas, every one in America, where reading is a universal acquirement, set towork to study the geography of Florida. Never before had there been such a salefor works like “Bertram’s Travels in Florida,”“Roman’s Natural History of East and West Florida,”“William’s Territory of Florida,” and “Cleland on theCultivation of the Sugar-Cane in Florida.” It became necessary to issuefresh editions of these works.

Barbicane had something better to do than to read. He desired to see thingswith his own eyes, and to mark the exact position of the proposed gun. So,without a moment’s loss of time, he placed at the disposal of theCambridge Observatory the funds necessary for the construction of a telescope,and entered into negotiations with the house of Breadwill and Co., of Albany,for the construction of an aluminum projectile of the required size. He thenquitted Baltimore, accompanied by J. T. Maston, Major Elphinstone, and themanager of the Coldspring factory.

On the following day, the four fellow-travelers arrived at New Orleans. Therethey immediately embarked on board the Tampico, a despatch-boatbelonging to the Federal navy, which the government had placed at theirdisposal; and, getting up steam, the banks of Louisiana speedily disappearedfrom sight.

The passage was not long. Two days after starting, the Tampico, havingmade four hundred and eighty miles, came in sight of the coast of Florida. On anearer approach Barbicane found himself in view of a low, flat country ofsomewhat barren aspect. After coasting along a series of creeks abounding inlobsters and oysters, the Tampicoentered the bay of Espiritu Santo,where she finally anchored in a small natural harbor, formed by theembouchureof the River Hillisborough, at seven P.M., on the 22d ofOctober.

Our four passengers disembarked at once. “Gentlemen,” saidBarbicane, “we have no time to lose; tomorrow we must obtain horses, andproceed to reconnoiter the country.”

Barbicane had scarcely set his foot on shore when three thousand of theinhabitants of Tampa Town came forth to meet him, an honor due to the presidentwho had signalized their country by his choice.

Declining, however, every kind of ovation, Barbicane ensconced himself in aroom of the Franklin Hotel.

On the morrow some of the small horses of the Spanish breed, full of vigor andof fire, stood snorting under his windows; but instead of four steeds, herewere fifty, together with their riders. Barbicane descended with his threefellow- travelers; and much astonished were they all to find themselves in themidst of such a cavalcade. He remarked that every horseman carried a carbineslung across his shoulders and pistols in his holsters.

On expressing his surprise at these preparations, he was speedily enlightenedby a young Floridan, who quietly said:

“Sir, there are Seminoles there.”

“What do you mean by Seminoles?”

“Savages who scour the prairies. We thought it best, therefore, to escortyou on your road.”

“Pooh!” cried J. T. Maston, mounting his steed.

“All right,” said the Floridan; “but it is true enough,nevertheless.”

“Gentlemen,” answered Barbicane, “I thank you for your kindattention; but it is time to be off.”

It was five A.M. when Barbicane and his party, quitting Tampa Town, made theirway along the coast in the direction of Alifia Creek. This little river fallsinto Hillisborough Bay twelve miles above Tampa Town. Barbicane and his escortcoasted along its right bank to the eastward. Soon the waves of the baydisappeared behind a bend of rising ground, and the Floridan“champagne” alone offered itself to view.

Florida, discovered on Palm Sunday, in 1512, by Juan Ponce de Leon, wasoriginally named Pascha Florida. It little deserved that designation,with its dry and parched coasts. But after some few miles of tract the natureof the soil gradually changes and the country shows itself worthy of the name.Cultivated plains soon appear, where are united all the productions of thenorthern and tropical floras, terminating in prairies abounding with pineapplesand yams, tobacco, rice, cotton-plants, and sugar-canes, which extend beyondreach of sight, flinging their riches broadcast with careless prodigality.

Barbicane appeared highly pleased on observing the progressive elevation of theland; and in answer to a question of J. T. Maston, replied:

“My worthy friend, we cannot do better than sink our Columbiad in thesehigh grounds.”

“To get nearer the moon, perhaps?” said the secretary of the GunClub.

“Not exactly,” replied Barbicane, smiling; “do you not seethat among these elevated plateaus we shall have a much easier work of it? Nostruggles with the water-springs, which will save us long expensive tubings;and we shall be working in daylight instead of down a deep and narrow well. Ourbusiness, then, is to open our trenches upon ground some hundreds of yardsabove the level of the sea.”

“You are right, sir,” struck in Murchison, the engineer;“and, if I mistake not, we shall ere long find a suitable spot for ourpurpose.”

“I wish we were at the first stroke of the pickaxe,” said thepresident.

“And I wish we were at the last,” cried J. T. Maston.

About ten A.M. the little band had crossed a dozen miles. To fertile plainssucceeded a region of forests. There perfumes of the most varied kinds mingledtogether in tropical profusion. These almost impenetrable forests were composedof pomegranates, orange-trees, citrons, figs, olives, apricots, bananas, hugevines, whose blossoms and fruits rivaled each other in color and perfume.Beneath the odorous shade of these magnificent trees fluttered and warbled alittle world of brilliantly plumaged birds.

J. T. Maston and the major could not repress their admiration on findingthemselves in the presence of the glorious beauties of this wealth of nature.President Barbicane, however, less sensitive to these wonders, was in haste topress forward; the very luxuriance of the country was displeasing to him. Theyhastened onward, therefore, and were compelled to ford several rivers, notwithout danger, for they were infested with huge alligators from fifteen toeighteen feet long. Maston courageously menaced them with his steel hook, buthe only succeeded in frightening some pelicans and teal, while tall flamingosstared stupidly at the party.

At length these denizens of the swamps disappeared in their turn; smaller treesbecame thinly scattered among less dense thickets—a few isolated groupsdetached in the midst of endless plains over which ranged herds of startleddeer.

“At last,” cried Barbicane, rising in his stirrups, “here weare at the region of pines!”

“Yes! and of savages too,” replied the major.

In fact, some Seminoles had just came in sight upon the horizon; they rodeviolently backward and forward on their fleet horses, brandishing their spearsor discharging their guns with a dull report. These hostile demonstrations,however, had no effect upon Barbicane and his companions.

They were then occupying the center of a rocky plain, which the sun scorchedwith its parching rays. This was formed by a considerable elevation of thesoil, which seemed to offer to the members of the Gun Club all the conditionsrequisite for the construction of their Columbiad.

“Halt!” said Barbicane, reining up. “Has this place any localappellation?”

“It is called Stones Hill,” replied one of the Floridans.

Barbicane, without saying a word, dismounted, seized his instruments, and beganto note his position with extreme exactness. The little band, drawn up in therear, watched his proceedings in profound silence.

At this moment the sun passed the meridian. Barbicane, after a few moments,rapidly wrote down the result of his observations, and said:

“This spot is situated eighteen hundred feet above the level of the sea,in 27° 7′ N. lat. and 5° 7′ W. long. of the meridian ofWashington. It appears to me by its rocky and barren character to offer all theconditions requisite for our experiment. On that plain will be raised ourmagazines, workshops, furnaces, and workmen’s huts; and here, from thisvery spot,” said he, stamping his foot on the summit of Stones Hill,“hence shall our projectile take its flight into the regions of the SolarWorld.”

CHAPTER XIV.
PICKAXE AND TROWEL

The same evening Barbicane and his companions returned to Tampa Town; andMurchison, the engineer, re-embarked on board the Tampico for New Orleans. Hisobject was to enlist an army of workmen, and to collect together the greaterpart of the materials. The members of the Gun Club remained at Tampa Town, forthe purpose of setting on foot the preliminary works by the aid of the peopleof the country.

Eight days after its departure, the Tampico returned into the bay of EspirituSanto, with a whole flotilla of steamboats. Murchison had succeeded inassembling together fifteen hundred artisans. Attracted by the high pay andconsiderable bounties offered by the Gun Club, he had enlisted a choice legionof stokers, iron-founders, lime-burners, miners, brickmakers, and artisans ofevery trade, without distinction of color. As many of these people broughttheir families with them, their departure resembled a perfect emigration.

On the 31st of October, at ten o’clock in the morning, the troopdisembarked on the quays of Tampa Town; and one may imagine the activity whichpervaded that little town, whose population was thus doubled in a single day.

During the first few days they were busy discharging the cargo brought by theflotilla, the machines, and the rations, as well as a large number of hutsconstructed of iron plates, separately pieced and numbered. At the same periodBarbicane laid the first sleepers of a railway fifteen miles in length,intended to unite Stones Hill with Tampa Town. On the first of NovemberBarbicane quitted Tampa Town with a detachment of workmen; and on the followingday the whole town of huts was erected round Stones Hill. This they enclosedwith palisades; and in respect of energy and activity, it might have beenmistaken for one of the great cities of the Union. Everything was placed undera complete system of discipline, and the works were commenced in most perfectorder.

The nature of the soil having been carefully examined, by means of repeatedborings, the work of excavation was fixed for the 4th of November.

On that day Barbicane called together his foremen and addressed them asfollows: “You are well aware, my friends, of the object with which I haveassembled you together in this wild part of Florida. Our business is toconstruct a cannon measuring nine feet in its interior diameter, six feetthick, and with a stone revetment of nineteen and a half feet in thickness. Wehave, therefore, a well of sixty feet in diameter to dig down to a depth ofnine hundred feet. This great work must be completed within eight months, sothat you have 2,543,400 cubic feet of earth to excavate in 255 days; that is tosay, in round numbers, 2,000 cubic feet per day. That which would present nodifficulty to a thousand navvies working in open country will be of course moretroublesome in a comparatively confined space. However, the thing must be done,and I reckon for its accomplishment upon your courage as much as upon yourskill.”

At eight o’clock the next morning the first stroke of the pickaxe wasstruck upon the soil of Florida; and from that moment that prince of tools wasnever inactive for one moment in the hands of the excavators. The gangsrelieved each other every three hours.

On the 4th of November fifty workmen commenced digging, in the very center ofthe enclosed space on the summit of Stones Hill, a circular hole sixty feet indiameter. The pickaxe first struck upon a kind of black earth, six inches inthickness, which was speedily disposed of. To this earth succeeded two feet offine sand, which was carefully laid aside as being valuable for serving thecasting of the inner mould. After the sand appeared some compact white clay,resembling the chalk of Great Britain, which extended down to a depth of fourfeet. Then the iron of the picks struck upon the hard bed of the soil; a kindof rock formed of petrified shells, very dry, very solid, and which the pickscould with difficulty penetrate. At this point the excavation exhibited a depthof six and a half feet and the work of the masonry was begun.

At the bottom of the excavation they constructed a wheel of oak, a kind ofcircle strongly bolted together, and of immense strength. The center of thiswooden disc was hollowed out to a diameter equal to the exterior diameter ofthe Columbiad. Upon this wheel rested the first layers of the masonry, thestones of which were bound together by hydraulic cement, with irresistibletenacity. The workmen, after laying the stones from the circumference to thecenter, were thus enclosed within a kind of well twenty-one feet in diameter.When this work was accomplished, the miners resumed their picks and cut awaythe rock from underneath the wheel itself, taking care to support it as theyadvanced upon blocks of great thickness. At every two feet which the holegained in depth they successively withdrew the blocks. The wheel then sanklittle by little, and with it the massive ring of masonry, on the upper bed ofwhich the masons labored incessantly, always reserving some vent holes topermit the escape of gas during the operation of the casting.

This kind of work required on the part of the workmen extreme nicety and minuteattention. More than one, in digging underneath the wheel, was dangerouslyinjured by the splinters of stone. But their ardor never relaxed, night or day.By day they worked under the rays of the scorching sun; by night, under thegleam of the electric light. The sounds of the picks against the rock, thebursting of mines, the grinding of the machines, the wreaths of smoke scatteredthrough the air, traced around Stones Hill a circle of terror which the herdsof buffaloes and the war parties of the Seminoles never ventured to pass.Nevertheless, the works advanced regularly, as the steam-cranes activelyremoved the rubbish. Of unexpected obstacles there was little account; and withregard to foreseen difficulties, they were speedily disposed of.

At the expiration of the first month the well had attained the depth assignedfor that lapse of time, namely, 112 feet. This depth was doubled in December,and trebled in January.

During the month of February the workmen had to contend with a sheet of waterwhich made its way right across the outer soil. It became necessary to employvery powerful pumps and compressed-air engines to drain it off, so as to closeup the orifice from whence it issued; just as one stops a leak on board ship.They at last succeeded in getting the upper hand of these untoward streams;only, in consequence of the loosening of the soil, the wheel partly gave way,and a slight partial settlement ensued. This accident cost the life of severalworkmen.

No fresh occurrence thenceforward arrested the progress of the operation; andon the tenth of June, twenty days before the expiration of the period fixed byBarbicane, the well, lined throughout with its facing of stone, had attainedthe depth of 900 feet. At the bottom the masonry rested upon a massive blockmeasuring thirty feet in thickness, while on the upper portion it was levelwith the surrounding soil.

President Barbicane and the members of the Gun Club warmly congratulated theirengineer Murchison; the cyclopean work had been accomplished with extraordinaryrapidity.

During these eight months Barbicane never quitted Stones Hill for a singleinstant. Keeping ever close by the work of excavation, he busied himselfincessantly with the welfare and health of his workpeople, and was singularlyfortunate in warding off the epidemics common to large communities of men, andso disastrous in those regions of the globe which are exposed to the influencesof tropical climates.

Many workmen, it is true, paid with their lives for the rashness inherent inthese dangerous labors; but these mishaps are impossible to be avoided, andthey are classed among the details with which the Americans trouble themselvesbut little. They have in fact more regard for human nature in general than forthe individual in particular.

Nevertheless, Barbicane professed opposite principles to these, and put them inforce at every opportunity. So, thanks to his care, his intelligence, hisuseful intervention in all difficulties, his prodigious and humane sagacity,the average of accidents did not exceed that of transatlantic countries, notedfor their excessive precautions—France, for instance, among others, wherethey reckon about one accident for every two hundred thousand francs of work.

CHAPTER XV.
THE FETE OF THE CASTING

During the eight months which were employed in the work of excavation thepreparatory works of the casting had been carried on simultaneously withextreme rapidity. A stranger arriving at Stones Hill would have been surprisedat the spectacle offered to his view.

At 600 yards from the well, and circularly arranged around it as a centralpoint, rose 1,200 reverberating ovens, each six feet in diameter, and separatedfrom each other by an interval of three feet. The circumference occupied bythese 1,200 ovens presented a length of two miles. Being all constructed on thesame plan, each with its high quadrangular chimney, they produced a mostsingular effect.

It will be remembered that on their third meeting the committee had decided touse cast iron for the Columbiad, and in particular the white description. Thismetal, in fact, is the most tenacious, the most ductile, and the mostmalleable, and consequently suitable for all moulding operations; and whensmelted with pit coal, is of superior quality for all engineering worksrequiring great resisting power, such as cannon, steam boilers, hydraulicpresses, and the like.

Cast iron, however, if subjected to only one single fusion, is rarelysufficiently homogeneous; and it requires a second fusion completely to refineit by dispossessing it of its last earthly deposits. So long before beingforwarded to Tampa Town, the iron ore, molten in the great furnaces ofColdspring, and brought into contact with coal and silicium heated to a hightemperature, was carburized and transformed into cast iron. After this firstoperation, the metal was sent on to Stones Hill. They had, however, to dealwith 136,000,000 pounds of iron, a quantity far too costly to send by railway.The cost of transport would have been double that of material. It appearedpreferable to freight vessels at New York, and to load them with the iron inbars. This, however, required not less than sixty- eight vessels of 1,000 tons,a veritable fleet, which, quitting New York on the 3rd of May, on the 10th ofthe same month ascended the Bay of Espiritu Santo, and discharged theircargoes, without dues, in the port at Tampa Town. Thence the iron wastransported by rail to Stones Hill, and about the middle of January thisenormous mass of metal was delivered at its destination.

It will easily be understood that 1,200 furnaces were not too many to meltsimultaneously these 60,000 tons of iron. Each of these furnaces containednearly 140,000 pounds weight of metal. They were all built after the model ofthose which served for the casting of the Rodman gun; they were trapezoidal inshape, with a high elliptical arch. These furnaces, constructed of fireproofbrick, were especially adapted for burning pit coal, with a flat bottom uponwhich the iron bars were laid. This bottom, inclined at an angle of 25 degrees,allowed the metal to flow into the receiving troughs; and the 1,200 convergingtrenches carried the molten metal down to the central well.

The day following that on which the works of the masonry and boring had beencompleted, Barbicane set to work upon the central mould. His object now was toraise within the center of the well, and with a coincident axis, a cylinder 900feet high, and nine feet in diameter, which should exactly fill up the spacereserved for the bore of the Columbiad. This cylinder was composed of a mixtureof clay and sand, with the addition of a little hay and straw. The space leftbetween the mould and the masonry was intended to be filled up by the moltenmetal, which would thus form the walls six feet in thickness. This cylinder, inorder to maintain its equilibrium, had to be bound by iron bands, and firmlyfixed at certain intervals by cross-clamps fastened into the stone lining;after the castings these would be buried in the block of metal, leaving noexternal projection.

This operation was completed on the 8th of July, and the run of the metal wasfixed for the following day.

“This feteof the casting will be a grand ceremony,” said J.T. Maston to his friend Barbicane.

“Undoubtedly,” said Barbicane; “but it will not be a publicfete“

“What! will you not open the gates of the enclosure to all comers?”

“I must be very careful, Maston. The casting of the Columbiad is anextremely delicate, not to say a dangerous operation, and I should prefer itsbeing done privately. At the discharge of the projectile, a feteif youlike—till then, no!”

The president was right. The operation involved unforeseen dangers, which agreat influx of spectators would have hindered him from averting. It wasnecessary to preserve complete freedom of movement. No one was admitted withinthe enclosure except a delegation of members of the Gun Club, who had made thevoyage to Tampa Town. Among these was the brisk Bilsby, Tom Hunter, ColonelBlomsberry, Major Elphinstone, General Morgan, and the rest of the lot to whomthe casting of the Columbiad was a matter of personal interest. J. T. Mastonbecame their cicerone. He omitted no point of detail; he conducted themthroughout the magazines, workshops, through the midst of the engines, andcompelled them to visit the whole 1,200 furnaces one after the other. At theend of the twelve-hundredth visit they were pretty well knocked up.

The casting was to take place at twelve o’clock precisely. The previousevening each furnace had been charged with 114,000 pounds weight of metal inbars disposed cross-ways to each other, so as to allow the hot air to circulatefreely between them. At daybreak the 1,200 chimneys vomited their torrents offlame into the air, and the ground was agitated with dull tremblings. As manypounds of metal as there were to cast, so many pounds of coal were there toburn. Thus there were 68,000 tons of coal which projected in the face of thesun a thick curtain of smoke. The heat soon became insupportable within thecircle of furnaces, the rumbling of which resembled the rolling of thunder. Thepowerful ventilators added their continuous blasts and saturated with oxygenthe glowing plates. The operation, to be successful, required to be conductedwith great rapidity. On a signal given by a cannon-shot each furnace was togive vent to the molten iron and completely to empty itself. These arrangementsmade, foremen and workmen waited the preconcerted moment with an impatiencemingled with a certain amount of emotion. Not a soul remained within theenclosure. Each superintendent took his post by the aperture of the run.

Barbicane and his colleagues, perched on a neighboring eminence, assisted atthe operation. In front of them was a piece of artillery ready to give fire onthe signal from the engineer. Some minutes before midday the first driblets ofmetal began to flow; the reservoirs filled little by little; and, by the timethat the whole melting was completely accomplished, it was kept in abeyance fora few minutes in order to facilitate the separation of foreign substances.

Twelve o’clock struck! A gunshot suddenly pealed forth and shot its flameinto the air. Twelve hundred melting-troughs were simultaneously opened andtwelve hundred fiery serpents crept toward the central well, unrolling theirincandescent curves. There, down they plunged with a terrific noise into adepth of 900 feet. It was an exciting and a magnificent spectacle. The groundtrembled, while these molten waves, launching into the sky their wreaths ofsmoke, evaporated the moisture of the mould and hurled it upward through thevent-holes of the stone lining in the form of dense vapor-clouds. Theseartificial clouds unrolled their thick spirals to a height of 1,000 yards intothe air. A savage, wandering somewhere beyond the limits of the horizon, mighthave believed that some new crater was forming in the bosom of Florida,although there was neither any eruption, nor typhoon, nor storm, nor struggleof the elements, nor any of those terrible phenomena which nature is capable ofproducing. No, it was man alone who had produced these reddish vapors, thesegigantic flames worthy of a volcano itself, these tremendous vibrationsresembling the shock of an earthquake, these reverberations rivaling those ofhurricanes and storms; and it was his hand which precipitated into an abyss,dug by himself, a whole Niagara of molten metal!

CHAPTER XVI.
THE COLUMBIAD

Had the casting succeeded? They were reduced to mere conjecture. There wasindeed every reason to expect success, since the mould has absorbed the entiremass of the molten metal; still some considerable time must elapse before theycould arrive at any certainty upon the matter.

The patience of the members of the Gun Club was sorely tried during this periodof time. But they could do nothing. J. T. Maston escaped roasting by a miracle.Fifteen days after the casting an immense column of smoke was still rising inthe open sky and the ground burned the soles of the feet within a radius of twohundred feet round the summit of Stones Hill. It was impossible to approachnearer. All they could do was to wait with what patience they might.

“Here we are at the 10th of August,” exclaimed J. T. Maston onemorning, “only four months to the 1st of December! We shall never beready in time!” Barbicane said nothing, but his silence covered seriousirritation.

However, daily observations revealed a certain change going on in the state ofthe ground. About the 15th of August the vapors ejected had sensibly diminishedin intensity and thickness. Some days afterward the earth exhaled only a slightpuff of smoke, the last breath of the monster enclosed within its circle ofstone. Little by little the belt of heat contracted, until on the 22nd ofAugust, Barbicane, his colleagues, and the engineer were enabled to set foot onthe iron sheet which lay level upon the summit of Stones Hill.

“At last!” exclaimed the president of the Gun Club, with an immensesigh of relief.

The work was resumed the same day. They proceeded at once to extract theinterior mould, for the purpose of clearing out the boring of the piece.Pickaxes and boring irons were set to work without intermission. The clayey andsandy soils had acquired extreme hardness under the action of the heat; but, bythe aid of the machines, the rubbish on being dug out was rapidly carted awayon railway wagons; and such was the ardor of the work, so persuasive thearguments of Barbicane’s dollars, that by the 3rd of September all tracesof the mould had entirely disappeared.

Immediately the operation of boring was commenced; and by the aid of powerfulmachines, a few weeks later, the inner surface of the immense tube had beenrendered perfectly cylindrical, and the bore of the piece had acquired athorough polish.

At length, on the 22d of September, less than a twelvemonth afterBarbicane’s original proposition, the enormous weapon, accurately bored,and exactly vertically pointed, was ready for work. There was only the moon nowto wait for; and they were pretty sure that she would not fail in therendezvous.

The ecstasy of J. T. Maston knew no bounds, and he narrowly escaped a frightfulfall while staring down the tube. But for the strong hand of ColonelBlomsberry, the worthy secretary, like a modern Erostratus, would have foundhis death in the depths of the Columbiad.

The cannon was then finished; there was no possible doubt as to its perfectcompletion. So, on the 6th of October, Captain Nicholl opened an accountbetween himself and President Barbicane, in which he debited himself to thelatter in the sum of two thousand dollars. One may believe that thecaptain’s wrath was increased to its highest point, and must have madehim seriously ill. However, he had still three bets of three, four, and fivethousand dollars, respectively; and if he gained two out of these, his positionwould not be very bad. But the money question did not enter into hiscalculations; it was the success of his rival in casting a cannon against whichiron plates sixty feet thick would have been ineffectual, that dealt him aterrible blow.

After the 23rd of September the enclosure of Stones hill was thrown open to thepublic; and it will be easily imagined what was the concourse of visitors tothis spot! There was an incessant flow of people to and from Tampa Town and theplace, which resembled a procession, or rather, in fact, a pilgrimage.

It was already clear to be seen that, on the day of the experiment itself, theaggregate of spectators would be counted by millions; for they were alreadyarriving from all parts of the earth upon this narrow strip of promontory.Europe was emigrating to America.

Up to that time, however, it must be confessed, the curiosity of the numerouscomers was but scantily gratified. Most had counted upon witnessing thespectacle of the casting, and they were treated to nothing but smoke. This wassorry food for hungry eyes; but Barbicane would admit no one to that operation.Then ensued grumbling, discontent, murmurs; they blamed the president, taxedhim with dictatorial conduct. His proceedings were declared“un-American.” There was very nearly a riot round Stones Hill; butBarbicane remained inflexible. When, however, the Columbiad was entirelyfinished, this state of closed doors could no longer be maintained; besides itwould have been bad taste, and even imprudence, to affront the public feeling.Barbicane, therefore, opened the enclosure to all comers; but, true to hispractical disposition, he determined to coin money out of the public curiosity.

It was something, indeed, to be enabled to contemplate this immense Columbiad;but to descend into its depths, this seemed to the Americans the ne plusultraof earthly felicity. Consequently, there was not one curiousspectator who was not willing to give himself the treat of visiting theinterior of this great metallic abyss. Baskets suspended from steam-cranespermitted them to satisfy their curiosity. There was a perfect mania. Women,children, old men, all made it a point of duty to penetrate the mysteries ofthe colossal gun. The fare for the descent was fixed at five dollars per head;and despite this high charge, during the two months which preceded theexperiment, the influx of visitors enabled the Gun Club to pocket nearly fivehundred thousand dollars!

It is needless to say that the first visitors of the Columbiad were the membersof the Gun Club. This privilege was justly reserved for that illustrious body.The ceremony took place on the 25th of September. A basket of honor took downthe president, J. T. Maston, Major Elphinstone, General Morgan, ColonelBlomsberry, and other members of the club, to the number of ten in all. How hotit was at the bottom of that long tube of metal! They were half suffocated. Butwhat delight! What ecstasy! A table had been laid with six covers on themassive stone which formed the bottom of the Columbiad, and lighted by a jet ofelectric light resembling that of day itself. Numerous exquisite dishes, whichseemed to descend from heaven, were placed successively before the guests, andthe richest wines of France flowed in profusion during this splendid repast,served nine hundred feet beneath the surface of the earth!

The festival was animated, not to say somewhat noisy. Toasts flew backward andforward. They drank to the earth and to her satellite, to the Gun Club, theUnion, the Moon, Diana, Phoebe, Selene, the “peaceful courier of thenight!” All the hurrahs, carried upward upon the sonorous waves of theimmense acoustic tube, arrived with the sound of thunder at its mouth; and themultitude ranged round Stones Hill heartily united their shouts with those ofthe ten revelers hidden from view at the bottom of the gigantic Columbiad.

J. T. Maston was no longer master of himself. Whether he shouted orgesticulated, ate or drank most, would be a difficult matter to determine. Atall events, he would not have given his place up for an empire, “not evenif the cannon—loaded, primed, and fired at that very moment—were toblow him in pieces into the planetary world.”

CHAPTER XVII.
A TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCH

The great works undertaken by the Gun Club had now virtually come to an end;and two months still remained before the day for the discharge of the shot tothe moon. To the general impatience these two months appeared as long as years!Hitherto the smallest details of the operation had been daily chronicled by thejournals, which the public devoured with eager eyes.

Just at this moment a circumstance, the most unexpected, the most extraordinaryand incredible, occurred to rouse afresh their panting spirits, and to throwevery mind into a state of the most violent excitement.

One day, the 30th of September, at 3:47 P.M., a telegram, transmitted by cablefrom Valentia (Ireland) to Newfoundland and the American Mainland, arrived atthe address of President Barbicane.

The president tore open the envelope, read the dispatch, and, despite hisremarkable powers of self-control, his lips turned pale and his eyes grew dim,on reading the twenty words of this telegram.

Here is the text of the dispatch, which figures now in the archives of the GunClub:

FRANCE, PARIS,
30 September, 4 A.M.

            Barbicane, Tampa Town, Florida, United States.
    Substitute for your spherical shell a cylindro-conical projectile. I shallgo inside. Shall arrive by steamer Atlanta.

MICHELARDAN.

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PASSENGER OF THE ATLANTA

If this astounding news, instead of flying through the electric wires, hadsimply arrived by post in the ordinary sealed envelope, Barbicane would nothave hesitated a moment. He would have held his tongue about it, both as ameasure of prudence, and in order not to have to reconsider his plans. Thistelegram might be a cover for some jest, especially as it came from aFrenchman. What human being would ever have conceived the idea of such ajourney? and, if such a person really existed, he must be an idiot, whom onewould shut up in a lunatic ward, rather than within the walls of theprojectile.

The contents of the dispatch, however, speedily became known; for thetelegraphic officials possessed but little discretion, and Michel Ardan’sproposition ran at once throughout the several States of the Union. Barbicane,had, therefore, no further motives for keeping silence. Consequently, he calledtogether such of his colleagues as were at the moment in Tampa Town, andwithout any expression of his own opinions simply read to them the laconic textitself. It was received with every possible variety of expressions of doubt,incredulity, and derision from every one, with the exception of J. T. Maston,who exclaimed, “It is a grand idea, however!”

When Barbicane originally proposed to send a shot to the moon every one lookedupon the enterprise as simple and practicable enough—a mere question ofgunnery; but when a person, professing to be a reasonable being, offered totake passage within the projectile, the whole thing became a farce, or, inplainer language a humbug.

One question, however, remained. Did such a being exist? This telegram flashedacross the depths of the Atlantic, the designation of the vessel on board whichhe was to take his passage, the date assigned for his speedy arrival, allcombined to impart a certain character of reality to the proposal. They mustget some clearer notion of the matter. Scattered groups of inquirers at lengthcondensed themselves into a compact crowd, which made straight for theresidence of President Barbicane. That worthy individual was keeping quiet withthe intention of watching events as they arose. But he had forgotten to takeinto account the public impatience; and it was with no pleasant countenancethat he watched the population of Tampa Town gathering under his windows. Themurmurs and vociferations below presently obliged him to appear. He cameforward, therefore, and on silence being procured, a citizen put point-blank tohim the following question: “Is the person mentioned in the telegram,under the name of Michel Ardan, on his way here? Yes or no.”

“Gentlemen,” replied Barbicane, “I know no more than youdo.”

“We must know,” roared the impatient voices.

“Time will show,” calmly replied the president.

“Time has no business to keep a whole country in suspense,” repliedthe orator. “Have you altered the plans of the projectile according tothe request of the telegram?”

“Not yet, gentlemen; but you are right! we must have better informationto go by. The telegraph must complete its information.”

“To the telegraph!” roared the crowd.

Barbicane descended; and heading the immense assemblage, led the way to thetelegraph office. A few minutes later a telegram was dispatched to thesecretary of the underwriters at Liverpool, requesting answers to the followingqueries:

“About the ship Atlanta—when did she leave Europe? Had she on boarda Frenchman named Michel Ardan?”

Two hours afterward Barbicane received information too exact to leave room forthe smallest remaining doubt.

“The steamer Atlanta from Liverpool put to sea on the 2nd of October,bound for Tampa Town, having on board a Frenchman borne on the list ofpassengers by the name of Michel Ardan.”

That very evening he wrote to the house of Breadwill and Co., requesting themto suspend the casting of the projectile until the receipt of further orders.On the 10th of October, at nine A.M., the semaphores of the Bahama Canalsignaled a thick smoke on the horizon. Two hours later a large steamerexchanged signals with them. the name of the Atlanta flew at once over TampaTown. At four o’clock the English vessel entered the Bay of EspirituSanto. At five it crossed the passage of Hillisborough Bay at full steam. Atsix she cast anchor at Port Tampa. The anchor had scarcely caught the sandybottom when five hundred boats surrounded the Atlanta, and the steamer wastaken by assault. Barbicane was the first to set foot on deck, and in a voiceof which he vainly tried to conceal the emotion, called “MichelArdan.”

“Here!” replied an individual perched on the poop.

Barbicane, with arms crossed, looked fixedly at the passenger of the Atlanta.

He was a man of about forty-two years of age, of large build, but slightlyround-shouldered. His massive head momentarily shook a shock of reddish hair,which resembled a lion’s mane. His face was short with a broad forehead,and furnished with a moustache as bristly as a cat’s, and little patchesof yellowish whiskers upon full cheeks. Round, wildish eyes, slightlynear-sighted, completed a physiognomy essentially feline. His nose was firmlyshaped, his mouth particularly sweet in expression, high forehead, intelligentand furrowed with wrinkles like a newly-plowed field. The body was powerfullydeveloped and firmly fixed upon long legs. Muscular arms, and a general air ofdecision gave him the appearance of a hardy, jolly, companion. He was dressedin a suit of ample dimensions, loose neckerchief, open shirtcollar, disclosinga robust neck; his cuffs were invariably unbuttoned, through which appeared apair of red hands.

On the bridge of the steamer, in the midst of the crowd, he bustled to and fro,never still for a moment, “dragging his anchors,” as the sailorssay, gesticulating, making free with everybody, biting his nails with nervousavidity. He was one of those originals which nature sometimes invents in thefreak of a moment, and of which she then breaks the mould.

Among other peculiarities, this curiosity gave himself out for a sublimeignoramus, “like Shakespeare,” and professed supreme contempt forall scientific men. Those “fellows,” as he called them, “areonly fit to mark the points, while we play the game.” He was, in fact, athorough Bohemian, adventurous, but not an adventurer; a hare-brained fellow, akind of Icarus, only possessing relays of wings. For the rest, he was ever inscrapes, ending invariably by falling on his feet, like those little figureswhich they sell for children’s toys. In a few words, his motto was“I have my opinions,” and the love of the impossible constitutedhis ruling passion.

Such was the passenger of the Atlanta, always excitable, as if boiling underthe action of some internal fire by the character of his physical organization.If ever two individuals offered a striking contrast to each other, these werecertainly Michel Ardan and the Yankee Barbicane; both, moreover, being equallyenterprising and daring, each in his own way.

The scrutiny which the president of the Gun Club had instituted regarding thisnew rival was quickly interrupted by the shouts and hurrahs of the crowd. Thecries became at last so uproarious, and the popular enthusiasm assumed sopersonal a form, that Michel Ardan, after having shaken hands some thousands oftimes, at the imminent risk of leaving his fingers behind him, was fain at lastto make a bolt for his cabin.

Barbicane followed him without uttering a word.

“You are Barbicane, I suppose?” said Michel Ardan, in a tone ofvoice in which he would have addressed a friend of twenty years’standing.

“Yes,” replied the president of the Gun Club.

“All right! how d’ye do, Barbicane? how are you gettingon—pretty well? that’s right.”

“So,” said Barbicane without further preliminary, “you arequite determined to go.”

“Quite decided.”

“Nothing will stop you?”

“Nothing. Have you modified your projectile according to mytelegram.”

“I waited for your arrival. But,” asked Barbicane again,“have you carefully reflected?”

“Reflected? have I any time to spare? I find an opportunity of making atour in the moon, and I mean to profit by it. There is the whole gist of thematter.”

Barbicane looked hard at this man who spoke so lightly of his project with suchcomplete absence of anxiety. “But, at least,” said he, “youhave some plans, some means of carrying your project into execution?”

“Excellent, my dear Barbicane; only permit me to offer one remark: Mywish is to tell my story once for all, to everybody, and then have done withit; then there will be no need for recapitulation. So, if you have noobjection, assemble your friends, colleagues, the whole town, all Florida, allAmerica if you like, and to-morrow I shall be ready to explain my plans andanswer any objections whatever that may be advanced. You may rest assured Ishall wait without stirring. Will that suit you?”

“All right,” replied Barbicane.

So saying, the president left the cabin and informed the crowd of the proposalof Michel Ardan. His words were received with clappings of hands and shouts ofjoy. They had removed all difficulties. To-morrow every one would contemplateat his ease this European hero. However, some of the spectators, moreinfatuated than the rest, would not leave the deck of the Atlanta. They passedthe night on board. Among others J. T. Maston got his hook fixed in the combingof the poop, and it pretty nearly required the capstan to get it out again.

“He is a hero! a hero!” he cried, a theme of which he was nevertired of ringing the changes; “and we are only like weak, silly women,compared with this European!”

As to the president, after having suggested to the visitors it was time toretire, he re-entered the passenger’s cabin, and remained there till thebell of the steamer made it midnight.

But then the two rivals in popularity shook hands heartily and parted on termsof intimate friendship.

CHAPTER XIX.
A MONSTER MEETING

On the following day Barbicane, fearing that indiscreet questions might be putto Michel Ardan, was desirous of reducing the number of the audience to a fewof the initiated, his own colleagues for instance. He might as well have triedto check the Falls of Niagara! he was compelled, therefore, to give up theidea, and let his new friend run the chances of a public conference. The placechosen for this monster meeting was a vast plain situated in the rear of thetown. In a few hours, thanks to the help of the shipping in port, an immenseroofing of canvas was stretched over the parched prairie, and protected it fromthe burning rays of the sun. There three hundred thousand people braved formany hours the stifling heat while awaiting the arrival of the Frenchman. Ofthis crowd of spectators a first set could both see and hear; a second set sawbadly and heard nothing at all; and as for the third, it could neither see norhear anything at all. At three o’clock Michel Ardan made his appearance,accompanied by the principal members of the Gun Club. He was supported on hisright by President Barbicane, and on his left by J. T. Maston, more radiantthan the midday sun, and nearly as ruddy. Ardan mounted a platform, from thetop of which his view extended over a sea of black hats.

He exhibited not the slightest embarrassment; he was just as gay, familiar, andpleasant as if he were at home. To the hurrahs which greeted him he replied bya graceful bow; then, waving his hands to request silence, he spoke inperfectly correct English as follows:

“Gentlemen, despite the very hot weather I request your patience for ashort time while I offer some explanations regarding the projects which seem tohave so interested you. I am neither an orator nor a man of science, and I hadno idea of addressing you in public; but my friend Barbicane has told me thatyou would like to hear me, and I am quite at your service. Listen to me,therefore, with your six hundred thousand ears, and please excuse the faults ofthe speaker. Now pray do not forget that you see before you a perfect ignoramuswhose ignorance goes so far that he cannot even understand the difficulties! Itseemed to him that it was a matter quite simple, natural, and easy to takeone’s place in a projectile and start for the moon! That journey must beundertaken sooner or later; and, as for the mode of locomotion adopted, itfollows simply the law of progress. Man began by walking on all-fours; then,one fine day, on two feet; then in a carriage; then in a stage-coach; andlastly by railway. Well, the projectile is the vehicle of the future, and theplanets themselves are nothing else! Now some of you, gentlemen, may imaginethat the velocity we propose to impart to it is extravagant. It is nothing ofthe kind. All the stars exceed it in rapidity, and the earth herself is at thismoment carrying us round the sun at three times as rapid a rate, and yet she isa mere lounger on the way compared with many others of the planets! And hervelocity is constantly decreasing. Is it not evident, then, I ask you, thatthere will some day appear velocities far greater than these, of which light orelectricity will probably be the mechanical agent?

“Yes, gentlemen,” continued the orator, “in spite of theopinions of certain narrow-minded people, who would shut up the human race uponthis globe, as within some magic circle which it must never outstep, we shallone day travel to the moon, the planets, and the stars, with the same facility,rapidity, and certainty as we now make the voyage from Liverpool to New York!Distance is but a relative expression, and must end by being reduced tozero.”

The assembly, strongly predisposed as they were in favor of the French hero,were slightly staggered at this bold theory. Michel Ardan perceived the fact.

“Gentlemen,” he continued with a pleasant smile, “you do notseem quite convinced. Very good! Let us reason the matter out. Do you know howlong it would take for an express train to reach the moon? Three hundred days;no more! And what is that? The distance is no more than nine times thecircumference of the earth; and there are no sailors or travelers, of evenmoderate activity, who have not made longer journeys than that in theirlifetime. And now consider that I shall be only ninety- seven hours on myjourney. Ah! I see you are reckoning that the moon is a long way off from theearth, and that one must think twice before making the experiment. What wouldyou say, then, if we were talking of going to Neptune, which revolves at adistance of more than two thousand seven hundred and twenty millions of milesfrom the sun! And yet what is that compared with the distance of the fixedstars, some of which, such as Arcturus, are billions of miles distant from us?And then you talk of the distance which separates the planets from the sun! Andthere are people who affirm that such a thing as distance exists. Absurdity,folly, idiotic nonsense! Would you know what I think of our own solar universe?Shall I tell you my theory? It is very simple! In my opinion the solar systemis a solid homogeneous body; the planets which compose it are in actual contactwith each other; and whatever space exists between them is nothing more thanthe space which separates the molecules of the densest metal, such as silver,iron, or platinum! I have the right, therefore, to affirm, and I repeat, withthe conviction which must penetrate all your minds, ‘Distance is but anempty name; distance does not really exist!’”

“Hurrah!” cried one voice (need it be said it was that of J. T.Maston). “Distance does not exist!” And overcome by the energy ofhis movements, he nearly fell from the platform to the ground. He just escapeda severe fall, which would have proved to him that distance was by no means anempty name.

“Gentlemen,” resumed the orator, “I repeat that the distancebetween the earth and her satellite is a mere trifle, and undeserving ofserious consideration. I am convinced that before twenty years are overone-half of our earth will have paid a visit to the moon. Now, my worthyfriends, if you have any question to put to me, you will, I fear, sadlyembarrass a poor man like myself; still I will do my best to answer you.”

Up to this point the president of the Gun Club had been satisfied with the turnwhich the discussion had assumed. It became now, however, desirable to divertArdan from questions of a practical nature, with which he was doubtless farless conversant. Barbicane, therefore, hastened to get in a word, and began byasking his new friend whether he thought that the moon and the planets wereinhabited.

“You put before me a great problem, my worthy president,” repliedthe orator, smiling. “Still, men of great intelligence, such as Plutarch,Swedenborg, Bernardin de St. Pierre, and others have, if I mistake not,pronounced in the affirmative. Looking at the question from the naturalphilosopher’s point of view, I should say that nothing useless existed inthe world; and, replying to your question by another, I should venture toassert, that if these worlds are habitable, they either are, have been, or willbe inhabited.”

“No one could answer more logically or fairly,” replied thepresident. “The question then reverts to this: Are these worldshabitable? For my own part I believe they are.”

“For myself, I feel certain of it,” said Michel Ardan.

“Nevertheless,” retorted one of the audience, “there are manyarguments against the habitability of the worlds. The conditions of life mustevidently be greatly modified upon the majority of them. To mention only theplanets, we should be either broiled alive in some, or frozen to death inothers, according as they are more or less removed from the sun.”

“I regret,” replied Michel Ardan, “that I have not the honorof personally knowing my contradictor, for I would have attempted to answerhim. His objection has its merits, I admit; but I think we may successfullycombat it, as well as all others which affect the habitability of other worlds.If I were a natural philosopher, I would tell him that if less of caloric wereset in motion upon the planets which are nearest to the sun, and more, on thecontrary, upon those which are farthest removed from it, this simple fact wouldalone suffice to equalize the heat, and to render the temperature of thoseworlds supportable by beings organized like ourselves. If I were a naturalist,I would tell him that, according to some illustrious men of science, nature hasfurnished us with instances upon the earth of animals existing under veryvarying conditions of life; that fish respire in a medium fatal to otheranimals; that amphibious creatures possess a double existence very difficult ofexplanation; that certain denizens of the seas maintain life at enormousdepths, and there support a pressure equal to that of fifty or sixtyatmospheres without being crushed; that several aquatic insects, insensible totemperature, are met with equally among boiling springs and in the frozenplains of the Polar Sea; in fine, that we cannot help recognizing in nature adiversity of means of operation oftentimes incomprehensible, but not the lessreal. If I were a chemist, I would tell him that the aerolites, bodiesevidently formed exteriorly of our terrestrial globe, have, upon analysis,revealed indisputable traces of carbon, a substance which owes its originsolely to organized beings, and which, according to the experiments ofReichenbach, must necessarily itself have been endued with animation. Andlastly, were I a theologian, I would tell him that the scheme of the DivineRedemption, according to St. Paul, seems to be applicable, not merely to theearth, but to all the celestial worlds. But, unfortunately, I am neithertheologian, nor chemist, nor naturalist, nor philosopher; therefore, in myabsolute ignorance of the great laws which govern the universe, I confinemyself to saying in reply, ‘I do not know whether the worlds areinhabited or not: and since I do not know, I am going to see!’”

Whether Michel Ardan’s antagonist hazarded any further arguments or notit is impossible to say, for the uproarious shouts of the crowd would not allowany expression of opinion to gain a hearing. On silence being restored, thetriumphant orator contented himself with adding the following remarks:

“Gentlemen, you will observe that I have but slightly touched upon thisgreat question. There is another altogether different line of argument in favorof the habitability of the stars, which I omit for the present. I only desireto call attention to one point. To those who maintain that the planets arenotinhabited one may reply: You might be perfectly in the right, if youcould only show that the earth is the best possible world, in spite of whatVoltaire has said. She has but onesatellite, while Jupiter, Uranus,Saturn, Neptune have each several, an advantage by no means to be despised. Butthat which renders our own globe so uncomfortable is the inclination of itsaxis to the plane of its orbit. Hence the inequality of days and nights; hencethe disagreeable diversity of the seasons. On the surface of our unhappyspheroid we are always either too hot or too cold; we are frozen in winter,broiled in summer; it is the planet of rheumatism, coughs, bronchitis; while onthe surface of Jupiter, for example, where the axis is but slightly inclined,the inhabitants may enjoy uniform temperatures. It possesses zones of perpetualsprings, summers, autumns, and winters; every Jovian may choose for himselfwhat climate he likes, and there spend the whole of his life in security fromall variations of temperature. You will, I am sure, readily admit thissuperiority of Jupiter over our own planet, to say nothing of his years, whicheach equal twelve of ours! Under such auspices and such marvelous conditions ofexistence, it appears to me that the inhabitants of so fortunate a world mustbe in every respect superior to ourselves. All we require, in order to attainsuch perfection, is the mere trifle of having an axis of rotation less inclinedto the plane of its orbit!”

“Hurrah!” roared an energetic voice, “let us unite ourefforts, invent the necessary machines, and rectify the earth’saxis!”

A thunder of applause followed this proposal, the author of which was, ofcourse, no other than J. T. Maston. And, in all probability, if the truth mustbe told, if the Yankees could only have found a point of application for it,they would have constructed a lever capable of raising the earth and rectifyingits axis. It was just this deficiency which baffled these daring mechanicians.

CHAPTER XX.
ATTACK AND RIPOSTE

As soon as the excitement had subsided, the following words were heard utteredin a strong and determined voice:

“Now that the speaker has favored us with so much imagination, would hebe so good as to return to his subject, and give us a little practical view ofthe question?”

All eyes were directed toward the person who spoke. He was a little dried-upman, of an active figure, with an American “goatee” beard.Profiting by the different movements in the crowd, he had managed by degrees togain the front row of spectators. There, with arms crossed and stern gaze, hewatched the hero of the meeting. After having put his question he remainedsilent, and appeared to take no notice of the thousands of looks directedtoward himself, nor of the murmur of disapprobation excited by his words.Meeting at first with no reply, he repeated his question with marked emphasis,adding, “We are here to talk about the moonand not about theearth.”

“You are right, sir,” replied Michel Ardan; “the discussionhas become irregular. We will return to the moon.”

“Sir,” said the unknown, “you pretend that our satellite isinhabited. Very good, but if Selenites do exist, that race of beings assuredlymust live without breathing, for—I warn you for your own sake—thereis not the smallest particle of air on the surface of the moon.”

At this remark Ardan pushed up his shock of red hair; he saw that he was on thepoint of being involved in a struggle with this person upon the very gist ofthe whole question. He looked sternly at him in his turn and said:

“Oh! so there is no air in the moon? And pray, if you are so good, whoventures to affirm that?

“The men of science.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Sir,” replied Michel, “pleasantry apart, I have a profoundrespect for men of science who do possess science, but a profound contempt formen of science who do not.”

“Do you know any who belong to the latter category?”

“Decidedly. In France there are some who maintain that, mathematically, abird cannot possibly fly; and others who demonstrate theoretically that fisheswere never made to live in water.”

“I have nothing to do with persons of that description, and I can quote,in support of my statement, names which you cannot refuse deference to.”

“Then, sir, you will sadly embarrass a poor ignorant, who, besides, asksnothing better than to learn.”

“Why, then, do you introduce scientific questions if you have neverstudied them?” asked the unknown somewhat coarsely.

“For the reason that ‘he is always brave who never suspectsdanger.’ I know nothing, it is true; but it is precisely my very weaknesswhich constitutes my strength.”

“Your weakness amounts to folly,” retorted the unknown in apassion.

“All the better,” replied our Frenchman, “if it carries me upto the moon.”

Barbicane and his colleagues devoured with their eyes the intruder who had soboldly placed himself in antagonism to their enterprise. Nobody knew him, andthe president, uneasy as to the result of so free a discussion, watched his newfriend with some anxiety. The meeting began to be somewhat fidgety also, forthe contest directed their attention to the dangers, if not the actualimpossibilities, of the proposed expedition.

“Sir,” replied Ardan’s antagonist, “there are many andincontrovertible reasons which prove the absence of an atmosphere in the moon.I might say that, a priori, if one ever did exist, it must have beenabsorbed by the earth; but I prefer to bring forward indisputable facts.”

“Bring them forward then, sir, as many as you please.”

“You know,” said the stranger, “that when any luminous rayscross a medium such as the air, they are deflected out of the straight line; inother words, they undergo refraction. Well! When stars are occulted by themoon, their rays, on grazing the edge of her disc, exhibit not the leastdeviation, nor offer the slightest indication of refraction. It follows,therefore, that the moon cannot be surrounded by an atmosphere.

“In point of fact,” replied Ardan, “this is your chief, ifnot your onlyargument; and a really scientific man might be puzzled toanswer it. For myself, I will simply say that it is defective, because itassumes that the angular diameter of the moon has been completely determined,which is not the case. But let us proceed. Tell me, my dear sir, do you admitthe existence of volcanoes on the moon’s surface?”

“Extinct, yes! In activity, no!”

“These volcanoes, however, were at one time in a state ofactivity?”

“True, but, as they furnish themselves the oxygen necessary forcombustion, the mere fact of their eruption does not prove the presence of anatmosphere.”

“Proceed again, then; and let us set aside this class of arguments inorder to come to direct observations. In 1715 the astronomers Louville andHalley, watching the eclipse of the 3rd of May, remarked some veryextraordinary scintillations. These jets of light, rapid in nature, and offrequent recurrence, they attributed to thunderstorms generated in the lunaratmosphere.”

“In 1715,” replied the unknown, “the astronomers Louville andHalley mistook for lunar phenomena some which were purely terrestrial, such asmeteoric or other bodies which are generated in our own atmosphere. This wasthe scientific explanation at the time of the facts; and that is my answernow.”

“On again, then,” replied Ardan; “Herschel, in 1787, observeda great number of luminous points on the moon’s surface, did henot?”

“Yes! but without offering any solution of them. Herschel himself neverinferred from them the necessity of a lunar atmosphere. And I may add thatBaeer and Maedler, the two great authorities upon the moon, are quite agreed asto the entire absence of air on its surface.”

A movement was here manifest among the assemblage, who appeared to be growingexcited by the arguments of this singular personage.

“Let us proceed,” replied Ardan, with perfect coolness, “andcome to one important fact. A skillful French astronomer, M. Laussedat, inwatching the eclipse of July 18, 1860, probed that the horns of the lunarcrescent were rounded and truncated. Now, this appearance could only have beenproduced by a deviation of the solar rays in traversing the atmosphere of themoon. There is no other possible explanation of the facts.”

“But is this established as a fact?”

“Absolutely certain!”

A counter-movement here took place in favor of the hero of the meeting, whoseopponent was now reduced to silence. Ardan resumed the conversation; andwithout exhibiting any exultation at the advantage he had gained, simply said:

“You see, then, my dear sir, we must not pronounce with absolutepositiveness against the existence of an atmosphere in the moon. Thatatmosphere is, probably, of extreme rarity; nevertheless at the present dayscience generally admits that it exists.”

“Not in the mountains, at all events,” returned the unknown,unwilling to give in.

“No! but at the bottom of the valleys, and not exceeding a few hundredfeet in height.”

“In any case you will do well to take every precaution, for the air willbe terribly rarified.”

“My good sir, there will always be enough for a solitary individual;besides, once arrived up there, I shall do my best to economize, and not tobreathe except on grand occasions!”

A tremendous roar of laughter rang in the ears of the mysterious interlocutor,who glared fiercely round upon the assembly.

“Then,” continued Ardan, with a careless air, “since we arein accord regarding the presence of a certain atmosphere, we are forced toadmit the presence of a certain quantity of water. This is a happy consequencefor me. Moreover, my amiable contradictor, permit me to submit to you onefurther observation. We only know oneside of the moon’s disc; andif there is but little air on the face presented to us, it is possible thatthere is plenty on the one turned away from us.”

“And for what reason?”

“Because the moon, under the action of the earth’s attraction, hasassumed the form of an egg, which we look at from the smaller end. Hence itfollows, by Hausen’s calculations, that its center of gravity is situatedin the other hemisphere. Hence it results that the great mass of air and watermust have been drawn away to the other face of our satellite during the firstdays of its creation.”

“Pure fancies!” cried the unknown.

“No! Pure theories! which are based upon the laws of mechanics, and itseems difficult to me to refute them. I appeal then to this meeting, and I putit to them whether life, such as exists upon the earth, is possible on thesurface of the moon?”

Three hundred thousand auditors at once applauded the proposition.Ardan’s opponent tried to get in another word, but he could not obtain ahearing. Cries and menaces fell upon him like hail.

“Enough! enough!” cried some.

“Drive the intruder off!” shouted others.

“Turn him out!” roared the exasperated crowd.

But he, holding firmly on to the platform, did not budge an inch, and let thestorm pass on, which would soon have assumed formidable proportions, if MichelArdan had not quieted it by a gesture. He was too chivalrous to abandon hisopponent in an apparent extremity.

“You wished to say a few more words?” he asked, in a pleasantvoice.

“Yes, a thousand; or rather, no, only one! If you persevere in yourenterprise, you must be a—”

“Very rash person! How can you treat me as such? me, who have demanded acylindro-conical projectile, in order to prevent turning round and round on myway like a squirrel?”

“But, unhappy man, the dreadful recoil will smash you to pieces at yourstarting.”

“My dear contradictor, you have just put your finger upon the true andonly difficulty; nevertheless, I have too good an opinion of the industrialgenius of the Americans not to believe that they will succeed in overcomingit.”

“But the heat developed by the rapidity of the projectile in crossing thestrata of air?”

“Oh! the walls are thick, and I shall soon have crossed theatmosphere.”

“But victuals and water?”

“I have calculated for a twelvemonth’s supply, and I shall be onlyfour days on the journey.”

“But for air to breathe on the road?”

“I shall make it by a chemical process.”

“But your fall on the moon, supposing you ever reach it?”

“It will be six times less dangerous than a sudden fall upon the earth,because the weight will be only one-sixth as great on the surface of themoon.”

“Still it will be enough to smash you like glass!”

“What is to prevent my retarding the shock by means of rocketsconveniently placed, and lighted at the right moment?”

“But after all, supposing all difficulties surmounted, all obstaclesremoved, supposing everything combined to favor you, and granting that you mayarrive safe and sound in the moon, how will you come back?”

“I am not coming back!”

At this reply, almost sublime in its very simplicity, the assembly becamesilent. But its silence was more eloquent than could have been its cries ofenthusiasm. The unknown profited by the opportunity and once more protested:

“You will inevitably kill yourself!” he cried; “and yourdeath will be that of a madman, useless even to science!”

“Go on, my dear unknown, for truly your prophecies are mostagreeable!”

“It really is too much!” cried Michel Ardan’s adversary.“I do not know why I should continue so frivolous a discussion! Pleaseyourself about this insane expedition! We need not trouble ourselves aboutyou!”

“Pray don’t stand upon ceremony!”

“No! another person is responsible for your act.”

“Who, may I ask?” demanded Michel Ardan in an imperious tone.

“The ignoramus who organized this equally absurd and impossibleexperiment!”

The attack was direct. Barbicane, ever since the interference of the unknown,had been making fearful efforts of self-control; now, however, seeing himselfdirectly attacked, he could restrain himself no longer. He rose suddenly, andwas rushing upon the enemy who thus braved him to the face, when all at once hefound himself separated from him.

The platform was lifted by a hundred strong arms, and the president of the GunClub shared with Michel Ardan triumphal honors. The shield was heavy, but thebearers came in continuous relays, disputing, struggling, even fighting amongthemselves in their eagerness to lend their shoulders to this demonstration.

However, the unknown had not profited by the tumult to quit his post. Besideshe could not have done it in the midst of that compact crowd. There he held onin the front row with crossed arms, glaring at President Barbicane.

The shouts of the immense crowd continued at their highest pitch throughoutthis triumphant march. Michel Ardan took it all with evident pleasure. His facegleamed with delight. Several times the platform seemed seized with pitchingand rolling like a weatherbeaten ship. But the two heros of the meeting hadgood sea-legs. They never stumbled; and their vessel arrived without dues atthe port of Tampa Town.

Michel Ardan managed fortunately to escape from the last embraces of hisvigorous admirers. He made for the Hotel Franklin, quickly gained his chamber,and slid under the bedclothes, while an army of a hundred thousand men keptwatch under his windows.

During this time a scene, short, grave, and decisive, took place between themysterious personage and the president of the Gun Club.

Barbicane, free at last, had gone straight at his adversary.

“Come!” he said shortly.

The other followed him on the quay; and the two presently found themselvesalone at the entrance of an open wharf on Jones’ Fall.

The two enemies, still mutually unknown, gazed at each other.

“Who are you?” asked Barbicane.

“Captain Nicholl!”

“So I suspected. Hitherto chance has never thrown you in my way.”

“I am come for that purpose.”

“You have insulted me.”

“Publicly!”

“And you will answer to me for this insult?”

“At this very moment.”

“No! I desire that all that passes between us shall be secret. Their is awood situated three miles from Tampa, the wood of Skersnaw. Do you knowit?”

“I know it.”

“Will you be so good as to enter it to-morrow morning at fiveo’clock, on one side?”

“Yes! if you will enter at the other side at the same hour.”

“And you will not forget your rifle?” said Barbicane.

“No more than you will forget yours?” replied Nicholl.

These words having been coldly spoken, the president of the Gun Club and thecaptain parted. Barbicane returned to his lodging; but instead of snatching afew hours of repose, he passed the night in endeavoring to discover a means ofevading the recoil of the projectile, and resolving the difficult problemproposed by Michel Ardan during the discussion at the meeting.

CHAPTER XXI.
HOW A FRENCHMAN MANAGES AN AFFAIR

While the contract of this duel was being discussed by the president and thecaptain—this dreadful, savage duel, in which each adversary became aman-hunter—Michel Ardan was resting from the fatigues of his triumph.Resting is hardly an appropriate expression, for American beds rival marble orgranite tables for hardness.

Ardan was sleeping, then, badly enough, tossing about between the cloths whichserved him for sheets, and he was dreaming of making a more comfortable couchin his projectile when a frightful noise disturbed his dreams. Thundering blowsshook his door. They seemed to be caused by some iron instrument. A great dealof loud talking was distinguishable in this racket, which was rather too earlyin the morning. “Open the door,” some one shrieked, “forheaven’s sake!” Ardan saw no reason for complying with a demand soroughly expressed. However, he got up and opened the door just as it was givingway before the blows of this determined visitor. The secretary of the Gun Clubburst into the room. A bomb could not have made more noise or have entered theroom with less ceremony.

“Last night,” cried J. T. Maston, ex abrupto, “ourpresident was publicly insulted during the meeting. He provoked his adversary,who is none other than Captain Nicholl! They are fighting this morning in thewood of Skersnaw. I heard all the particulars from the mouth of Barbicanehimself. If he is killed, then our scheme is at an end. We must prevent hisduel; and one man alone has enough influence over Barbicane to stop him, andthat man is Michel Ardan.”

While J. T. Maston was speaking, Michel Ardan, without interrupting him, hadhastily put on his clothes; and, in less than two minutes, the two friends weremaking for the suburbs of Tampa Town with rapid strides.

It was during this walk that Maston told Ardan the state of the case. He toldhim the real causes of the hostility between Barbicane and Nicholl; how it wasof old date, and why, thanks to unknown friends, the president and the captainhad, as yet, never met face to face. He added that it arose simply from arivalry between iron plates and shot, and, finally, that the scene at themeeting was only the long-wished-for opportunity for Nicholl to pay off an oldgrudge.

Nothing is more dreadful than private duels in America. The two adversariesattack each other like wild beasts. Then it is that they might well covet thosewonderful properties of the Indians of the prairies—their quickintelligence, their ingenious cunning, their scent of the enemy. A singlemistake, a moment’s hesitation, a single false step may cause death. Onthese occasions Yankees are often accompanied by their dogs, and keep up thestruggle for hours.

“What demons you are!” cried Michel Ardan, when his companion haddepicted this scene to him with much energy.

“Yes, we are,” replied J. T. modestly; “but we had bettermake haste.”

Though Michel Ardan and he had crossed the plains still wet with dew, and hadtaken the shortest route over creeks and ricefields, they could not reachSkersnaw in under five hours and a half.

Barbicane must have passed the border half an hour ago.

There was an old bushman working there, occupied in selling fagots from treesthat had been leveled by his axe.

Maston ran toward him, saying, “Have you seen a man go into the wood,armed with a rifle? Barbicane, the president, my best friend?”

The worthy secretary of the Gun Club thought that his president must be knownby all the world. But the bushman did not seem to understand him.

“A hunter?” said Ardan.

“A hunter? Yes,” replied the bushman.

“Long ago?”

“About an hour.”

“Too late!” cried Maston.

“Have you heard any gunshots?” asked Ardan.

“No!”

“Not one?”

“Not one! that hunter did not look as if he knew how to hunt!”

“What is to be done?” said Maston.

“We must go into the wood, at the risk of getting a ball which is notintended for us.”

“Ah!” cried Maston, in a tone which could not be mistaken, “Iwould rather have twenty balls in my own head than one inBarbicane’s.”

“Forward, then,” said Ardan, pressing his companion’s hand.

A few moments later the two friends had disappeared in the copse. It was adense thicket, in which rose huge cypresses, sycamores, tulip-trees, olives,tamarinds, oaks, and magnolias. These different trees had interwoven theirbranches into an inextricable maze, through which the eye could not penetrate.Michel Ardan and Maston walked side by side in silence through the tall grass,cutting themselves a path through the strong creepers, casting curious glanceson the bushes, and momentarily expecting to hear the sound of rifles. As forthe traces which Barbicane ought to have left of his passage through the wood,there was not a vestige of them visible: so they followed the barelyperceptible paths along which Indians had tracked some enemy, and which thedense foliage darkly overshadowed.

After an hour spent in vain pursuit the two stopped in intensified anxiety.

“It must be all over,” said Maston, discouraged. “A man likeBarbicane would not dodge with his enemy, or ensnare him, would not evenmaneuver! He is too open, too brave. He has gone straight ahead, right into thedanger, and doubtless far enough from the bushman for the wind to prevent hishearing the report of the rifles.”

“But surely,” replied Michel Ardan, “since we entered thewood we should have heard!”

“And what if we came too late?” cried Maston in tones of despair.

For once Ardan had no reply to make, he and Maston resuming their walk insilence. From time to time, indeed, they raised great shouts, callingalternately Barbicane and Nicholl, neither of whom, however, answered theircries. Only the birds, awakened by the sound, flew past them and disappearedamong the branches, while some frightened deer fled precipitately before them.

For another hour their search was continued. The greater part of the wood hadbeen explored. There was nothing to reveal the presence of the combatants. Theinformation of the bushman was after all doubtful, and Ardan was about topropose their abandoning this useless pursuit, when all at once Maston stopped.

“Hush!” said he, “there is some one down there!”

“Some one?” repeated Michel Ardan.

“Yes; a man! He seems motionless. His rifle is not in his hands. What canhe be doing?”

“But can you recognize him?” asked Ardan, whose short sight was oflittle use to him in such circumstances.

“Yes! yes! He is turning toward us,” answered Maston.

“And it is?”

“Captain Nicholl!”

“Nicholl?” cried Michel Ardan, feeling a terrible pang of grief.

“Nicholl unarmed! He has, then, no longer any fear of hisadversary!”

“Let us go to him,” said Michel Ardan, “and find out thetruth.”

But he and his companion had barely taken fifty steps, when they paused toexamine the captain more attentively. They expected to find a bloodthirsty man,happy in his revenge.

On seeing him, they remained stupefied.

A net, composed of very fine meshes, hung between two enormous tulip-trees, andin the midst of this snare, with its wings entangled, was a poor little bird,uttering pitiful cries, while it vainly struggled to escape. The bird-catcherwho had laid this snare was no human being, but a venomous spider, peculiar tothat country, as large as a pigeon’s egg, and armed with enormous claws.The hideous creature, instead of rushing on its prey, had beaten a suddenretreat and taken refuge in the upper branches of the tulip-tree, for aformidable enemy menaced its stronghold.

Here, then, was Nicholl, his gun on the ground, forgetful of danger, trying ifpossible to save the victim from its cobweb prison. At last it wasaccomplished, and the little bird flew joyfully away and disappeared.

Nicholl lovingly watched its flight, when he heard these words pronounced by avoice full of emotion:

“You are indeed a brave man.”

He turned. Michel Ardan was before him, repeating in a different tone:

“And a kindhearted one!”

“Michel Ardan!” cried the captain. “Why are you here?”

“To press your hand, Nicholl, and to prevent you from either killingBarbicane or being killed by him.”

“Barbicane!” returned the captain. “I have been looking forhim for the last two hours in vain. Where is he hiding?”

“Nicholl!” said Michel Ardan, “this is not courteous! weought always to treat an adversary with respect; rest assureed if Barbicane isstill alive we shall find him all the more easily; because if he has not, likeyou, been amusing himself with freeing oppressed birds, he must be looking foryou. When we have found him, Michel Ardan tells you this, there will beno duel between you.”

“Between President Barbicane and myself,” gravely repliedNicholl, “there is a rivalry which the death of one of us—”

“Pooh, pooh!” said Ardan. “Brave fellows like you indeed! youshall not fight!”

“I will fight, sir!”

“No!”

“Captain,” said J. T. Maston, with much feeling, “I am afriend of the president’s, his alter ego, his second self; if youreally must kill some one, shoot me!it will do just as well!”

“Sir,” Nicholl replied, seizing his rifle convulsively,“these jokes—”

“Our friend Maston is not joking,” replied Ardan. “I fullyunderstand his idea of being killed himself in order to save his friend. Butneither he nor Barbicane will fall before the balls of Captain Nicholl. IndeedI have so attractive a proposal to make to the two rivals, that both will beeager to accept it.”

“What is it?” asked Nicholl with manifest incredulity.

“Patience!” exclaimed Ardan. “I can only reveal it in thepresence of Barbicane.”

“Let us go in search of him then!” cried the captain.

The three men started off at once; the captain having discharged his riflethrew it over his shoulder, and advanced in silence. Another half hour passed,and the pursuit was still fruitless. Maston was oppressed by sinisterforebodings. He looked fiercely at Nicholl, asking himself whether thecaptain’s vengeance had already been satisfied, and the unfortunateBarbicane, shot, was perhaps lying dead on some bloody track. The same thoughtseemed to occur to Ardan; and both were casting inquiring glances on Nicholl,when suddenly Maston paused.

The motionless figure of a man leaning against a gigantic catalpa twenty feetoff appeared, half-veiled by the foliage.

“It is he!” said Maston.

Barbicane never moved. Ardan looked at the captain, but he did not wince. Ardanwent forward crying:

“Barbicane! Barbicane!”

No answer! Ardan rushed toward his friend; but in the act of seizing his arms,he stopped short and uttered a cry of surprise.

Barbicane, pencil in hand, was tracing geometrical figures in a memorandumbook, while his unloaded rifle lay beside him on the ground.

Absorbed in his studies, Barbicane, in his turn forgetful of the duel, had seenand heard nothing.

When Ardan took his hand, he looked up and stared at his visitor inastonishment.

“Ah, it is you!” he cried at last. “I have found it, myfriend, I have found it!”

“What?”

“My plan!”

“What plan?”

“The plan for countering the effect of the shock at the departure of theprojectile!”

“Indeed?” said Michel Ardan, looking at the captain out of thecorner of his eye.

“Yes! water! simply water, which will act as a spring—ah!Maston,” cried Barbicane, “you here also?”

“Himself,” replied Ardan; “and permit me to introduce to youat the same time the worthy Captain Nicholl!”

“Nicholl!” cried Barbicane, who jumped up at once. “Pardonme, captain, I had quite forgotten—I am ready!”

Michel Ardan interfered, without giving the two enemies time to say anythingmore.

“Thank heaven!” said he. “It is a happy thing that brave menlike you two did not meet sooner! we should now have been mourning for one orother of you. But, thanks to Providence, which has interfered, there is now nofurther cause for alarm. When one forgets one’s anger in mechanics or incobwebs, it is a sign that the anger is not dangerous.”

Michel Ardan then told the president how the captain had been found occupied.

“I put it to you now,” said he in conclusion, “are two suchgood fellows as you are made on purpose to smash each other’s skulls withshot?”

There was in “the situation” somewhat of the ridiculous, somethingquite unexpected; Michel Ardan saw this, and determined to effect areconciliation.

“My good friends,” said he, with his most bewitching smile,“this is nothing but a misunderstanding. Nothing more! well! to provethat it is all over between you, accept frankly the proposal I am going to maketo you.”

“Make it,” said Nicholl.

“Our friend Barbicane believes that his projectile will go straight tothe moon?”

“Yes, certainly,” replied the president.

“And our friend Nicholl is persuaded it will fall back upon theearth?”

“I am certain of it,” cried the captain.

“Good!” said Ardan. “I cannot pretend to make you agree; butI suggest this: Go with me, and so see whether we are stopped on ourjourney.”

“What?” exclaimed J. T. Maston, stupefied.

The two rivals, on this sudden proposal, looked steadily at each other.Barbicane waited for the captain’s answer. Nicholl watched for thedecision of the president.

“Well?” said Michel. “There is now no fear of theshock!”

“Done!” cried Barbicane.

But quickly as he pronounced the word, he was not before Nicholl.

“Hurrah! bravo! hip! hip! hurrah!” cried Michel, giving a hand toeach of the late adversaries. “Now that it is all settled, my friends,allow me to treat you after French fashion. Let us be off to breakfast!”

CHAPTER XXII.
THE NEW CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES

That same day all America heard of the affair of Captain Nicholl and PresidentBarbicane, as well as its singular denouement. From that day forth,Michel Ardan had not one moment’s rest. Deputations from all corners ofthe Union harassed him without cessation or intermission. He was compelled toreceive them all, whether he would or no. How many hands he shook, how manypeople he was “hail-fellow-well-met” with, it is impossible toguess! Such a triumphal result would have intoxicated any other man; but hemanaged to keep himself in a state of delightful semi-tipsiness.

Among the deputations of all kinds which assailed him, that of “TheLunatics” were careful not to forget what they owed to the futureconqueror of the moon. One day, certain of these poor people, so numerous inAmerica, came to call upon him, and requested permission to return with him totheir native country.

“Singular hallucination!” said he to Barbicane, after havingdismissed the deputation with promises to convey numbers of messages to friendsin the moon. “Do you believe in the influence of the moon upondistempers?”

“Scarcely!”

“No more do I, despite some remarkable recorded facts of history. Forinstance, during an epidemic in 1693, a large number of persons died at thevery moment of an eclipse. The celebrated Bacon always fainted during aneclipse. Charles VI relapsed six times into madness during the year 1399,sometimes during the new, sometimes during the full moon. Gall observed thatinsane persons underwent an accession of their disorder twice in every month,at the epochs of new and full moon. In fact, numerous observations made uponfevers, somnambulisms, and other human maladies, seem to prove that the moondoes exercise some mysterious influence upon man.”

“But the how and the wherefore?” asked Barbicane.

“Well, I can only give you the answer which Arago borrowed from Plutarch,which is nineteen centuries old. ‘Perhaps the stories are nottrue!’”

In the height of his triumph, Michel Ardan had to encounter all the annoyancesincidental to a man of celebrity. Managers of entertainments wanted to exhibithim. Barnum offered him a million dollars to make a tour of the United Statesin his show. As for his photographs, they were sold of all size, and hisportrait taken in every imaginable posture. More than half a million copieswere disposed of in an incredibly short space of time.

But it was not only the men who paid him homage, but the women as well. Hemight have married well a hundred times over, if he had been willing to settlein life. The old maids, in particular, of forty years and upward, and dry inproportion, devoured his photographs day and night. They would have married himby hundreds, even if he had imposed upon them the condition of accompanying himinto space. He had, however, no intention of transplanting a race ofFranco-Americans upon the surface of the moon.

He therefore declined all offers.

As soon as he could withdraw from these somewhat embarrassing demonstrations,he went, accompanied by his friends, to pay a visit to the Columbiad. He washighly gratified by his inspection, and made the descent to the bottom of thetube of this gigantic machine which was presently to launch him to the regionsof the moon. It is necessary here to mention a proposal of J. T.Maston’s. When the secretary of the Gun Club found that Barbicane andNicholl accepted the proposal of Michel Ardan, he determined to join them, andmake one of a smug party of four. So one day he determined to be admitted asone of the travelers. Barbicane, pained at having to refuse him, gave himclearly to understand that the projectile could not possibly contain so manypassengers. Maston, in despair, went in search of Michel Ardan, who counseledhim to resign himself to the situation, adding one or two arguments adhominem.

“You see, old fellow,” he said, “you must not take what I sayin bad part; but really, between ourselves, you are in too incomplete acondition to appear in the moon!”

“Incomplete?” shrieked the valiant invalid.

“Yes, my dear fellow! imagine our meeting some of the inhabitants upthere! Would you like to give them such a melancholy notion of what goes ondown here? to teach them what war is, to inform them that we employ our timechiefly in devouring each other, in smashing arms and legs, and that too on aglobe which is capable of supporting a hundred billions of inhabitants, andwhich actually does contain nearly two hundred millions? Why, my worthy friend,we should have to turn you out of doors!”

“But still, if you arrive there in pieces, you will be as incomplete as Iam.”

“Unquestionably,” replied Michel Ardan; “but we shallnot.”

In fact, a preparatory experiment, tried on the 18th of October, had yieldedthe best results and caused the most well-grounded hopes of success. Barbicane,desirous of obtaining some notion of the effect of the shock at the moment ofthe projectile’s departure, had procured a 38-inch mortar from thearsenal of Pensacola. He had this placed on the bank of Hillisborough Roads, inorder that the shell might fall back into the sea, and the shock be therebydestroyed. His object was to ascertain the extent of the shock of departure,and not that of the return.

A hollow projectile had been prepared for this curious experiment. A thickpadding fastened upon a kind of elastic network, made of the best steel, linedthe inside of the walls. It was a veritable nestmost carefully wadded.

“What a pity I can’t find room in there,” said J. T. Maston,regretting that his height did not allow of his trying the adventure.

Within this shell were shut up a large cat, and a squirrel belonging to J. T.Maston, and of which he was particularly fond. They were desirous, however, ofascertaining how this little animal, least of all others subject to giddiness,would endure this experimental voyage.

The mortar was charged with 160 pounds of powder, and the shell placed in thechamber. On being fired, the projectile rose with great velocity, described amajestic parabola, attained a height of about a thousand feet, and with agraceful curve descended in the midst of the vessels that lay there at anchor.

Without a moment’s loss of time a small boat put off in the direction ofits fall; some divers plunged into the water and attached ropes to the handlesof the shell, which was quickly dragged on board. Five minutes did not elapsebetween the moment of enclosing the animals and that of unscrewing the coverlidof their prison.

Ardan, Barbicane, Maston, and Nicholl were present on board the boat, andassisted at the operation with an interest which may readily be comprehended.Hardly had the shell been opened when the cat leaped out, slightly bruised, butfull of life, and exhibiting no signs whatever of having made an aerialexpedition. No trace, however, of the squirrel could be discovered. The truthat last became apparent—the cat had eaten its fellow-traveler!

J. T. Maston grieved much for the loss of his poor squirrel, and proposed toadd its case to that of other martyrs to science.

After this experiment all hesitation, all fear disappeared. Besides,Barbicane’s plans would ensure greater perfection for his projectile, andgo far to annihilate altogether the effects of the shock. Nothing now remainedbut to go!

Two days later Michel Ardan received a message from the President of the UnitedStates, an honor of which he showed himself especially sensible.

After the example of his illustrious fellow-countryman, the Marquis de laFayette, the government had decreed to him the title of “Citizen of theUnited States of America.”

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE PROJECTILE-VEHICLE

On the completion of the Columbiad the public interest centered in theprojectile itself, the vehicle which was destined to carry the three hardyadventurers into space.

The new plans had been sent to Breadwill and Co., of Albany, with the requestfor their speedy execution. The projectile was consequently cast on the 2nd ofNovember, and immediately forwarded by the Eastern Railway to Stones Hill,which it reached without accident on the 10th of that month, where MichelArdan, Barbicane, and Nicholl were waiting impatiently for it.

The projectile had now to be filled to the depth of three feet with a bed ofwater, intended to support a water-tight wooden disc, which worked easilywithin the walls of the projectile. It was upon this kind of raft that thetravelers were to take their place. This body of water was divided byhorizontal partitions, which the shock of the departure would have to break insuccession. Then each sheet of the water, from the lowest to the highest,running off into escape tubes toward the top of the projectile, constituted akind of spring; and the wooden disc, supplied with extremely powerful plugs,could not strike the lowest plate except after breaking successively thedifferent partitions. Undoubtedly the travelers would still have to encounter aviolent recoil after the complete escapement of the water; but the first shockwould be almost entirely destroyed by this powerful spring. The upper parts ofthe walls were lined with a thick padding of leather, fastened upon springs ofthe best steel, behind which the escape tubes were completely concealed; thusall imaginable precautions had been taken for averting the first shock; and ifthey did get crushed, they must, as Michel Ardan said, be made of very badmaterials.

The entrance into this metallic tower was by a narrow aperture contrived in thewall of the cone. This was hermetically closed by a plate of aluminum, fastenedinternally by powerful screw-pressure. The travelers could therefore quit theirprison at pleasure, as soon as they should reach the moon.

Light and view were given by means of four thick lenticular glass scuttles, twopierced in the circular wall itself, the third in the bottom, the fourth in thetop. These scuttles then were protected against the shock of departure byplates let into solid grooves, which could easily be opened outward byunscrewing them from the inside. Reservoirs firmly fixed contained water andthe necessary provisions; and fire and light were procurable by means of gas,contained in a special reservoir under a pressure of several atmospheres. Theyhad only to turn a tap, and for six hours the gas would light and warm thiscomfortable vehicle.

There now remained only the question of air; for allowing for the consumptionof air by Barbicane, his two companions, and two dogs which he proposed takingwith him, it was necessary to renew the air of the projectile. Now air consistsprincipally of twenty-one parts of oxygen and seventy-nine of nitrogen. Thelungs absorb the oxygen, which is indispensable for the support of life, andreject the nitrogen. The air expired loses nearly five per cent. of the formerand contains nearly an equal volume of carbonic acid, produced by thecombustion of the elements of the blood. In an air-tight enclosure, then, aftera certain time, all the oxygen of the air will be replaced by the carbonicacid—a gas fatal to life. There were two things to be donethen—first, to replace the absorbed oxygen; secondly, to destroy theexpired carbonic acid; both easy enough to do, by means of chlorate ofpotassium and caustic potash. The former is a salt which appears under the formof white crystals; when raised to a temperature of 400 degrees it istransformed into chlorure of potassium, and the oxygen which it contains isentirely liberated. Now twenty-eight pounds of chlorate of potassium producesseven pounds of oxygen, or 2,400 litres—the quantity necessary for thetravelers during twenty-four hours.

Caustic potash has a great affinity for carbonic acid; and it is sufficient toshake it in order for it to seize upon the acid and form bicarbonate ofpotassium. By these two means they would be enabled to restore to the vitiatedair its life- supporting properties.

It is necessary, however, to add that the experiments had hitherto been madein anima vili. Whatever its scientific accuracy was, they were atpresent ignorant how it would answer with human beings. The honor of putting itto the proof was energetically claimed by J. T. Maston.

“Since I am not to go,” said the brave artillerist, “I may atleast live for a week in the projectile.”

It would have been hard to refuse him; so they consented to his wish. Asufficient quantity of chlorate of potassium and of caustic potash was placedat his disposal, together with provisions for eight days. And having shakenhands with his friends, on the 12th of November, at six o’clock A.M.,after strictly informing them not to open his prison before the 20th, at sixo’clock P.M., he slid down the projectile, the plate of which was at oncehermetically sealed. What did he do with himself during that week? They couldget no information. The thickness of the walls of the projectile prevented anysound reaching from the inside to the outside. On the 20th of November, at sixP.M. exactly, the plate was opened. The friends of J. T. Maston had been allalong in a state of much anxiety; but they were promptly reassured on hearing ajolly voice shouting a boisterous hurrah.

Presently afterward the secretary of the Gun Club appeared at the top of thecone in a triumphant attitude. He had grown fat!

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE TELESCOPE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS

On the 20th of October in the preceding year, after the close of thesubscription, the president of the Gun Club had credited the Observatory ofCambridge with the necessary sums for the construction of a gigantic opticalinstrument. This instrument was designed for the purpose of rendering visibleon the surface of the moon any object exceeding nine feet in diameter.

At the period when the Gun Club essayed their great experiment, suchinstruments had reached a high degree of perfection, and produced somemagnificent results. Two telescopes in particular, at this time, were possessedof remarkable power and of gigantic dimensions. The first, constructed byHerschel, was thirty-six feet in length, and had an object-glass of four feetsix inches; it possessed a magnifying power of 6,000. The second was raised inIreland, in Parsonstown Park, and belongs to Lord Rosse. The length of thistube is forty-eight feet, and the diameter of its object-glass six feet; itmagnifies 6,400 times, and required an immense erection of brick work andmasonry for the purpose of working it, its weight being twelve and a half tons.

Still, despite these colossal dimensions, the actual enlargements scarcelyexceeded 6,000 times in round numbers; consequently, the moon was broughtwithin no nearer an apparent distance than thirty-nine miles; and objects ofless than sixty feet in diameter, unless they were of very considerable length,were still imperceptible.

In the present case, dealing with a projectile nine feet in diameter andfifteen feet long, it became necessary to bring the moon within an apparentdistance of five miles at most; and for that purpose to establish a magnifyingpower of 48,000 times.

Such was the question proposed to the Observatory of Cambridge, There was nolack of funds; the difficulty was purely one of construction.

After considerable discussion as to the best form and principle of the proposedinstrument the work was finally commenced. According to the calculations of theObservatory of Cambridge, the tube of the new reflector would require to be 280feet in length, and the object-glass sixteen feet in diameter. Colossal asthese dimensions may appear, they were diminutive in comparison with the 10,000foot telescope proposed by the astronomer Hooke only a few years ago!

Regarding the choice of locality, that matter was promptly determined. Theobject was to select some lofty mountain, and there are not many of these inthe United States. In fact there are but two chains of moderate elevation,between which runs the magnificent Mississippi, the “king ofrivers” as these Republican Yankees delight to call it.

Eastwards rise the Appalachians, the very highest point of which, in NewHampshire, does not exceed the very moderate altitude of 5,600 feet.

On the west, however, rise the Rocky Mountains, that immense range which,commencing at the Straights of Magellan, follows the western coast of SouthernAmerica under the name of the Andes or the Cordilleras, until it crosses theIsthmus of Panama, and runs up the whole of North America to the very bordersof the Polar Sea. The highest elevation of this range still does not exceed10,700 feet. With this elevation, nevertheless, the Gun Club were compelled tobe content, inasmuch as they had determined that both telescope and Columbiadshould be erected within the limits of the Union. All the necessary apparatuswas consequently sent on to the summit of Long’s Peak, in the territoryof Missouri.

Neither pen nor language can describe the difficulties of all kinds which theAmerican engineers had to surmount, of the prodigies of daring and skill whichthey accomplished. They had to raise enormous stones, massive pieces of wroughtiron, heavy corner-clamps and huge portions of cylinder, with an object-glassweighing nearly 30,000 pounds, above the line of perpetual snow for more than10,000 feet in height, after crossing desert prairies, impenetrable forests,fearful rapids, far from all centers of population, and in the midst of savageregions, in which every detail of life becomes an almost insoluble problem. Andyet, notwithstanding these innumerable obstacles, American genius triumphed. Inless than a year after the commencement of the works, toward the close ofSeptember, the gigantic reflector rose into the air to a height of 280 feet. Itwas raised by means of an enormous iron crane; an ingenious mechanism allowedit to be easily worked toward all the points of the heavens, and to follow thestars from the one horizon to the other during their journey through theheavens.

It had cost $400,000. The first time it was directed toward the moon theobservers evinced both curiosity and anxiety. What were they about to discoverin the field of this telescope which magnified objects 48,000 times? Would theyperceive peoples, herds of lunar animals, towns, lakes, seas? No! there wasnothing which science had not already discovered! and on all the points of itsdisc the volcanic nature of the moon became determinable with the utmostprecision.

But the telescope of the Rocky Mountains, before doing its duty to the GunClub, rendered immense services to astronomy. Thanks to its penetrative power,the depths of the heavens were sounded to the utmost extent; the apparentdiameter of a great number of stars was accurately measured; and Mr. Clark, ofthe Cambridge staff, resolved the Crab nebula in Taurus, which the reflector ofLord Rosse had never been able to decompose.

CHAPTER XXV.
FINAL DETAILS

It was the 22nd of November; the departure was to take place in ten days. Oneoperation alone remained to be accomplished to bring all to a happytermination; an operation delicate and perilous, requiring infiniteprecautions, and against the success of which Captain Nicholl had laid histhird bet. It was, in fact, nothing less than the loading of the Columbiad, andthe introduction into it of 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton. Nicholl had thought,not perhaps without reason, that the handling of such formidable quantities ofpyroxyle would, in all probability, involve a grave catastrophe; and at anyrate, that this immense mass of eminently inflammable matter would inevitablyignite when submitted to the pressure of the projectile.

There were indeed dangers accruing as before from the carelessness of theAmericans, but Barbicane had set his heart on success, and took all possibleprecautions. In the first place, he was very careful as to the transportationof the gun-cotton to Stones Hill. He had it conveyed in small quantities,carefully packed in sealed cases. These were brought by rail from Tampa Town tothe camp, and from thence were taken to the Columbiad by barefooted workmen,who deposited them in their places by means of cranes placed at the orifice ofthe cannon. No steam-engine was permitted to work, and every fire wasextinguished within two miles of the works.

Even in November they feared to work by day, lest the sun’s rays actingon the gun-cotton might lead to unhappy results. This led to their working atnight, by light produced in a vacuum by means of Ruhmkorff’s apparatus,which threw an artificial brightness into the depths of the Columbiad. Therethe cartridges were arranged with the utmost regularity, connected by ametallic thread, destined to communicate to them all simultaneously theelectric spark, by which means this mass of gun-cotton was eventually to beignited.

By the 28th of November eight hundred cartridges had been placed in the bottomof the Columbiad. So far the operation had been successful! But what confusion,what anxieties, what struggles were undergone by President Barbicane! In vainhad he refused admission to Stones Hill; every day the inquisitive neighborsscaled the palisades, some even carrying their imprudence to the point ofsmoking while surrounded by bales of gun-cotton. Barbicane was in a perpetualstate of alarm. J. T. Maston seconded him to the best of his ability, by givingvigorous chase to the intruders, and carefully picking up the still lightedcigar ends which the Yankees threw about. A somewhat difficult task! seeingthat more than 300,000 persons were gathered round the enclosure. Michel Ardanhad volunteered to superintend the transport of the cartridges to the mouth ofthe Columbiad; but the president, having surprised him with an enormous cigarin his mouth, while he was hunting out the rash spectators to whom he himselfoffered so dangerous an example, saw that he could not trust this fearlesssmoker, and was therefore obliged to mount a special guard over him.

At last, Providence being propitious, this wonderful loading came to a happytermination, Captain Nicholl’s third bet being thus lost. It remained nowto introduce the projectile into the Columbiad, and to place it on its soft bedof gun-cotton.

But before doing this, all those things necessary for the journey had to becarefully arranged in the projectile vehicle. These necessaries were numerous;and had Ardan been allowed to follow his own wishes, there would have been nospace remaining for the travelers. It is impossible to conceive of half thethings this charming Frenchman wished to convey to the moon. A veritable stockof useless trifles! But Barbicane interfered and refused admission to anythingnot absolutely needed. Several thermometers, barometers, and telescopes werepacked in the instrument case.

The travelers being desirous of examing the moon carefully during their voyage,in order to facilitate their studies, they took with them Boeer andMoeller’s excellent Mappa Selenographica, a masterpiece ofpatience and observation, which they hoped would enable them to identify thosephysical features in the moon, with which they were acquainted. This mapreproduced with scrupulous fidelity the smallest details of the lunar surfacewhich faces the earth; the mountains, valleys, craters, peaks, and ridges wereall represented, with their exact dimensions, relative positions, and names;from the mountains Doerfel and Leibnitz on the eastern side of the disc, to theMare frigorisof the North Pole.

They took also three rifles and three fowling-pieces, and a large quantity ofballs, shot, and powder.

“We cannot tell whom we shall have to deal with,” said MichelArdan. “Men or beasts may possibly object to our visit. It is only wiseto take all precautions.”

These defensive weapons were accompanied by pickaxes, crowbars, saws, and otheruseful implements, not to mention clothing adapted to every temperature, fromthat of polar regions to that of the torrid zone.

Ardan wished to convey a number of animals of different sorts, not indeed apair of every known species, as he could not see the necessity of acclimatizingserpents, tigers, alligators, or any other noxious beasts in the moon.“Nevertheless,” he said to Barbicane, “some valuable anduseful beasts, bullocks, cows, horses, and donkeys, would bear the journey verywell, and would also be very useful to us.”

“I dare say, my dear Ardan,” replied the president, “but ourprojectile-vehicle is no Noah’s ark, from which it differs both indimensions and object. Let us confine ourselves to possibilities.”

After a prolonged discussion, it was agreed that the travelers should restrictthemselves to a sporting-dog belonging to Nicholl, and to a large Newfoundland.Several packets of seeds were also included among the necessaries. MichelArdan, indeed, was anxious to add some sacks full of earth to sow them in; asit was, he took a dozen shrubs carefully wrapped up in straw to plant in themoon.

The important question of provisions still remained; it being necessary toprovide against the possibility of their finding the moon absolutely barren.Barbicane managed so successfully, that he supplied them with sufficientrations for a year. These consisted of preserved meats and vegetables, reducedby strong hydraulic pressure to the smallest possible dimensions. They werealso supplied with brandy, and took water enough for two months, beingconfident, from astronomical observations, that there was no lack of water onthe moon’s surface. As to provisions, doubtless the inhabitants of theearthwould find nourishment somewhere in the moon. Ardan neverquestioned this; indeed, had he done so, he would never have undertaken thejourney.

“Besides,” he said one day to his friends, “we shall not becompletely abandoned by our terrestrial friends; they will take care not toforget us.”

“No, indeed!” replied J. T. Maston.

“Nothing would be simpler,” replied Ardan; “the Columbiadwill be always there. Well! whenever the moon is in a favorable condition as tothe zenith, if not to the perigee, that is to say about once a year, could younot send us a shell packed with provisions, which we might expect on someappointed day?”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” cried J. T. Matson; “what an ingeniousfellow! what a splendid idea! Indeed, my good friends, we shall not forgetyou!”

“I shall reckon upon you! Then, you see, we shall receive news regularlyfrom the earth, and we shall indeed be stupid if we hit upon no plan forcommunicating with our good friends here!”

These words inspired such confidence, that Michel Ardan carried all the GunClub with him in his enthusiasm. What he said seemed so simple and so easy, sosure of success, that none could be so sordidly attached to this earth as tohesitate to follow the three travelers on their lunar expedition.

All being ready at last, it remained to place the projectile in the Columbiad,an operation abundantly accompanied by dangers and difficulties.

The enormous shell was conveyed to the summit of Stones Hill. There, powerfulcranes raised it, and held it suspended over the mouth of the cylinder.

It was a fearful moment! What if the chains should break under its enormousweight? The sudden fall of such a body would inevitably cause the gun-cotton toexplode!

Fortunately this did not happen; and some hours later the projectile-vehicledescended gently into the heart of the cannon and rested on its couch ofpyroxyle, a veritable bed of explosive eider-down. Its pressure had no result,other than the more effectual ramming down of the charge in the Columbiad.

“I have lost,” said the captain, who forthwith paid PresidentBarbicane the sum of three thousand dollars.

Barbicane did not wish to accept the money from one of his fellow-travelers,but gave way at last before the determination of Nicholl, who wished beforeleaving the earth to fulfill all his engagements.

“Now,” said Michel Ardan, “I have only one thing more to wishfor you, my brave captain.”

“What is that?” asked Nicholl.

“It is that you may lose your two other bets! Then we shall be sure notto be stopped on our journey!”

CHAPTER XXVI.
FIRE!

The first of December had arrived! the fatal day! for, if the projectile werenot discharged that very night at 10h. 48m. 40s. P.M., more than eighteen yearsmust roll by before the moon would again present herself under the sameconditions of zenith and perigee.

The weather was magnificent. Despite the approach of winter, the sun shonebrightly, and bathed in its radiant light that earth which three of itsdenizens were about to abandon for a new world.

How many persons lost their rest on the night which preceded this long-expectedday! All hearts beat with disquietude, save only the heart of Michel Ardan.That imperturbable personage came and went with his habitual business-like air,while nothing whatever denoted that any unusual matter preoccupied his mind.

After dawn, an innumerable multitude covered the prairie which extends, as faras the eye can reach, round Stones Hill. Every quarter of an hour the railwaybrought fresh accessions of sightseers; and, according to the statement of theTampa Town Observer, not less than five millions of spectators throngedthe soil of Florida.

For a whole month previously, the mass of these persons had bivouacked roundthe enclosure, and laid the foundations for a town which was afterward called“Ardan’s Town.” The whole plain was covered with huts,cottages, and tents. Every nation under the sun was represented there; andevery language might be heard spoken at the same time. It was a perfect Babelre-enacted. All the various classes of American society were mingled togetherin terms of absolute equality. Bankers, farmers, sailors, cotton-planters,brokers, merchants, watermen, magistrates, elbowed each other in the mostfree-and-easy way. Louisiana Creoles fraternized with farmers from Indiana;Kentucky and Tennessee gentlemen and haughty Virginians conversed with trappersand the half-savages of the lakes and butchers from Cincinnati. Broad-brimmedwhite hats and Panamas, blue-cotton trousers, light-colored stockings, cambricfrills, were all here displayed; while upon shirt-fronts, wristbands, andneckties, upon every finger, even upon the very ears, they wore an assortmentof rings, shirt-pins, brooches, and trinkets, of which the value only equaledthe execrable taste. Women, children, and servants, in equally expensive dress,surrounded their husbands, fathers, or masters, who resembled the patriarchs oftribes in the midst of their immense households.

At meal-times all fell to work upon the dishes peculiar to the Southern States,and consumed with an appetite that threatened speedy exhaustion of thevictualing powers of Florida, fricasseed frogs, stuffed monkey, fish chowder,underdone ’possum, and raccoon steaks. And as for the liquors whichaccompanied this indigestible repast! The shouts, the vociferations thatresounded through the bars and taverns decorated with glasses, tankards, andbottles of marvelous shape, mortars for pounding sugar, and bundles of straws!“Mint-julep” roars one of the barmen; “Claretsangaree!” shouts another; “Cocktail!”“Brandy-smash!” “Real mint-julep in the new style!” Allthese cries intermingled produced a bewildering and deafening hubbub.

But on this day, 1st of December, such sounds were rare. No one thought ofeating or drinking, and at four P.M. there were vast numbers of spectators whohad not even taken their customary lunch! And, a still more significant fact,even the national passion for play seemed quelled for the time under thegeneral excitement of the hour.

Up till nightfall, a dull, noiseless agitation, such as precedes greatcatastrophes, ran through the anxious multitude. An indescribable uneasinesspervaded all minds, an indefinable sensation which oppressed the heart. Everyone wished it was over.

However, about seven o’clock, the heavy silence was dissipated. The moonrose above the horizon. Millions of hurrahs hailed her appearance. She waspunctual to the rendezvous, and shouts of welcome greeted her on all sides, asher pale beams shone gracefully in the clear heavens. At this moment the threeintrepid travelers appeared. This was the signal for renewed cries of stillgreater intensity. Instantly the vast assemblage, as with one accord, struck upthe national hymn of the United States, and “Yankee Doodle,” sungby five million of hearty throats, rose like a roaring tempest to the farthestlimits of the atmosphere. Then a profound silence reigned throughout the crowd.

The Frenchman and the two Americans had by this time entered the enclosurereserved in the center of the multitude. They were accompanied by the membersof the Gun Club, and by deputations sent from all the European Observatories.Barbicane, cool and collected, was giving his final directions. Nicholl, withcompressed lips, his arms crossed behind his back, walked with a firm andmeasured step. Michel Ardan, always easy, dressed in thorough traveler’scostume, leathern gaiters on his legs, pouch by his side, in loose velvet suit,cigar in mouth, was full of inexhaustible gayety, laughing, joking, playingpranks with J. T. Maston. In one word, he was the thorough“Frenchman” (and worse, a “Parisian”) to the lastmoment.

Ten o’clock struck! The moment had arrived for taking their places in theprojectile! The necessary operations for the descent, and the subsequentremoval of the cranes and scaffolding that inclined over the mouth of theColumbiad, required a certain period of time.

Barbicane had regulated his chronometer to the tenth part of a second by thatof Murchison the engineer, who was charged with the duty of firing the gun bymeans of an electric spark. Thus the travelers enclosed within the projectilewere enabled to follow with their eyes the impassive needle which marked theprecise moment of their departure.

The moment had arrived for saying “good-by!” The scene was atouching one. Despite his feverish gayety, even Michel Ardan was touched. J. T.Maston had found in his own dry eyes one ancient tear, which he had doubtlessreserved for the occasion. He dropped it on the forehead of his dear president.

“Can I not go?” he said, “there is still time!”

“Impossible, old fellow!” replied Barbicane. A few moments later,the three fellow-travelers had ensconced themselves in the projectile, andscrewed down the plate which covered the entrance-aperture. The mouth of theColumbiad, now completely disencumbered, was open entirely to the sky.

The moon advanced upward in a heaven of the purest clearness, outshining in herpassage the twinkling light of the stars. She passed over the constellation ofthe Twins, and was now nearing the halfway point between the horizon and thezenith. A terrible silence weighed upon the entire scene! Not a breath of windupon the earth! not a sound of breathing from the countless chests of thespectators! Their hearts seemed afraid to beat! All eyes were fixed upon theyawning mouth of the Columbiad.

Murchison followed with his eye the hand of his chronometer. It wanted scarceforty seconds to the moment of departure, but each second seemed to last anage! At the twentieth there was a general shudder, as it occurred to the mindsof that vast assemblage that the bold travelers shut up within the projectilewere also counting those terrible seconds. Some few cries here and thereescaped the crowd.

“Thirty-five!—thirty-six!—thirty-seven!—thirty-eight!—thirty-nine!—forty!FIRE!!!”

Instantly Murchison pressed with his finger the key of the electric battery,restored the current of the fluid, and discharged the spark into the breech ofthe Columbiad.

An appalling unearthly report followed instantly, such as can be compared tonothing whatever known, not even to the roar of thunder, or the blast ofvolcanic explosions! No words can convey the slightest idea of the terrificsound! An immense spout of fire shot up from the bowels of the earth as from acrater. The earth heaved up, and with great difficulty some few spectatorsobtained a momentary glimpse of the projectile victoriously cleaving the air inthe midst of the fiery vapors!

CHAPTER XXVII.
FOUL WEATHER

At the moment when that pyramid of fire rose to a prodigious height into theair, the glare of flame lit up the whole of Florida; and for a moment daysuperseded night over a considerable extent of the country. This immense canopyof fire was perceived at a distance of one hundred miles out at sea, and morethan one ship’s captain entered in his log the appearance of thisgigantic meteor.

The discharge of the Columbiad was accompanied by a perfect earthquake. Floridawas shaken to its very depths. The gases of the powder, expanded by heat,forced back the atmospheric strata with tremendous violence, and thisartificial hurricane rushed like a water-spout through the air.

Not a single spectator remained on his feet! Men, women children, all layprostrate like ears of corn under a tempest. There ensued a terrible tumult; alarge number of persons were seriously injured. J. T. Maston, who, despite alldictates of prudence, had kept in advance of the mass, was pitched back 120feet, shooting like a projectile over the heads of his fellow-citizens. Threehundred thousand persons remained deaf for a time, and as though struckstupefied.

As soon as the first effects were over, the injured, the deaf, and lastly, thecrowd in general, woke up with frenzied cries. “Hurrah for Ardan! Hurrahfor Barbicane! Hurrah for Nicholl!” rose to the skies. Thousands ofpersons, noses in air, armed with telescopes and race-glasses, were questioningspace, forgetting all contusions and emotions in the one idea of watching forthe projectile. They looked in vain! It was no longer to be seen, and they wereobliged to wait for telegrams from Long’s Peak. The director of theCambridge Observatory was at his post on the Rocky Mountains; and to him, as askillful and persevering astronomer, all observations had been confided.

But an unforeseen phenomenon came in to subject the public impatience to asevere trial.

The weather, hitherto so fine, suddenly changed; the sky became heavy withclouds. It could not have been otherwise after the terrible derangement of theatmospheric strata, and the dispersion of the enormous quantity of vaporarising from the combustion of 200,000 pounds of pyroxyle!

On the morrow the horizon was covered with clouds—a thick andimpenetrable curtain between earth and sky, which unhappily extended as far asthe Rocky Mountains. It was a fatality! But since man had chosen so to disturbthe atmosphere, he was bound to accept the consequences of his experiment.

Supposing, now, that the experiment had succeeded, the travelers having startedon the 1st of December, at 10h. 46m. 40s. P.M., were due on the 4th at 0h. P.M.at their destination. So that up to that time it would have been very difficultafter all to have observed, under such conditions, a body so small as theshell. Therefore they waited with what patience they might.

From the 4th to the 6th of December inclusive, the weather remaining much thesame in America, the great European instruments of Herschel, Rosse, andFoucault, were constantly directed toward the moon, for the weather was thenmagnificent; but the comparative weakness of their glasses prevented anytrustworthy observations being made.

On the 7th the sky seemed to lighten. They were in hopes now, but their hopewas of but short duration, and at night again thick clouds hid the starry vaultfrom all eyes.

Matters were now becoming serious, when on the 9th the sun reappeared for aninstant, as if for the purpose of teasing the Americans. It was received withhisses; and wounded, no doubt, by such a reception, showed itself very sparingof its rays.

On the 10th, no change! J. T. Maston went nearly mad, and great fears wereentertained regarding the brain of this worthy individual, which had hithertobeen so well preserved within his gutta-percha cranium.

But on the 11th one of those inexplicable tempests peculiar to thoseintertropical regions was let loose in the atmosphere. A terrific east windswept away the groups of clouds which had been so long gathering, and at nightthe semi-disc of the orb of night rode majestically amid the softconstellations of the sky.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
A NEW STAR

That very night, the startling news so impatiently awaited, burst like athunderbolt over the United States of the Union, and thence, darting across theocean, ran through all the telegraphic wires of the globe. The projectile hadbeen detected, thanks to the gigantic reflector of Long’s Peak! Here isthe note received by the director of the Observatory of Cambridge. It containsthe scientific conclusion regarding this great experiment of the Gun Club.

LONG’S PEAK, December 12. To the Officers of the Observatory ofCambridge. The projectile discharged by the Columbiad at Stones Hill has beendetected by Messrs. Belfast and J. T. Maston, 12th of December, at 8:47 P.M.,the moon having entered her last quarter. This projectile has not arrived atits destination. It has passed by the side; but sufficiently near to beretained by the lunar attraction.

The rectilinear movement has thus become changed into a circular motion ofextreme velocity, and it is now pursuing an elliptical orbit round the moon, ofwhich it has become a true satellite.

The elements of this new star we have as yet been unable to determine; we donot yet know the velocity of its passage. The distance which separates it fromthe surface of the moon may be estimated at about 2,833 miles.

However, two hypotheses come here into our consideration.

1. Either the attraction of the moon will end by drawing them into itself, andthe travelers will attain their destination; or,

2. The projectile, following an immutable law, will continue to gravitate roundthe moon till the end of time.

At some future time, our observations will be able to determine this point, buttill then the experiment of the Gun Club can have no other result than to haveprovided our solar system with a new star. J. BELFAST.

To how many questions did this unexpected denouementgive rise? Whatmysterious results was the future reserving for the investigation of science?At all events, the names of Nicholl, Barbicane, and Michel Ardan were certainto be immortalized in the annals of astronomy!

When the dispatch from Long’s Peak had once become known, there was butone universal feeling of surprise and alarm. Was it possible to go to the aidof these bold travelers? No! for they had placed themselves beyond the pale ofhumanity, by crossing the limits imposed by the Creator on his earthlycreatures. They had air enough for twomonths; they had victuals enoughfor twelve;—but after that?There was only one man who would notadmit that the situation was desperate—he alone had confidence; and thatwas their devoted friend J. T. Maston.

Besides, he never let them get out of sight. His home was henceforth the postat Long’s Peak; his horizon, the mirror of that immense reflector. Assoon as the moon rose above the horizon, he immediately caught her in the fieldof the telescope; he never let her go for an instant out of his sight, andfollowed her assiduously in her course through the stellar spaces. He watchedwith untiring patience the passage of the projectile across her silvery disc,and really the worthy man remained in perpetual communication with his threefriends, whom he did not despair of seeing again some day.

“Those three men,” said he, “have carried into space all theresources of art, science, and industry. With that, one can do anything; andyou will see that, some day, they will come out all right.”

ROUND THE MOON

A SEQUEL TO

FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON

PRELIMINARY CHAPTER
THE FIRST PART OF THIS WORK, AND SERVING AS A PREFACE TO THE SECOND

During the year 186-, the whole world was greatly excited by a scientificexperiment unprecedented in the annals of science. The members of the Gun Club,a circle of artillerymen formed at Baltimore after the American war, conceivedthe idea of putting themselves in communication with the moon!—yes, withthe moon—by sending to her a projectile. Their president, Barbicane, thepromoter of the enterprise, having consulted the astronomers of the CambridgeObservatory upon the subject, took all necessary means to ensure the success ofthis extraordinary enterprise, which had been declared practicable by themajority of competent judges. After setting on foot a public subscription,which realized nearly L1,200,000, they began the gigantic work.

According to the advice forwarded from the members of the Observatory, the gundestined to launch the projectile had to be fixed in a country situated betweenthe 0 and 28th degrees of north or south latitude, in order to aim at the moonwhen at the zenith; and its initiatory velocity was fixed at twelve thousandyards to the second. Launched on the 1st of December, at 10hrs. 46m. 40s. P.M.,it ought to reach the moon four days after its departure, that is on the 5th ofDecember, at midnight precisely, at the moment of her attaining her perigee,that is her nearest distance from the earth, which is exactly 86,410 leagues(French), or 238,833 miles mean distance (English).

The principal members of the Gun Club, President Barbicane, Major Elphinstone,the secretary Joseph T. Maston, and other learned men, held several meetings,at which the shape and composition of the projectile were discussed, also theposition and nature of the gun, and the quality and quantity of powder to beused. It was decided: First, that the projectile should be a shell made ofaluminum with a diameter of 108 inches and a thickness of twelve inches to itswalls; and should weigh 19,250 pounds. Second, that the gun should be aColumbiad cast in iron, 900 feet long, and run perpendicularly into the earth.Third, that the charge should contain 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton, which,giving out six billions of litres of gas in rear of the projectile, wouldeasily carry it toward the orb of night.

These questions determined President Barbicane, assisted by Murchison theengineer, to choose a spot situated in Florida, in 27° 7′ Northlatitude, and 77° 3′ West (Greenwich) longitude. It was on this spot,after stupendous labor, that the Columbiad was cast with full success. Thingsstood thus, when an incident took place which increased the interest attachedto this great enterprise a hundredfold.

A Frenchman, an enthusiastic Parisian, as witty as he was bold, asked to beenclosed in the projectile, in order that he might reach the moon, andreconnoiter this terrestrial satellite. The name of this intrepid adventurerwas Michel Ardan. He landed in America, was received with enthusiasm, heldmeetings, saw himself carried in triumph, reconciled President Barbicane to hismortal enemy, Captain Nicholl, and, as a token of reconciliation, persuadedthem both to start with him in the projectile. The proposition being accepted,the shape of the projectile was slightly altered. It was made of acylindro-conical form. This species of aerial car was lined with strong springsand partitions to deaden the shock of departure. It was provided with food fora year, water for some months, and gas for some days. A self-acting apparatussupplied the three travelers with air to breathe. At the same time, on one ofthe highest points of the Rocky Mountains, the Gun Club had a gigantictelescope erected, in order that they might be able to follow the course of theprojectile through space. All was then ready.

On the 30th of November, at the hour fixed upon, from the midst of anextraordinary crowd of spectators, the departure took place, and for the firsttime, three human beings quitted the terrestrial globe, and launched intointer-planetary space with almost a certainty of reaching their destination.These bold travelers, Michel Ardan, President Barbicane, and Captain Nicholl,ought to make the passage in ninety-seven hours, thirteen minutes, and twentyseconds. Consequently, their arrival on the lunar disc could not take placeuntil the 5th of December at twelve at night, at the exact moment when the moonshould be full, and not on the 4th, as some badly informed journalists hadannounced.

But an unforeseen circumstance, viz., the detonation produced by the Columbiad,had the immediate effect of troubling the terrestrial atmosphere, byaccumulating a large quantity of vapor, a phenomenon which excited universalindignation, for the moon was hidden from the eyes of the watchers for severalnights.

The worthy Joseph T. Maston, the staunchest friend of the three travelers,started for the Rocky Mountains, accompanied by the Hon. J. Belfast, directorof the Cambridge Observatory, and reached the station of Long’s Peak,where the telescope was erected which brought the moon within an apparentdistance of two leagues. The honorable secretary of the Gun Club wished himselfto observe the vehicle of his daring friends.

The accumulation of the clouds in the atmosphere prevented all observation onthe 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th of December. Indeed it was thought thatall observations would have to be put off to the 3d of January in the followingyear; for the moon entering its last quarter on the 11th, would then onlypresent an ever-decreasing portion of her disc, insufficient to allow of theirfollowing the course of the projectile.

At length, to the general satisfaction, a heavy storm cleared the atmosphere onthe night of the 11th and 12th of December, and the moon, with half-illuminateddisc, was plainly to be seen upon the black sky.

That very night a telegram was sent from the station of Long’s Peak byJoseph T. Maston and Belfast to the gentlemen of the Cambridge Observatory,announcing that on the 11th of December at 8h. 47m. P.M., the projectilelaunched by the Columbiad of Stones Hill had been detected by Messrs. Belfastand Maston—that it had deviated from its course from some unknown cause,and had not reached its destination; but that it had passed near enough to beretained by the lunar attraction; that its rectilinear movement had beenchanged to a circular one, and that following an elliptical orbit round thestar of night it had become its satellite. The telegram added that the elementsof this new star had not yet been calculated; and indeed three observationsmade upon a star in three different positions are necessary to determine theseelements. Then it showed that the distance separating the projectile from thelunar surface “might” be reckoned at about 2,833 miles.

It ended with the double hypothesis: either the attraction of the moon woulddraw it to herself, and the travelers thus attain their end; or that theprojectile, held in one immutable orbit, would gravitate around the lunar discto all eternity.

With such alternatives, what would be the fate of the travelers? Certainly theyhad food for some time. But supposing they did succeed in their rashenterprise, how would they return? Could they ever return? Should they hearfrom them? These questions, debated by the most learned pens of the day,strongly engrossed the public attention.

It is advisable here to make a remark which ought to be well considered byhasty observers. When a purely speculative discovery is announced to thepublic, it cannot be done with too much prudence. No one is obliged to discovereither a planet, a comet, or a satellite; and whoever makes a mistake in such acase exposes himself justly to the derision of the mass. Far better is it towait; and that is what the impatient Joseph T. Maston should have done beforesending this telegram forth to the world, which, according to his idea, toldthe whole result of the enterprise. Indeed this telegram contained two sorts oferrors, as was proved eventually. First, errors of observation, concerning thedistance of the projectile from the surface of the moon, for on the 11th ofDecember it was impossible to see it; and what Joseph T. Maston had seen, orthought he saw, could not have been the projectile of the Columbiad. Second,errors of theory on the fate in store for the said projectile; for in making ita satellite of the moon, it was putting it in direct contradiction of allmechanical laws.

One single hypothesis of the observers of Long’s Peak could ever berealized, that which foresaw the case of the travelers (if still alive) unitingtheir efforts with the lunar attraction to attain the surface of the disc.

Now these men, as clever as they were daring, had survived the terrible shockconsequent on their departure, and it is their journey in the projectile carwhich is here related in its most dramatic as well as in its most singulardetails. This recital will destroy many illusions and surmises; but it willgive a true idea of the singular changes in store for such an enterprise; itwill bring out the scientific instincts of Barbicane, the industrious resourcesof Nicholl, and the audacious humor of Michel Ardan. Besides this, it willprove that their worthy friend, Joseph T. Maston, was wasting his time, whileleaning over the gigantic telescope he watched the course of the moon throughthe starry space.

CHAPTER I.
TWENTY MINUTES PAST TEN TO FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES PAST TEN P. M.

As ten o’clock struck, Michel Ardan, Barbicane, and Nicholl, took leaveof the numerous friends they were leaving on the earth. The two dogs, destinedto propagate the canine race on the lunar continents, were already shut up inthe projectile.

The three travelers approached the orifice of the enormous cast-iron tube, anda crane let them down to the conical top of the projectile. There, an openingmade for the purpose gave them access to the aluminum car. The tackle belongingto the crane being hauled from outside, the mouth of the Columbiad wasinstantly disencumbered of its last supports.

Nicholl, once introduced with his companions inside the projectile, began toclose the opening by means of a strong plate, held in position by powerfulscrews. Other plates, closely fitted, covered the lenticular glasses, and thetravelers, hermetically enclosed in their metal prison, were plunged inprofound darkness.

“And now, my dear companions,” said Michel Ardan, “let usmake ourselves at home; I am a domesticated man and strong in housekeeping. Weare bound to make the best of our new lodgings, and make ourselves comfortable.And first let us try and see a little. Gas was not invented for moles.”

So saying, the thoughtless fellow lit a match by striking it on the sole of hisboot; and approached the burner fixed to the receptacle, in which thecarbonized hydrogen, stored at high pressure, sufficed for the lighting andwarming of the projectile for a hundred and forty-four hours, or six days andsix nights. The gas caught fire, and thus lighted the projectile looked like acomfortable room with thickly padded walls, furnished with a circular divan,and a roof rounded in the shape of a dome.

Michel Ardan examined everything, and declared himself satisfied with hisinstallation.

“It is a prison,” said he, “but a traveling prison; and, withthe right of putting my nose to the window, I could well stand a lease of ahundred years. You smile, Barbicane. Have you any arriere-pensee? Doyou say to yourself, ‘This prison may be our tomb?’ Tomb, perhaps;still I would not change it for Mahomet’s, which floats in space butnever advances an inch!”

While Michel Ardan was speaking, Barbicane and Nicholl were making their lastpreparations.

Nicholl’s chronometer marked twenty minutes past ten P.M. when the threetravelers were finally enclosed in their projectile. This chronometer was setwithin the tenth of a second by that of Murchison the engineer. Barbicaneconsulted it.

“My friends,” said he, “it is twenty minutes past ten. Atforty- seven minutes past ten Murchison will launch the electric spark on thewire which communicates with the charge of the Columbiad. At that precisemoment we shall leave our spheroid. Thus we still have twenty-seven minutes toremain on the earth.”

“Twenty-six minutes thirteen seconds,” replied the methodicalNicholl.

“Well!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, in a good-humored tone, “muchmay be done in twenty-six minutes. The gravest questions of morals and politicsmay be discussed, and even solved. Twenty-six minutes well employed are worthmore than twenty-six years in which nothing is done. Some seconds of a Pascalor a Newton are more precious than the whole existence of a crowd of rawsimpletons—”

“And you conclude, then, you everlasting talker?” asked Barbicane.

“I conclude that we have twenty-six minutes left,” replied Ardan.

“Twenty-four only,” said Nicholl.

“Well, twenty-four, if you like, my noble captain,” said Ardan;“twenty-four minutes in which to investigate—”

“Michel,” said Barbicane, “during the passage we shall haveplenty of time to investigate the most difficult questions. For the present wemust occupy ourselves with our departure.”

“Are we not ready?”

“Doubtless; but there are still some precautions to be taken, to deadenas much as possible the first shock.”

“Have we not the water-cushions placed between the partition- breaks,whose elasticity will sufficiently protect us?”

“I hope so, Michel,” replied Barbicane gently, “but I am notsure.”

“Ah, the joker!” exclaimed Michel Ardan. “He hopes!—Heis not sure!—and he waits for the moment when we are encased to make thisdeplorable admission! I beg to be allowed to get out!”

“And how?” asked Barbicane.

“Humph!” said Michel Ardan, “it is not easy; we are in thetrain, and the guard’s whistle will sound before twenty-four minutes areover.”

“Twenty,” said Nicholl.

For some moments the three travelers looked at each other. Then they began toexamine the objects imprisoned with them.

“Everything is in its place,” said Barbicane. “We have now todecide how we can best place ourselves to resist the shock. Position cannot bean indifferent matter; and we must, as much as possible, prevent the rush ofblood to the head.”

“Just so,” said Nicholl.

“Then,” replied Michel Ardan, ready to suit the action to the word,“let us put our heads down and our feet in the air, like the clowns inthe grand circus.”

“No,” said Barbicane, “let us stretch ourselves on our sides;we shall resist the shock better that way. Remember that, when the projectilestarts, it matters little whether we are in it or before it; it amounts to muchthe same thing.”

“If it is only ‘much the same thing,’ I may cheer up,”said Michel Ardan.

“Do you approve of my idea, Nicholl?” asked Barbicane.

“Entirely,” replied the captain. “We’ve still thirteenminutes and a half.”

“That Nicholl is not a man,” exclaimed Michel; “he is achronometer with seconds, an escape, and eight holes.”

But his companions were not listening; they were taking up their last positionswith the most perfect coolness. They were like two methodical travelers in acar, seeking to place themselves as comfortably as possible.

We might well ask ourselves of what materials are the hearts of these Americansmade, to whom the approach of the most frightful danger added no pulsation.

Three thick and solidly-made couches had been placed in the projectile. Nicholland Barbicane placed them in the center of the disc forming the floor. Therethe three travelers were to stretch themselves some moments before theirdeparture.

During this time, Ardan, not being able to keep still, turned in his narrowprison like a wild beast in a cage, chatting with his friends, speaking to thedogs Diana and Satellite, to whom, as may be seen, he had given significantnames.

“Ah, Diana! Ah, Satellite!” he exclaimed, teasing them; “soyou are going to show the moon-dogs the good habits of the dogs of the earth!That will do honor to the canine race! If ever we do come down again, I willbring a cross type of ‘moon-dogs,’ which will make a stir!”

“If there aredogs in the moon,” said Barbicane.

“There are,” said Michel Ardan, “just as there are horses,cows, donkeys, and chickens. I bet that we shall find chickens.”

“A hundred dollars we shall find none!” said Nicholl.

“Done, my captain!” replied Ardan, clasping Nicholl’s hand.“But, by the bye, you have already lost three bets with our president, asthe necessary funds for the enterprise have been found, as the operation ofcasting has been successful, and lastly, as the Columbiad has been loadedwithout accident, six thousand dollars.”

“Yes,” replied Nicholl. “Thirty-seven minutes six secondspast ten.”

“It is understood, captain. Well, before another quarter of an hour youwill have to count nine thousand dollars to the president; four thousandbecause the Columbiad will not burst, and five thousand because the projectilewill rise more than six miles in the air.”

“I have the dollars,” replied Nicholl, slapping the pocket of thiscoat. “I only ask to be allowed to pay.”

“Come, Nicholl. I see that you are a man of method, which I could neverbe; but indeed you have made a series of bets of very little advantage toyourself, allow me to tell you.”

“And why?” asked Nicholl.

“Because, if you gain the first, the Columbiad will have burst, and theprojectile with it; and Barbicane will no longer be there to reimburse yourdollars.”

“My stake is deposited at the bank in Baltimore,” replied Barbicanesimply; “and if Nicholl is not there, it will go to his heirs.”

“Ah, you practical men!” exclaimed Michel Ardan; “I admireyou the more for not being able to understand you.”

“Forty-two minutes past ten!” said Nicholl.

“Only five minutes more!” answered Barbicane.

“Yes, five little minutes!” replied Michel Ardan; “and we areenclosed in a projectile, at the bottom of a gun 900 feet long! And under thisprojectile are rammed 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton, which is equal to 1,600,000pounds of ordinary powder! And friend Murchison, with his chronometer in hand,his eye fixed on the needle, his finger on the electric apparatus, is countingthe seconds preparatory to launching us into interplanetary space.”

“Enough, Michel, enough!” said Barbicane, in a serious voice;“let us prepare. A few instants alone separate us from an eventfulmoment. One clasp of the hand, my friends.”

“Yes,” exclaimed Michel Ardan, more moved than he wished to appear;and the three bold companions were united in a last embrace.

“God preserve us!” said the religious Barbicane.

Michel Ardan and Nicholl stretched themselves on the couches placed in thecenter of the disc.

“Forty-seven minutes past ten!” murmured the captain.

“Twenty seconds more!” Barbicane quickly put out the gas and laydown by his companions, and the profound silence was only broken by the tickingof the chronometer marking the seconds.

Suddenly a dreadful shock was felt, and the projectile, under the force of sixbillions of litres of gas, developed by the combustion of pyroxyle, mountedinto space.

CHAPTER II.
THE FIRST HALF-HOUR

What had happened? What effect had this frightful shock produced? Had theingenuity of the constructors of the projectile obtained any happy result? Hadthe shock been deadened, thanks to the springs, the four plugs, thewater-cushions, and the partition-breaks? Had they been able to subdue thefrightful pressure of the initiatory speed of more than 11,000 yards, which wasenough to traverse Paris or New York in a second? This was evidently thequestion suggested to the thousand spectators of this moving scene. They forgotthe aim of the journey, and thought only of the travelers. And if one ofthem—Joseph T. Maston for example—could have cast one glimpse intothe projectile, what would he have seen?

Nothing then. The darkness was profound. But its cylindro- conical partitionshad resisted wonderfully. Not a rent or a dent anywhere! The wonderfulprojectile was not even heated under the intense deflagration of the powder,nor liquefied, as they seemed to fear, in a shower of aluminum.

The interior showed but little disorder; indeed, only a few objects had beenviolently thrown toward the roof; but the most important seemed not to havesuffered from the shock at all; their fixtures were intact.

On the movable disc, sunk down to the bottom by the smashing of thepartition-breaks and the escape of the water, three bodies lay apparentlylifeless. Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan—did they still breathe? orwas the projectile nothing now but a metal coffin, bearing three corpses intospace?

Some minutes after the departure of the projectile, one of the bodies moved,shook its arms, lifted its head, and finally succeeded in getting on its knees.It was Michel Ardan. He felt himself all over, gave a sonorous“Hem!” and then said:

“Michel Ardan is whole. How about the others?”

The courageous Frenchman tried to rise, but could not stand. His head swam,from the rush of blood; he was blind; he was a drunken man.

“Bur-r!” said he. “It produces the same effect as two bottlesof Corton, though perhaps less agreeable to swallow.” Then, passing hishand several times across his forehead and rubbing his temples, he called in afirm voice:

“Nicholl! Barbicane!”

He waited anxiously. No answer; not even a sigh to show that the hearts of hiscompanions were still beating. He called again. The same silence.

“The devil!” he exclaimed. “They look as if they had fallenfrom a fifth story on their heads. Bah!” he added, with thatimperturbable confidence which nothing could check, “if a Frenchman canget on his knees, two Americans ought to be able to get on their feet. Butfirst let us light up.”

Ardan felt the tide of life return by degrees. His blood became calm, andreturned to its accustomed circulation. Another effort restored hisequilibrium. He succeeded in rising, drew a match from his pocket, andapproaching the burner lighted it. The receiver had not suffered at all. Thegas had not escaped. Besides, the smell would have betrayed it; and in thatcase Michel Ardan could not have carried a lighted match with impunity throughthe space filled with hydrogen. The gas mixing with the air would have produceda detonating mixture, and the explosion would have finished what the shock hadperhaps begun. When the burner was lit, Ardan leaned over the bodies of hiscompanions: they were lying one on the other, an inert mass, Nicholl above,Barbicane underneath.

Ardan lifted the captain, propped him up against the divan, and began to rubvigorously. This means, used with judgment, restored Nicholl, who opened hiseyes, and instantly recovering his presence of mind, seized Ardan’s handand looked around him.

“And Barbicane?” said he.

“Each in turn,” replied Michel Ardan. “I began with you,Nicholl, because you were on the top. Now let us look to Barbicane.”Saying which, Ardan and Nicholl raised the president of the Gun Club and laidhim on the divan. He seemed to have suffered more than either of hiscompanions; he was bleeding, but Nicholl was reassured by finding that thehemorrhage came from a slight wound on the shoulder, a mere graze, which hebound up carefully.

Still, Barbicane was a long time coming to himself, which frightened hisfriends, who did not spare friction.

“He breathes though,” said Nicholl, putting his ear to the chest ofthe wounded man.

“Yes,” replied Ardan, “he breathes like a man who has somenotion of that daily operation. Rub, Nicholl; let us rub harder.” And thetwo improvised practitioners worked so hard and so well that Barbicanerecovered his senses. He opened his eyes, sat up, took his two friends by thehands, and his first words were—

“Nicholl, are we moving?”

Nicholl and Ardan looked at each other; they had not yet troubled themselvesabout the projectile; their first thought had been for the traveler, not forthe car.

“Well, are we really moving?” repeated Michel Ardan.

“Or quietly resting on the soil of Florida?” asked Nicholl.

“Or at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico?” added Michel Ardan.

“What an idea!” exclaimed the president.

And this double hypothesis suggested by his companions had the effect ofrecalling him to his senses. In any case they could not decide on the positionof the projectile. Its apparent immovability, and the want of communicationwith the outside, prevented them from solving the question. Perhaps theprojectile was unwinding its course through space. Perhaps after a short riseit had fallen upon the earth, or even in the Gulf of Mexico—a fall whichthe narrowness of the peninsula of Florida would render not impossible.

The case was serious, the problem interesting, and one that must be solved assoon as possible. Thus, highly excited, Barbicane’s moral energytriumphed over physical weakness, and he rose to his feet. He listened. Outsidewas perfect silence; but the thick padding was enough to intercept all soundscoming from the earth. But one circumstance struck Barbicane, viz., that thetemperature inside the projectile was singularly high. The president drew athermometer from its case and consulted it. The instrument showed 81° Fahr.

“Yes,” he exclaimed, “yes, we are moving! This stifling heat,penetrating through the partitions of the projectile, is produced by itsfriction on the atmospheric strata. It will soon diminish, because we arealready floating in space, and after having nearly stifled, we shall have tosuffer intense cold.

“What!” said Michel Ardan. “According to your showing,Barbicane, we are already beyond the limits of the terrestrialatmosphere?”

“Without a doubt, Michel. Listen to me. It is fifty-five minutes pastten; we have been gone about eight minutes; and if our initiatory speed has notbeen checked by the friction, six seconds would be enough for us to passthrough the forty miles of atmosphere which surrounds the globe.”

“Just so,” replied Nicholl; “but in what proportion do youestimate the diminution of speed by friction?”

“In the proportion of one-third, Nicholl. This diminution isconsiderable, but according to my calculations it is nothing less. If, then, wehad an initiatory speed of 12,000 yards, on leaving the atmosphere this speedwould be reduced to 9,165 yards. In any case we have already passed throughthis interval, and—”

“And then,” said Michel Ardan, “friend Nicholl has lost histwo bets: four thousand dollars because the Columbiad did not burst; fivethousand dollars because the projectile has risen more than six miles. Now,Nicholl, pay up.”

“Let us prove it first,” said the captain, “and we will payafterward. It is quite possible that Barbicane’s reasoning is correct,and that I have lost my nine thousand dollars. But a new hypothesis presentsitself to my mind, and it annuls the wager.”

“What is that?” asked Barbicane quickly.

“The hypothesis that, for some reason or other, fire was never set to thepowder, and we have not started at all.”

“My goodness, captain,” exclaimed Michel Ardan, “thathypothesis is not worthy of my brain! It cannot be a serious one. For have wenot been half annihilated by the shock? Did I not recall you to life? Is notthe president’s shoulder still bleeding from the blow it hasreceived?”

“Granted,” replied Nicholl; “but one question.”

“Well, captain?”

“Did you hear the detonation, which certainly ought to be loud?”

“No,” replied Ardan, much surprised; “certainly I did nothear the detonation.”

“And you, Barbicane?”

“Nor I, either.”

“Very well,” said Nicholl.

“Well now,” murmured the president “why did we not hear thedetonation?”

The three friends looked at each other with a disconcerted air. It was quite aninexplicable phenomenon. The projectile had started, and consequently theremust have been a detonation.

“Let us first find out where we are,” said Barbicane, “andlet down this panel.”

This very simple operation was soon accomplished.

The nuts which held the bolts to the outer plates of the right-hand scuttlegave way under the pressure of the English wrench. These bolts were pushedoutside, and the buffers covered with India-rubber stopped up the holes whichlet them through. Immediately the outer plate fell back upon its hinges like aporthole, and the lenticular glass which closed the scuttle appeared. A similarone was let into the thick partition on the opposite side of the projectile,another in the top of the dome, and finally a fourth in the middle of the base.They could, therefore, make observations in four different directions; thefirmament by the side and most direct windows, the earth or the moon by theupper and under openings in the projectile.

Barbicane and his two companions immediately rushed to the uncovered window.But it was lit by no ray of light. Profound darkness surrounded them, which,however, did not prevent the president from exclaiming:

“No, my friends, we have not fallen back upon the earth; no, nor are wesubmerged in the Gulf of Mexico. Yes! we are mounting into space. See thosestars shining in the night, and that impenetrable darkness heaped up betweenthe earth and us!”

“Hurrah! hurrah!” exclaimed Michel Ardan and Nicholl in one voice.

Indeed, this thick darkness proved that the projectile had left the earth, forthe soil, brilliantly lit by the moon-beams would have been visible to thetravelers, if they had been lying on its surface. This darkness also showedthat the projectile had passed the atmospheric strata, for the diffused lightspread in the air would have been reflected on the metal walls, whichreflection was wanting. This light would have lit the window, and the windowwas dark. Doubt was no longer possible; the travelers had left the earth.

“I have lost,” said Nicholl.

“I congratulate you,” replied Ardan.

“Here are the nine thousand dollars,” said the captain, drawing aroll of paper dollars from his pocket.

“Will you have a receipt for it?” asked Barbicane, taking the sum.

“If you do not mind,” answered Nicholl; “it is morebusiness-like.”

And coolly and seriously, as if he had been at his strong-box, the presidentdrew forth his notebook, tore out a blank leaf, wrote a proper receipt inpencil, dated and signed it with the usual flourish,^[1]and gave it to the captain, who carefully placed it in his pocketbook. MichelArdan, taking off his hat, bowed to his two companions without speaking. Somuch formality under such circumstances left him speechless. He had neverbefore seen anything so “American.”

[1]This is a purely French habit.

This affair settled, Barbicane and Nicholl had returned to the window, and werewatching the constellations. The stars looked like bright points on the blacksky. But from that side they could not see the orb of night, which, travelingfrom east to west, would rise by degrees toward the zenith. Its absence drewthe following remark from Ardan:

“And the moon; will she perchance fail at our rendezvous?”

“Do not alarm yourself,” said Barbicane; “our future globe isat its post, but we cannot see her from this side; let us open theother.”

“As Barbicane was about leaving the window to open the opposite scuttle,his attention was attracted by the approach of a brilliant object. It was anenormous disc, whose colossal dimension could not be estimated. Its face, whichwas turned to the earth, was very bright. One might have thought it a smallmoon reflecting the light of the large one. She advanced with great speed, andseemed to describe an orbit round the earth, which would intersect the passageof the projectile. This body revolved upon its axis, and exhibited thephenomena of all celestial bodies abandoned in space.

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, “What is that? anotherprojectile?”

Barbicane did not answer. The appearance of this enormous body surprised andtroubled him. A collision was possible, and might be attended with deplorableresults; either the projectile would deviate from its path, or a shock,breaking its impetus, might precipitate it to earth; or, lastly, it might beirresistibly drawn away by the powerful asteroid. The president caught at aglance the consequences of these three hypotheses, either of which would, oneway or the other, bring their experiment to an unsuccessful and fataltermination. His companions stood silently looking into space. The object grewrapidly as it approached them, and by an optical illusion the projectile seemedto be throwing itself before it.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, “we shall run into oneanother!”

Instinctively the travelers drew back. Their dread was great, but it did notlast many seconds. The asteroid passed several hundred yards from theprojectile and disappeared, not so much from the rapidity of its course, asthat its face being opposite the moon, it was suddenly merged into the perfectdarkness of space.

“A happy journey to you,” exclaimed Michel Ardan, with a sigh ofrelief. “Surely infinity of space is large enough for a poor littleprojectile to walk through without fear. Now, what is this portentous globewhich nearly struck us?”

“I know,” replied Barbicane.

“Oh, indeed! you know everything.”

“It is,” said Barbicane, “a simple meteorite, but an enormousone, which the attraction of the earth has retained as a satellite.”

“Is it possible!” exclaimed Michel Ardan; “the earth then hastwo moons like Neptune?”

“Yes, my friends, two moons, though it passes generally for having onlyone; but this second moon is so small, and its speed so great, that theinhabitants of the earth cannot see it. It was by noticing disturbances that aFrench astronomer, M. Petit, was able to determine the existence of this secondsatellite and calculate its elements. According to his observations, thismeteorite will accomplish its revolution around the earth in three hours andtwenty minutes, which implies a wonderful rate of speed.”

“Do all astronomers admit the existence of this satellite?” askedNicholl.

“No,” replied Barbicane; “but if, like us, they had met it,they could no longer doubt it. Indeed, I think that this meteorite, which, hadit struck the projectile, would have much embarrassed us, will give us themeans of deciding what our position in space is.”

“How?” said Ardan.

“Because its distance is known, and when we met it, we were exactly fourthousand six hundred and fifty miles from the surface of the terrestrialglobe.”

“More than two thousand French leagues,” exclaimed Michel Ardan.“That beats the express trains of the pitiful globe called theearth.”

“I should think so,” replied Nicholl, consulting his chronometer;“it is eleven o’clock, and it is only thirteen minutes since weleft the American continent.”

“Only thirteen minutes?” said Barbicane.

“Yes,” said Nicholl; “and if our initiatory speed of twelvethousand yards has been kept up, we shall have made about twenty thousand milesin the hour.”

“That is all very well, my friends,” said the president, “butthe insoluble question still remains. Why did we not hear the detonation of theColumbiad?”

For want of an answer the conversation dropped, and Barbicane beganthoughtfully to let down the shutter of the second side. He succeeded; andthrough the uncovered glass the moon filled the projectile with a brilliantlight. Nicholl, as an economical man, put out the gas, now useless, and whosebrilliancy prevented any observation of the inter-planetary space.

The lunar disc shone with wonderful purity. Her rays, no longer filteredthrough the vapory atmosphere of the terrestrial globe, shone through theglass, filling the air in the interior of the projectile with silveryreflections. The black curtain of the firmament in reality heightened themoon’s brilliancy, which in this void of ether unfavorable to diffusiondid not eclipse the neighboring stars. The heavens, thus seen, presented quitea new aspect, and one which the human eye could never dream of. One mayconceive the interest with which these bold men watched the orb of night, thegreat aim of their journey.

In its motion the earth’s satellite was insensibly nearing the zenith,the mathematical point which it ought to attain ninety-six hours later. Hermountains, her plains, every projection was as clearly discernible to theireyes as if they were observing it from some spot upon the earth; but its lightwas developed through space with wonderful intensity. The disc shone like aplatinum mirror. Of the earth flying from under their feet, the travelers hadlost all recollection.

It was captain Nicholl who first recalled their attention to the vanishingglobe.

“Yes,” said Michel Ardan, “do not let us be ungrateful to it.Since we are leaving our country, let our last looks be directed to it. I wishto see the earth once more before it is quite hidden from my eyes.”

To satisfy his companions, Barbicane began to uncover the window at the bottomof the projectile, which would allow them to observe the earth direct. Thedisc, which the force of the projection had beaten down to the base, wasremoved, not without difficulty. Its fragments, placed carefully against awall, might serve again upon occasion. Then a circular gap appeared, nineteeninches in diameter, hollowed out of the lower part of the projectile. A glasscover, six inches thick and strengthened with upper fastenings, closed ittightly. Beneath was fixed an aluminum plate, held in place by bolts. Thescrews being undone, and the bolts let go, the plate fell down, and visiblecommunication was established between the interior and the exterior.

Michel Ardan knelt by the glass. It was cloudy, seemingly opaque.

“Well!” he exclaimed, “and the earth?”

“The earth?” said Barbicane. “There it is.”

“What! that little thread; that silver crescent?”

“Doubtless, Michel. In four days, when the moon will be full, at the verytime we shall reach it, the earth will be new, and will only appear to us as aslender crescent which will soon disappear, and for some days will be envelopedin utter darkness.”

“That the earth?” repeated Michel Ardan, looking with all his eyesat the thin slip of his native planet.

The explanation given by President Barbicane was correct. The earth, withrespect to the projectile, was entering its last phase. It was in its octant,and showed a crescent finely traced on the dark background of the sky. Itslight, rendered bluish by the thick strata of the atmosphere was less intensethan that of the crescent moon, but it was of considerable dimensions, andlooked like an enormous arch stretched across the firmament. Some partsbrilliantly lighted, especially on its concave part, showed the presence ofhigh mountains, often disappearing behind thick spots, which are never seen onthe lunar disc. They were rings of clouds placed concentrically round theterrestrial globe.

While the travelers were trying to pierce the profound darkness, a brilliantcluster of shooting stars burst upon their eyes. Hundreds of meteorites,ignited by the friction of the atmosphere, irradiated the shadow of theluminous train, and lined the cloudy parts of the disc with their fire. At thisperiod the earth was in its perihelion, and the month of December is sopropitious to these shooting stars, that astronomers have counted as many astwenty-four thousand in an hour. But Michel Ardan, disdaining scientificreasonings, preferred thinking that the earth was thus saluting the departureof her three children with her most brilliant fireworks.

Indeed this was all they saw of the globe lost in the solar world, rising andsetting to the great planets like a simple morning or evening star! This globe,where they had left all their affections, was nothing more than a fugitivecrescent!

Long did the three friends look without speaking, though united in heart, whilethe projectile sped onward with an ever-decreasing speed. Then an irresistibledrowsiness crept over their brain. Was it weariness of body and mind? No doubt;for after the over-excitement of those last hours passed upon earth, reactionwas inevitable.

“Well,” said Nicholl, “since we must sleep, let ussleep.”

And stretching themselves on their couches, they were all three soon in aprofound slumber.

But they had not forgotten themselves more than a quarter of an hour, whenBarbicane sat up suddenly, and rousing his companions with a loud voice,exclaimed—

“I have found it!”

“What have you found?” asked Michel Ardan, jumping from his bed.

“The reason why we did not hear the detonation of the Columbiad.”

“And it is—?” said Nicholl.

“Because our projectile traveled faster than the sound!”

CHAPTER III.
THEIR PLACE OF SHELTER

This curious but certainly correct explanation once given, the three friendsreturned to their slumbers. Could they have found a calmer or more peacefulspot to sleep in? On the earth, houses, towns, cottages, and country feel everyshock given to the exterior of the globe. On sea, the vessels rocked by thewaves are still in motion; in the air, the balloon oscillates incessantly onthe fluid strata of divers densities. This projectile alone, floating inperfect space, in the midst of perfect silence, offered perfect repose.

Thus the sleep of our adventurous travelers might have been indefinitelyprolonged, if an unexpected noise had not awakened them at about seveno’clock in the morning of the 2nd of December, eight hours after theirdeparture.

This noise was a very natural barking.

“The dogs! it is the dogs!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, rising at once.

“They are hungry,” said Nicholl.

“By Jove!” replied Michel, “we have forgotten them.”

“Where are they?” asked Barbicane.

They looked and found one of the animals crouched under the divan. Terrifiedand shaken by the initiatory shock, it had remained in the corner till itsvoice returned with the pangs of hunger. It was the amiable Diana, still veryconfused, who crept out of her retreat, though not without much persuasion,Michel Ardan encouraging her with most gracious words.

“Come, Diana,” said he: “come, my girl! thou whose destinywill be marked in the cynegetic annals; thou whom the pagans would have givenas companion to the god Anubis, and Christians as friend to St. Roch; thou whoart rushing into interplanetary space, and wilt perhaps be the Eve of allSelenite dogs! come, Diana, come here.”

Diana, flattered or not, advanced by degrees, uttering plaintive cries.

“Good,” said Barbicane: “I see Eve, but where is Adam?”

“Adam?” replied Michel; “Adam cannot be far off; he is theresomewhere; we must call him. Satellite! here, Satellite!”

But Satellite did not appear. Diana would not leave off howling. They found,however, that she was not bruised, and they gave her a pie, which silenced hercomplaints. As to Satellite, he seemed quite lost. They had to hunt a long timebefore finding him in one of the upper compartments of the projectile, whithersome unaccountable shock must have violently hurled him. The poor beast, muchhurt, was in a piteous state.

“The devil!” said Michel.

They brought the unfortunate dog down with great care. Its skull had beenbroken against the roof, and it seemed unlikely that he could recover from sucha shock. Meanwhile, he was stretched comfortably on a cushion. Once there, heheaved a sigh.

“We will take care of you,” said Michel; “we are responsiblefor your existence. I would rather lose an arm than a paw of my poorSatellite.”

Saying which, he offered some water to the wounded dog, who swallowed it withavidity.

This attention paid, the travelers watched the earth and the moon attentively.The earth was now only discernible by a cloudy disc ending in a crescent,rather more contracted than that of the previous evening; but its expanse wasstill enormous, compared with that of the moon, which was approaching nearerand nearer to a perfect circle.

“By Jove!” said Michel Ardan, “I am really sorry that we didnot start when the earth was full, that is to say, when our globe was inopposition to the sun.”

“Why?” said Nicholl.

“Because we should have seen our continents and seas in a newlight—the first resplendent under the solar rays, the latter cloudy asrepresented on some maps of the world. I should like to have seen those polesof the earth on which the eye of man has never yet rested.”

“I dare say,” replied Barbicane; “but if the earth had beenfull, the moon would have been new; that is to say, invisible,because of the rays of the sun. It is better for us to see the destination wewish to reach, than the point of departure.”

“You are right, Barbicane,” replied Captain Nicholl; “and,besides, when we have reached the moon, we shall have time during the longlunar nights to consider at our leisure the globe on which our likenessesswarm.”

“Our likenesses!” exclaimed Michel Ardan; “They are no moreour likenesses than the Selenites are! We inhabit a new world, peopled byourselves—the projectile! I am Barbicane’s likeness, and Barbicaneis Nicholl’s. Beyond us, around us, human nature is at an end, and we arethe only population of this microcosm until we become pure Selenites.”

“In about eighty-eight hours,” replied the captain.

“Which means to say?” asked Michel Ardan.

“That it is half-past eight,” replied Nicholl.

“Very well,” retorted Michel; “then it is impossible for meto find even the shadow of a reason why we should not go to breakfast.”

Indeed the inhabitants of the new star could not live without eating, and theirstomachs were suffering from the imperious laws of hunger. Michel Ardan, as aFrenchman, was declared chief cook, an important function, which raised norival. The gas gave sufficient heat for the culinary apparatus, and theprovision box furnished the elements of this first feast.

The breakfast began with three bowls of excellent soup, thanks to theliquefaction in hot water of those precious cakes of Liebig, prepared from thebest parts of the ruminants of the Pampas. To the soup succeeded somebeefsteaks, compressed by an hydraulic press, as tender and succulent as ifbrought straight from the kitchen of an English eating-house. Michel, who wasimaginative, maintained that they were even “red.”

Preserved vegetables (“fresher than nature,” said the amiableMichel) succeeded the dish of meat; and was followed by some cups of tea withbread and butter, after the American fashion.

The beverage was declared exquisite, and was due to the infusion of thechoicest leaves, of which the emperor of Russia had given some chests for thebenefit of the travelers.

And lastly, to crown the repast, Ardan had brought out a fine bottle of Nuits,which was found “by chance” in the provision-box. The three friendsdrank to the union of the earth and her satellite.

And, as if he had not already done enough for the generous wine which he haddistilled on the slopes of Burgundy, the sun chose to be part of the party. Atthis moment the projectile emerged from the conical shadow cast by theterrestrial globe, and the rays of the radiant orb struck the lower disc of theprojectile direct occasioned by the angle which the moon’s orbit makeswith that of the earth.

“The sun!” exclaimed Michel Ardan.

“No doubt,” replied Barbicane; “I expected it.”

“But,” said Michel, “the conical shadow which the earthleaves in space extends beyond the moon?”

“Far beyond it, if the atmospheric refraction is not taken intoconsideration,” said Barbicane. “But when the moon is enveloped inthis shadow, it is because the centers of the three stars, the sun, the earth,and the moon, are all in one and the same straight line. Then the nodescoincide with the phasesof the moon, and there is an eclipse. If we hadstarted when there was an eclipse of the moon, all our passage would have beenin the shadow, which would have been a pity.”

“Why?”

“Because, though we are floating in space, our projectile, bathed in thesolar rays, will receive light and heat. It economizes the gas, which is inevery respect a good economy.”

Indeed, under these rays which no atmosphere can temper, either in temperatureor brilliancy, the projectile grew warm and bright, as if it had passedsuddenly from winter to summer. The moon above, the sun beneath, wereinundating it with their fire.

“It is pleasant here,” said Nicholl.

“I should think so,” said Michel Ardan. “With a little earthspread on our aluminum planet we should have green peas in twenty-four hours. Ihave but one fear, which is that the walls of the projectile might melt.”

“Calm yourself, my worthy friend,” replied Barbicane; “theprojectile withstood a very much higher temperature than this as it slidthrough the strata of the atmosphere. I should not be surprised if it did notlook like a meteor on fire to the eyes of the spectators in Florida.”

“But then J. T. Maston will think we are roasted!”

“What astonishes me,” said Barbicane, “is that we have notbeen. That was a danger we had not provided for.”

“I feared it,” said Nicholl simply.

“And you never mentioned it, my sublime captain,” exclaimed MichelArdan, clasping his friend’s hand.

Barbicane now began to settle himself in the projectile as if he was never toleave it. One must remember that this aerial car had a base with asuperficiesof fifty-four square feet. Its height to the roof was twelvefeet. Carefully laid out in the inside, and little encumbered by instrumentsand traveling utensils, which each had their particular place, it left thethree travelers a certain freedom of movement. The thick window inserted in thebottom could bear any amount of weight, and Barbicane and his companions walkedupon it as if it were solid plank; but the sun striking it directly with itsrays lit the interior of the projectile from beneath, thus producing singulareffects of light.

They began by investigating the state of their store of water and provisions,neither of which had suffered, thanks to the care taken to deaden the shock.Their provisions were abundant, and plentiful enough to last the threetravelers for more than a year. Barbicane wished to be cautious, in case theprojectile should land on a part of the moon which was utterly barren. As towater and the reserve of brandy, which consisted of fifty gallons, there wasonly enough for two months; but according to the last observations ofastronomers, the moon had a low, dense, and thick atmosphere, at least in thedeep valleys, and there springs and streams could not fail. Thus, during theirpassage, and for the first year of their settlement on the lunar continent,these adventurous explorers would suffer neither hunger nor thirst.

Now about the air in the projectile. There, too, they were secure. Reiset andRegnaut’s apparatus, intended for the production of oxygen, was suppliedwith chlorate of potassium for two months. They necessarily consumed a certainquantity of gas, for they were obliged to keep the producing substance at atemperature of above 400°. But there again they were all safe. The apparatusonly wanted a little care. But it was not enough to renew the oxygen; they mustabsorb the carbonic acid produced by expiration. During the last twelve hoursthe atmosphere of the projectile had become charged with this deleterious gas.Nicholl discovered the state of the air by observing Diana panting painfully.The carbonic acid, by a phenomenon similar to that produced in the famousGrotto del Cane, had collected at the bottom of the projectile owing to itsweight. Poor Diana, with her head low, would suffer before her masters from thepresence of this gas. But Captain Nicholl hastened to remedy this state ofthings, by placing on the floor several receivers containing caustic potash,which he shook about for a time, and this substance, greedy of carbonic acid,soon completely absorbed it, thus purifying the air.

An inventory of instruments was then begun. The thermometers and barometers hadresisted, all but one minimum thermometer, the glass of which was broken. Anexcellent aneroid was drawn from the wadded box which contained it and hung onthe wall. Of course it was only affected by and marked the pressure of the airinside the projectile, but it also showed the quantity of moisture which itcontained. At that moment its needle oscillated between 25.24 and 25.08.

It was fine weather.

Barbicane had also brought several compasses, which he found intact. One mustunderstand that under present conditions their needles were actingwildly, that is without any constantdirection. Indeed, at thedistance they were from the earth, the magnetic pole could have no perceptibleaction upon the apparatus; but the box placed on the lunar disc might perhapsexhibit some strange phenomena. In any case it would be interesting to seewhether the earth’s satellite submitted like herself to its magneticinfluence.

A hypsometer to measure the height of the lunar mountains, a sextant to takethe height of the sun, glasses which would be useful as they neared the moon,all these instruments were carefully looked over, and pronounced good in spiteof the violent shock.

As to the pickaxes and different tools which were Nicholl’s especialchoice; as to the sacks of different kinds of grain and shrubs which MichelArdan hoped to transplant into Selenite ground, they were stowed away in theupper part of the projectile. There was a sort of granary there, loaded withthings which the extravagant Frenchman had heaped up. What they were no oneknew, and the good-tempered fellow did not explain. Now and then he climbed upby cramp-irons riveted to the walls, but kept the inspection to himself. Hearranged and rearranged, he plunged his hand rapidly into certain mysteriousboxes, singing in one of the falsest of voices an old French refrain to enliventhe situation.

Barbicane observed with some interest that his guns and other arms had not beendamaged. These were important, because, heavily loaded, they were to helplessen the fall of the projectile, when drawn by the lunar attraction (afterhaving passed the point of neutral attraction) on to the moon’s surface;a fall which ought to be six times less rapid than it would have been on theearth’s surface, thanks to the difference of bulk. The inspection endedwith general satisfaction, when each returned to watch space through the sidewindows and the lower glass coverlid.

There was the same view. The whole extent of the celestial sphere swarmed withstars and constellations of wonderful purity, enough to drive an astronomer outof his mind! On one side the sun, like the mouth of a lighted oven, a dazzlingdisc without a halo, standing out on the dark background of the sky! On theother, the moon returning its fire by reflection, and apparently motionless inthe midst of the starry world. Then, a large spot seemingly nailed to thefirmament, bordered by a silvery cord; it was the earth! Here and therenebulous masses like large flakes of starry snow; and from the zenith to thenadir, an immense ring formed by an impalpable dust of stars, the “MilkyWay,” in the midst of which the sun ranks only as a star of the fourthmagnitude. The observers could not take their eyes from this novel spectacle,of which no description could give an adequate idea. What reflections itsuggested! What emotions hitherto unknown awoke in their souls! Barbicanewished to begin the relation of his journey while under its first impressions,and hour after hour took notes of all facts happening in the beginning of theenterprise. He wrote quietly, with his large square writing, in a business-likestyle.

During this time Nicholl, the calculator, looked over the minutes of theirpassage, and worked out figures with unparalleled dexterity. Michel Ardanchatted first with Barbicane, who did not answer him, and then with Nicholl,who did not hear him, with Diana, who understood none of his theories, andlastly with himself, questioning and answering, going and coming, busy with athousand details; at one time bent over the lower glass, at another roosting inthe heights of the projectile, and always singing. In this microcosm herepresented French loquacity and excitability, and we beg you to believe thatthey were well represented. The day, or rather (for the expression is notcorrect) the lapse of twelve hours, which forms a day upon the earth, closedwith a plentiful supper carefully prepared. No accident of any nature had yethappened to shake the travelers’ confidence; so, full of hope, alreadysure of success, they slept peacefully, while the projectile under an uniformlydecreasing speed was crossing the sky.

CHAPTER IV.
A LITTLE ALGEBRA

The night passed without incident. The word “night,” however, isscarcely applicable.

The position of the projectile with regard to the sun did not change.Astronomically, it was daylight on the lower part, and night on the upper; sowhen during this narrative these words are used, they represent the lapse oftime between rising and setting of the sun upon the earth.

The travelers’ sleep was rendered more peaceful by the projectile’sexcessive speed, for it seemed absolutely motionless. Not a motion betrayed itsonward course through space. The rate of progress, however rapid it might be,cannot produce any sensible effect on the human frame when it takes place in avacuum, or when the mass of air circulates with the body which is carried withit. What inhabitant of the earth perceives its speed, which, however, is at therate of 68,000 miles per hour? Motion under such conditions is“felt” no more than repose; and when a body is in repose it willremain so as long as no strange force displaces it; if moving, it will not stopunless an obstacle comes in its way. This indifference to motion or repose iscalled inertia.

Barbicane and his companions might have believed themselves perfectlystationary, being shut up in the projectile; indeed, the effect would have beenthe same if they had been on the outside of it. Had it not been for the moon,which was increasing above them, they might have sworn that they were floatingin complete stagnation.

That morning, the 3rd of December, the travelers were awakened by a joyous butunexpected noise; it was the crowing of a cock which sounded through the car.Michel Ardan, who was the first on his feet, climbed to the top of theprojectile, and shutting a box, the lid of which was partly open, said in a lowvoice, “Will you hold your tongue? That creature will spoil mydesign!”

But Nicholl and Barbicane were awake.

“A cock!” said Nicholl.

“Why no, my friends,” Michel answered quickly; “it was I whowished to awake you by this rural sound.” So saying, he gave vent to asplendid cock-a-doodledoo, which would have done honor to the proudest ofpoultry-yards.

The two Americans could not help laughing.

“Fine talent that,” said Nicholl, looking suspiciously at hiscompanion.

“Yes,” said Michel; “a joke in my country. It is very Gallic;they play the cock so in the best society.”

Then turning the conversation:

“Barbicane, do you know what I have been thinking of all night?”

“No,” answered the president.

“Of our Cambridge friends. You have already remarked that I am anignoramus in mathematical subjects; and it is impossible for me to find out howthe savants of the observatory were able to calculate what initiatory speed theprojectile ought to have on leaving the Columbiad in order to attain themoon.”

“You mean to say,” replied Barbicane, “to attain that neutralpoint where the terrestrial and lunar attractions are equal; for, starting fromthat point, situated about nine-tenths of the distance traveled over, theprojectile would simply fall upon the moon, on account of its weight.”

“So be it,” said Michel; “but, once more; how could theycalculate the initiatory speed?”

“Nothing can be easier,” replied Barbicane.

“And you knew how to make that calculation?” asked Michel Ardan.

“Perfectly. Nicholl and I would have made it, if the observatory had notsaved us the trouble.”

“Very well, old Barbicane,” replied Michel; “they might havecut off my head, beginning at my feet, before they could have made me solvethat problem.”

“Because you do not know algebra,” answered Barbicane quietly.

“Ah, there you are, you eaters of x¹; you think youhave said all when you have said ‘Algebra.’”

“Michel,” said Barbicane, “can you use a forge without ahammer, or a plow without a plowshare?”

“Hardly.”

“Well, algebra is a tool, like the plow or the hammer, and a good tool tothose who know how to use it.”

“Seriously?”

“Quite seriously.”

“And can you use that tool in my presence?”

“If it will interest you.”

“And show me how they calculated the initiatory speed of our car?”

“Yes, my worthy friend; taking into consideration all the elements of theproblem, the distance from the center of the earth to the center of the moon,of the radius of the earth, of its bulk, and of the bulk of the moon, I cantell exactly what ought to be the initiatory speed of the projectile, and thatby a simple formula.”

“Let us see.”

“You shall see it; only I shall not give you the real course drawn by theprojectile between the moon and the earth in considering their motion round thesun. No, I shall consider these two orbs as perfectly motionless, which willanswer all our purpose.”

“And why?”

“Because it will be trying to solve the problem called ‘the problemof the three bodies,’ for which the integral calculus is not yet farenough advanced.”

“Then,” said Michel Ardan, in his sly tone, “mathematics havenot said their last word?”

“Certainly not,” replied Barbicane.

“Well, perhaps the Selenites have carried the integral calculus fartherthan you have; and, by the bye, what is this ‘integralcalculus?’”

“It is a calculation the converse of the differential,” repliedBarbicane seriously.

“Much obliged; it is all very clear, no doubt.”

“And now,” continued Barbicane, “a slip of paper and a bit ofpencil, and before a half-hour is over I will have found the requiredformula.”

Half an hour had not elapsed before Barbicane, raising his head, showed MichelArdan a page covered with algebraical signs, in which the general formula forthe solution was contained.

“Well, and does Nicholl understand what that means?”

“Of course, Michel,” replied the captain. “All these signs,which seem cabalistic to you, form the plainest, the clearest, and the mostlogical language to those who know how to read it.”

“And you pretend, Nicholl,” asked Michel, “that by means ofthese hieroglyphics, more incomprehensible than the Egyptian Ibis, you can findwhat initiatory speed it was necessary to give the projectile?”

“Incontestably,” replied Nicholl; “and even by this sameformula I can always tell you its speed at any point of its transit.”

“On your word?”

“On my word.”

“Then you are as cunning as our president.”

“No, Michel; the difficult part is what Barbicane has done; that is, toget an equation which shall satisfy all the conditions of the problem. Theremainder is only a question of arithmetic, requiring merely the knowledge ofthe four rules.”

“That is something!” replied Michel Ardan, who for his life couldnot do addition right, and who defined the rule as a Chinese puzzle, whichallowed one to obtain all sorts of totals.

“The expression vzero, which you see in that equation, is thespeed which the projectile will have on leaving the atmosphere.”

“Just so,” said Nicholl; “it is from that point that we mustcalculate the velocity, since we know already that the velocity at departurewas exactly one and a half times more than on leaving the atmosphere.”

“I understand no more,” said Michel.

“It is a very simple calculation,” said Barbicane.

“Not as simple as I am,” retorted Michel.

“That means, that when our projectile reached the limits of theterrestrial atmosphere it had already lost one-third of its initiatoryspeed.”

“As much as that?”

“Yes, my friend; merely by friction against the atmospheric strata. Youunderstand that the faster it goes the more resistance it meets with from theair.”

“That I admit,” answered Michel; “and I understand it,although your x’s and zero’s, and algebraic formula, are rattlingin my head like nails in a bag.”

“First effects of algebra,” replied Barbicane; “and now, tofinish, we are going to prove the given number of these different expressions,that is, work out their value.”

“Finish me!” replied Michel.

Barbicane took the paper, and began to make his calculations with greatrapidity. Nicholl looked over and greedily read the work as it proceeded.

“That’s it! that’s it!” at last he cried.

“Is it clear?” asked Barbicane.

“It is written in letters of fire,” said Nicholl.

“Wonderful fellows!” muttered Ardan.

“Do you understand it at last?” asked Barbicane.

“Do I understand it?” cried Ardan; “my head is splitting withit.”

“And now,” said Nicholl, “to find out the speed of theprojectile when it leaves the atmosphere, we have only to calculatethat.”

The captain, as a practical man equal to all difficulties, began to write withfrightful rapidity. Divisions and multiplications grew under his fingers; thefigures were like hail on the white page. Barbicane watched him, while MichelArdan nursed a growing headache with both hands.

“Very well?” asked Barbicane, after some minutes’ silence.

“Well!” replied Nicholl; every calculation made, vzero,that is to say, the speed necessary for the projectile on leaving theatmosphere, to enable it to reach the equal point of attraction, ought tobe—”

“Yes?” said Barbicane.

“Twelve thousand yards.”

“What!” exclaimed Barbicane, starting; “you say—”

“Twelve thousand yards.”

“The devil!” cried the president, making a gesture of despair.

“What is the matter?” asked Michel Ardan, much surprised.

“What is the matter! why, if at this moment our speed had alreadydiminished one-third by friction, the initiatory speed ought to havebeen—”

“Seventeen thousand yards.”

“And the Cambridge Observatory declared that twelve thousand yards wasenough at starting; and our projectile, which only started with thatspeed—”

“Well?” asked Nicholl.

“Well, it will not be enough.”

“Good.”

“We shall not be able to reach the neutral point.”

“The deuce!”

“We shall not even get halfway.”

“In the name of the projectile!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, jumping asif it was already on the point of striking the terrestrial globe.

“And we shall fall back upon the earth!”

CHAPTER V.
THE COLD OF SPACE

This revelation came like a thunderbolt. Who could have expected such an errorin calculation? Barbicane would not believe it. Nicholl revised his figures:they were exact. As to the formula which had determined them, they could notsuspect its truth; it was evident that an initiatory velocity of seventeenthousand yards in the first second was necessary to enable them to reach theneutral point.

The three friends looked at each other silently. There was no thought ofbreakfast. Barbicane, with clenched teeth, knitted brows, and hands claspedconvulsively, was watching through the window. Nicholl had crossed his arms,and was examining his calculations. Michel Ardan was muttering:

“That is just like these scientific men: they never do anything else. Iwould give twenty pistoles if we could fall upon the Cambridge Observatory andcrush it, together with the whole lot of dabblers in figures which itcontains.”

Suddenly a thought struck the captain, which he at once communicated toBarbicane.

“Ah!” said he; “it is seven o’clock in the morning; wehave already been gone thirty-two hours; more than half our passage is over,and we are not falling that I am aware of.”

Barbicane did not answer, but after a rapid glance at the captain, took a pairof compasses wherewith to measure the angular distance of the terrestrialglobe; then from the lower window he took an exact observation, and noticedthat the projectile was apparently stationary. Then rising and wiping hisforehead, on which large drops of perspiration were standing, he put somefigures on paper. Nicholl understood that the president was deducting from theterrestrial diameter the projectile’s distance from the earth. He watchedhim anxiously.

“No,” exclaimed Barbicane, after some moments, “no, we arenot falling! no, we are already more than 50,000 leagues from the earth. Wehave passed the point at which the projectile would have stopped if its speedhad only been 12,000 yards at starting. We are still going up.”

“That is evident,” replied Nicholl; “and we must concludethat our initial speed, under the power of the 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton,must have exceeded the required 12,000 yards. Now I can understand how, afterthirteen minutes only, we met the second satellite, which gravitates round theearth at more than 2,000 leagues’ distance.”

“And this explanation is the more probable,” added Barbicane,“Because, in throwing off the water enclosed between itspartition-breaks, the projectile found itself lightened of a considerableweight.”

“Just so,” said Nicholl.

“Ah, my brave Nicholl, we are saved!”

“Very well then,” said Michel Ardan quietly; “as we are safe,let us have breakfast.”

Nicholl was not mistaken. The initial speed had been, very fortunately, muchabove that estimated by the Cambridge Observatory; but the CambridgeObservatory had nevertheless made a mistake.

The travelers, recovered from this false alarm, breakfasted merrily. If theyate a good deal, they talked more. Their confidence was greater after thanbefore “the incident of the algebra.”

“Why should we not succeed?” said Michel Ardan; “why shouldwe not arrive safely? We are launched; we have no obstacle before us, no stonesin the way; the road is open, more so than that of a ship battling with thesea; more open than that of a balloon battling with the wind; and if a ship canreach its destination, a balloon go where it pleases, why cannot our projectileattain its end and aim?”

“It willattain it,” said Barbicane.

“If only to do honor to the Americans,” added Michel Ardan,“the only people who could bring such an enterprise to a happytermination, and the only one which could produce a President Barbicane. Ah,now we are no longer uneasy, I begin to think, What will become of us? We shallget right royally weary.”

Barbicane and Nicholl made a gesture of denial.

“But I have provided for the contingency, my friends,” repliedMichel; “you have only to speak, and I have chess, draughts, cards, anddominoes at your disposal; nothing is wanting but a billiard-table.”

“What!” exclaimed Barbicane; “you brought away suchtrifles?”

“Certainly,” replied Michel, “and not only to distractourselves, but also with the laudable intention of endowing the Selenitesmoking divans with them.”

“My friend,” said Barbicane, “if the moon is inhabited, itsinhabitants must have appeared some thousands of years before those of theearth, for we cannot doubt that their star is much older than ours. If thenthese Selenites have existed their hundreds of thousands of years, and if theirbrain is of the same organization of the human brain, they have alreadyinvented all that we have invented, and even what we may invent in future ages.They have nothing to learn from us, and we have everything to learnfrom them.”

“What!” said Michel; “you believe that they have artists likePhidias, Michael Angelo, or Raphael?”

“Yes.”

“Poets like Homer, Virgil, Milton, Lamartine, and Hugo?”

“I am sure of it.”

“Philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Kant?”

“I have no doubt of it.”

“Scientific men like Archimedes, Euclid, Pascal, Newton?”

“I could swear it.”

“Comic writers like Arnal, and photographers like—likeNadar?”

“Certain.”

“Then, friend Barbicane, if they are as strong as we are, and evenstronger—these Selenites—why have they not tried to communicatewith the earth? why have they not launched a lunar projectile to ourterrestrial regions?”

“Who told you that they have never done so?” said Barbicaneseriously.

“Indeed,” added Nicholl, “it would be easier for them thanfor us, for two reasons; first, because the attraction on the moon’ssurface is six times less than on that of the earth, which would allow aprojectile to rise more easily; secondly, because it would be enough to sendsuch a projectile only at 8,000 leagues instead of 80,000, which would requirethe force of projection to be ten times less strong.”

“Then,” continued Michel, “I repeat it, why have they notdone it?”

“And I repeat,” said Barbicane; “who told you that they havenot done it?”

“When?”

“Thousands of years before man appeared on earth.”

“And the projectile—where is the projectile? I demand to see theprojectile.”

“My friend,” replied Barbicane, “the sea covers five-sixthsof our globe. From that we may draw five good reasons for supposing that thelunar projectile, if ever launched, is now at the bottom of the Atlantic or thePacific, unless it sped into some crevasse at that period when the crust of theearth was not yet hardened.”

“Old Barbicane,” said Michel, “you have an answer foreverything, and I bow before your wisdom. But there is one hypothesis thatwould suit me better than all the others, which is, the Selenites, being olderthan we, are wiser, and have not invented gunpowder.”

At this moment Diana joined in the conversation by a sonorous barking. She wasasking for her breakfast.

“Ah!” said Michel Ardan, “in our discussion we have forgottenDiana and Satellite.”

Immediately a good-sized pie was given to the dog, which devoured it hungrily.

“Do you see, Barbicane,” said Michel, “we should have made asecond Noah’s ark of this projectile, and borne with us to the moon acouple of every kind of domestic animal.”

“I dare say; but room would have failed us.”

“Oh!” said Michel, “we might have squeezed a little.”

“The fact is,” replied Nicholl, “that cows, bulls, andhorses, and all ruminants, would have been very useful on the lunar continent,but unfortunately the car could neither have been made a stable nor ashed.”

“Well, we might have at least brought a donkey, only a little donkey;that courageous beast which old Silenus loved to mount. I love those olddonkeys; they are the least favored animals in creation; they are not onlybeaten while alive, but even after they are dead.”

“How do you make that out?” asked Barbicane. “Why,”said Michel, “they make their skins into drums.”

Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing at this ridiculous remark. But acry from their merry companion stopped them. The latter was leaning over thespot where Satellite lay. He rose, saying:

“My good Satellite is no longer ill.”

“Ah!” said Nicholl.

“No,” answered Michel, “he is dead! There,” added he,in a piteous tone, “that is embarrassing. I much fear, my poor Diana,that you will leave no progeny in the lunar regions!”

Indeed the unfortunate Satellite had not survived its wound. It was quite dead.Michel Ardan looked at his friends with a rueful countenance.

“One question presents itself,” said Barbicane. “We cannotkeep the dead body of this dog with us for the next forty-eight hours.”

“No! certainly not,” replied Nicholl; “but our scuttles arefixed on hinges; they can be let down. We will open one, and throw the body outinto space.”

The president thought for some moments, and then said:

“Yes, we must do so, but at the same time taking very greatprecautions.”

“Why?” asked Michel.

“For two reasons which you will understand,” answered Barbicane.“The first relates to the air shut up in the projectile, and of which wemust lose as little as possible.”

“But we manufacture the air?”

“Only in part. We make only the oxygen, my worthy Michel; and with regardto that, we must watch that the apparatus does not furnish the oxygen in toogreat a quantity; for an excess would bring us very serious physiologicaltroubles. But if we make the oxygen, we do not make the azote, that mediumwhich the lungs do not absorb, and which ought to remain intact; and that azotewill escape rapidly through the open scuttles.”

“Oh! the time for throwing out poor Satellite?” said Michel.

“Agreed; but we must act quickly.”

“And the second reason?” asked Michel.

“The second reason is that we must not let the outer cold, which isexcessive, penetrate the projectile or we shall be frozen to death.”

“But the sun?”

“The sun warms our projectile, which absorbs its rays; but it does notwarm the vacuum in which we are floating at this moment. Where there is no air,there is no more heat than diffused light; and the same with darkness; it iscold where the sun’s rays do not strike direct. This temperature is onlythe temperature produced by the radiation of the stars; that is to say, whatthe terrestrial globe would undergo if the sun disappeared one day.”

“Which is not to be feared,” replied Nicholl.

“Who knows?” said Michel Ardan. “But, in admitting that thesun does not go out, might it not happen that the earth might move away fromit?”

“There!” said Barbicane, “there is Michel with hisideas.”

“And,” continued Michel, “do we not know that in 1861 theearth passed through the tail of a comet? Or let us suppose a comet whose powerof attraction is greater than that of the sun. The terrestrial orbit will bendtoward the wandering star, and the earth, becoming its satellite, will be drawnsuch a distance that the rays of the sun will have no action on itssurface.”

“That mighthappen, indeed,” replied Barbicane, “butthe consequences of such a displacement need not be so formidable as yousuppose.”

“And why not?”

“Because the heat and cold would be equalized on our globe. It has beencalculated that, had our earth been carried along in its course by the comet of1861, at its perihelion, that is, its nearest approach to the sun, it wouldhave undergone a heat 28,000 times greater than that of summer. But this heat,which is sufficient to evaporate the waters, would have formed a thick ring ofcloud, which would have modified that excessive temperature; hence thecompensation between the cold of the aphelion and the heat of theperihelion.”

“At how many degrees,” asked Nicholl, “is the temperature ofthe planetary spaces estimated?”

“Formerly,” replied Barbicane, “it was greatly exagerated;but now, after the calculations of Fourier, of the French Academy of Science,it is not supposed to exceed 60° Centigrade below zero.”

“Pooh!” said Michel, “that’s nothing!”

“It is very much,” replied Barbicane; “the temperature whichwas observed in the polar regions, at Melville Island and Fort Reliance, thatis 76° Fahrenheit below zero.”

“If I mistake not,” said Nicholl, “M. Pouillet, anothersavant, estimates the temperature of space at 250° Fahrenheit below zero. Weshall, however, be able to verify these calculations for ourselves.”

“Not at present; because the solar rays, beating directly upon ourthermometer, would give, on the contrary, a very high temperature. But, when wearrive in the moon, during its fifteen days of night at either face, we shallhave leisure to make the experiment, for our satellite lies in a vacuum.”

“What do you mean by a vacuum?” asked Michel. “Is itperfectly such?”

“It is absolutely void of air.”

“And is the air replaced by nothing whatever?”

“By the ether only,” replied Barbicane.

“And pray what is the ether?”

“The ether, my friend, is an agglomeration of imponderable atoms, which,relatively to their dimensions, are as far removed from each other as thecelestial bodies are in space. It is these atoms which, by their vibratorymotion, produce both light and heat in the universe.”

They now proceeded to the burial of Satellite. They had merely to drop him intospace, in the same way that sailors drop a body into the sea; but, as PresidentBarbicane suggested, they must act quickly, so as to lose as little as possibleof that air whose elasticity would rapidly have spread it into space. The boltsof the right scuttle, the opening of which measured about twelve inches across,were carefully drawn, while Michel, quite grieved, prepared to launch his doginto space. The glass, raised by a powerful lever, which enabled it to overcomethe pressure of the inside air on the walls of the projectile, turned rapidlyon its hinges, and Satellite was thrown out. Scarcely a particle of air couldhave escaped, and the operation was so successful that later on Barbicane didnot fear to dispose of the rubbish which encumbered the car.

CHAPTER VI.
QUESTION AND ANSWER

On the 4th of December, when the travelers awoke after fifty-four hours’journey, the chronometer marked five o’clock of the terrestrial morning.In time it was just over five hours and forty minutes, half of that assigned totheir sojourn in the projectile; but they had already accomplished nearlyseven-tenths of the way. This peculiarity was due to their regularly decreasingspeed.

Now when they observed the earth through the lower window, it looked likenothing more than a dark spot, drowned in the solar rays. No more crescent, nomore cloudy light! The next day, at midnight, the earth would be new,at the very moment when the moon would be full. Above, the orb of night wasnearing the line followed by the projectile, so as to meet it at the givenhour. All around the black vault was studded with brilliant points, whichseemed to move slowly; but, at the great distance they were from them, theirrelative size did not seem to change. The sun and stars appeared exactly asthey do to us upon earth. As to the moon, she was considerably larger; but thetravelers’ glasses, not very powerful, did not allow them as yet to makeany useful observations upon her surface, or reconnoiter her topographically orgeologically.

Thus the time passed in never-ending conversations all about the moon. Each onebrought forward his own contingent of particular facts; Barbicane and Nichollalways serious, Michel Ardan always enthusiastic. The projectile, itssituation, its direction, incidents which might happen, the precautionsnecessitated by their fall on to the moon, were inexhaustible matters ofconjecture.

As they were breakfasting, a question of Michel’s, relating to theprojectile, provoked rather a curious answer from Barbicane, which is worthrepeating. Michel, supposing it to be roughly stopped, while still under itsformidable initial speed, wished to know what the consequences of the stoppagewould have been.

“But,” said Barbicane, “I do not see how it could have beenstopped.”

“But let us suppose so,” said Michel.

“It is an impossible supposition,” said the practical Barbicane;“unless that impulsive force had failed; but even then its speed woulddiminish by degrees, and it would not have stopped suddenly.”

“Admit that it had struck a body in space.”

“What body?”

“Why that enormous meteor which we met.”

“Then,” said Nicholl, “the projectile would have been brokeninto a thousand pieces, and we with it.”

“More than that,” replied Barbicane; “we should have beenburned to death.”

“Burned?” exclaimed Michel, “by Jove! I am sorry it did nothappen, ‘just to see.’”

“And you would have seen,” replied Barbicane. “It is knownnow that heat is only a modification of motion. When water is warmed—thatis to say, when heat is added to it—its particles are set inmotion.”

“Well,” said Michel, “that is an ingenious theory!”

“And a true one, my worthy friend; for it explains every phenomenon ofcaloric. Heat is but the motion of atoms, a simple oscillation of the particlesof a body. When they apply the brake to a train, the train comes to a stop; butwhat becomes of the motion which it had previously possessed? It is transformedinto heat, and the brake becomes hot. Why do they grease the axles of thewheels? To prevent their heating, because this heat would be generated by themotion which is thus lost by transformation.”

“Yes, I understand,” replied Michel, “perfectly. For example,when I have run a long time, when I am swimming, when I am perspiring in largedrops, why am I obliged to stop? Simply because my motion is changed intoheat.”

Barbicane could not help smiling at Michel’s reply; then, returning tohis theory, said:

“Thus, in case of a shock, it would have been with our projectile as witha ball which falls in a burning state after having struck the metal plate; itis its motion which is turned into heat. Consequently I affirm that, if ourprojectile had struck the meteor, its speed thus suddenly checked would haveraised a heat great enough to turn it into vapor instantaneously.”

“Then,” asked Nicholl, “what would happen if theearth’s motion were to stop suddenly?”

“Her temperature would be raised to such a pitch,” saidBarbicane, “that she would be at once reduced to vapor.”

“Well,” said Michel, “that is a way of ending the earth whichwill greatly simplify things.”

“And if the earth fell upon the sun?” asked Nicholl.

“According to calculation,” replied Barbicane, “the fallwould develop a heat equal to that produced by 16,000 globes of coal, eachequal in bulk to our terrestrial globe.”

“Good additional heat for the sun,” replied Michel Ardan, “ofwhich the inhabitants of Uranus or Neptune would doubtless not complain; theymust be perished with cold on their planets.”

“Thus, my friends,” said Barbicane, “all motion suddenlystopped produces heat. And this theory allows us to infer that the heat of thesolar disc is fed by a hail of meteors falling incessantly on its surface. Theyhave even calculated—”

“Oh, dear!” murmured Michel, “the figures are coming.”

“They have even calculated,” continued the imperturbable Barbicane,“that the shock of each meteor on the sun ought to produce a heat equalto that of 4,000 masses of coal of an equal bulk.”

“And what is the solar heat?” asked Michel.

“It is equal to that produced by the combustion of a stratum of coalsurrounding the sun to a depth of forty-seven miles.”

“And that heat—”

“Would be able to boil two billions nine hundred millions of cubicmyriameters^[2]ofwater.”

[2]The myriameter is equal to rather more than 10,936 cubic yards English.

“And it does not roast us!” exclaimed Michel.

“No,” replied Barbicane, “because the terrestrial atmosphereabsorbs four-tenths of the solar heat; besides, the quantity of heatintercepted by the earth is but a billionth part of the entireradiation.”

“I see that all is for the best,” said Michel, “and that thisatmosphere is a useful invention; for it not only allows us to breathe, but itprevents us from roasting.”

“Yes!” said Nicholl, “unfortunately, it will not be the samein the moon.”

“Bah!” said Michel, always hopeful. “If there areinhabitants, they must breathe. If there are no longer any, they must have leftenough oxygen for three people, if only at the bottom of ravines, where its ownweight will cause it to accumulate, and we will not climb the mountains; thatis all.” And Michel, rising, went to look at the lunar disc, which shonewith intolerable brilliancy.

“By Jove!” said he, “it must be hot up there!”

“Without considering,” replied Nicholl, “that the day lasts360 hours!”

“And to compensate that,” said Barbicane, “the nights havethe same length; and as heat is restored by radiation, their temperature canonly be that of the planetary space.”

“A pretty country, that!” exclaimed Michel. “Never mind! Iwish I was there! Ah! my dear comrades, it will be rather curious to have theearth for our moon, to see it rise on the horizon, to recognize the shape ofits continents, and to say to oneself, ‘There is America, there isEurope;’ then to follow it when it is about to lose itself in thesun’s rays! By the bye, Barbicane, have the Selenites eclipses?”

“Yes, eclipses of the sun,” replied Barbicane, “when thecenters of the three orbs are on a line, the earth being in the middle. Butthey are only partial, during which the earth, cast like a screen upon thesolar disc, allows the greater portion to be seen.”

“And why,” asked Nicholl, “is there no total eclipse? Doesnot the cone of the shadow cast by the earth extend beyond the moon?”

“Yes, if we do not take into consideration the refraction produced by theterrestrial atmosphere. No, if we take that refraction into consideration. Thuslet <lower case delta> be the horizontal parallel, and ptheapparent semidiameter—”

“Oh!” said Michel. “Do speak plainly, you man ofalgebra!”

“Very well, replied Barbicane; “in popular language the meandistance from the moon to the earth being sixty terrestrial radii, the lengthof the cone of the shadow, on account of refraction, is reduced to less thanforty-two radii. The result is that when there are eclipses, the moon findsitself beyond the cone of pure shadow, and that the sun sends her its rays, notonly from its edges, but also from its center.”

“Then,” said Michel, in a merry tone, “why are thereeclipses, when there ought not to be any?”

“Simply because the solar rays are weakened by this refraction, and theatmosphere through which they pass extinguished the greater part ofthem!”

“That reason satisfies me,” replied Michel. “Besides we shallsee when we get there. Now, tell me, Barbicane, do you believe that the moon isan old comet?”

“There’s an idea!”

“Yes,” replied Michel, with an amiable swagger, “I have a fewideas of that sort.”

“But that idea does not spring from Michel,” answered Nicholl.

“Well, then, I am a plagiarist.”

“No doubt about it. According to the ancients, the Arcadians pretend thattheir ancestors inhabited the earth before the moon became her satellite.Starting from this fact, some scientific men have seen in the moon a cometwhose orbit will one day bring it so near to the earth that it will be heldthere by its attraction.”

“Is there any truth in this hypothesis?” asked Michel.

“None whatever,” said Barbicane, “and the proof is, that themoon has preserved no trace of the gaseous envelope which always accompaniescomets.”

“But,” continued Nicholl, “Before becoming the earth’ssatellite, could not the moon, when in her perihelion, pass so near the sun asby evaporation to get rid of all those gaseous substances?”

“It is possible, friend Nicholl, but not probable.”

“Why not?”

“Because—Faith I do not know.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel, “what hundred of volumes we mightmake of all that we do not know!”

“Ah! indeed. What time is it?” asked Barbicane.

“Three o’clock,” answered Nicholl.

“How time goes,” said Michel, “in the conversation ofscientific men such as we are! Certainly, I feel I know too much! I feel that Iam becoming a well!”

Saying which, Michel hoisted himself to the roof of the projectile, “toobserve the moon better,” he pretended. During this time his companionswere watching through the lower glass. Nothing new to note!

When Michel Ardan came down, he went to the side scuttle; and suddenly theyheard an exclamation of surprise!

“What is it?” asked Barbicane.

The president approached the window, and saw a sort of flattened sack floatingsome yards from the projectile. This object seemed as motionless as theprojectile, and was consequently animated with the same ascending movement.

“What is that machine?” continued Michel Ardan. “Is it one ofthe bodies which our projectile keeps within its attraction, and which willaccompany it to the moon?”

“What astonishes me,” said Nicholl, “is that the specificweight of the body, which is certainly less than that of the projectile, allowsit to keep so perfectly on a level with it.”

“Nicholl,” replied Barbicane, after a moment’s reflection,“I do not know what the object it, but I do know why it maintains ourlevel.”

“And why?”

“Because we are floating in space, my dear captain, and in space bodiesfall or move (which is the same thing) with equal speed whatever be theirweight or form; it is the air, which by its resistance creates thesedifferences in weight. When you create a vacuum in a tube, the objects you sendthrough it, grains of dust or grains of lead, fall with the same rapidity. Herein space is the same cause and the same effect.”

“Just so,” said Nicholl, “and everything we throw out of theprojectile will accompany it until it reaches the moon.”

“Ah! fools that we are!” exclaimed Michel.

“Why that expletive?” asked Barbicane.

“Because we might have filled the projectile with useful objects, books,instruments, tools, etc. We could have thrown them all out, and all would havefollowed in our train. But happy thought! Why cannot we walk outside like themeteor? Why cannot we launch into space through the scuttle? What enjoyment itwould be to feel oneself thus suspended in ether, more favored than the birdswho must use their wings to keep themselves up!”

“Granted,” said Barbicane, “but how to breathe?”

“Hang the air, to fail so inopportunely!”

“But if it did not fail, Michel, your density being less than that of theprojectile, you would soon be left behind.”

“Then we must remain in our car?”

“We must!”

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel, in a load voice.

“What is the matter,” asked Nicholl.

“I know, I guess, what this pretended meteor is! It is no asteroid whichis accompanying us! It is not a piece of a planet.”

“What is it then?” asked Barbicane.

“It is our unfortunate dog! It is Diana’s husband!”

Indeed, this deformed, unrecognizable object, reduced to nothing, was the bodyof Satellite, flattened like a bagpipe without wind, and ever mounting,mounting!

CHAPTER VII.
A MOMENT OF INTOXICATION

Thus a phenomenon, curious but explicable, was happening under these strangeconditions.

Every object thrown from the projectile would follow the same course and neverstop until it did. There was a subject for conversation which the whole eveningcould not exhaust.

Besides, the excitement of the three travelers increased as they drew near theend of their journey. They expected unforseen incidents, and new phenomena; andnothing would have astonished them in the frame of mind they then were in.Their overexcited imagination went faster than the projectile, whose speed wasevidently diminishing, though insensibly to themselves. But the moon grewlarger to their eyes, and they fancied if they stretched out their hands theycould seize it.

The next day, the 5th of November, at five in the morning, all three were onfoot. That day was to be the last of their journey, if all calculations weretrue. That very night, at twelve o’clock, in eighteen hours, exactly atthe full moon, they would reach its brilliant disc. The next midnight would seethat journey ended, the most extraordinary of ancient or modern times. Thusfrom the first of the morning, through the scuttles silvered by its rays, theysaluted the orb of night with a confident and joyous hurrah.

The moon was advancing majestically along the starry firmament. A few moredegrees, and she would reach the exact point where her meeting with theprojectile was to take place.

According to his own observations, Barbicane reckoned that they would land onher northern hemisphere, where stretch immense plains, and where mountains arerare. A favorable circumstance if, as they thought, the lunar atmosphere wasstored only in its depths.

“Besides,” observed Michel Ardan, “a plain is easier todisembark upon than a mountain. A Selenite, deposited in Europe on the summitof Mont Blanc, or in Asia on the top of the Himalayas, would not be quite inthe right place.”

“And,” added Captain Nicholl, “on a flat ground, theprojectile will remain motionless when it has once touched; whereas on adeclivity it would roll like an avalanche, and not being squirrels we shouldnot come out safe and sound. So it is all for the best.”

Indeed, the success of the audacious attempt no longer appeared doubtful. ButBarbicane was preoccupied with one thought; but not wishing to make hiscompanions uneasy, he kept silence on this subject.

The direction the projectile was taking toward the moon’s northernhemisphere, showed that her course had been slightly altered. The discharge,mathematically calculated, would carry the projectile to the very center of thelunar disc. If it did not land there, there must have been some deviation. Whathad caused it? Barbicane could neither imagine nor determine the importance ofthe deviation, for there were no points to go by.

He hoped, however, that it would have no other result than that of bringingthem nearer the upper border of the moon, a region more suitable for landing.

Without imparting his uneasiness to his companions, Barbicane contented himselfwith constantly observing the moon, in order to see whether the course of theprojectile would not be altered; for the situation would have been terrible ifit failed in its aim, and being carried beyond the disc should be launched intointerplanetary space. At that moment, the moon, instead of appearing flat likea disc, showed its convexity. If the sun’s rays had struck it obliquely,the shadow thrown would have brought out the high mountains, which would havebeen clearly detached. The eye might have gazed into the crater’s gapingabysses, and followed the capricious fissures which wound through the immenseplains. But all relief was as yet leveled in intense brilliancy. They couldscarcely distinguish those large spots which give the moon the appearance of ahuman face.

“Face, indeed!” said Michel Ardan; “but I am sorry for theamiable sister of Apollo. A very pitted face!”

But the travelers, now so near the end, were incessantly observing this newworld. They imagined themselves walking through its unknown countries, climbingits highest peaks, descending into its lowest depths. Here and there theyfancied they saw vast seas, scarcely kept together under so rarefied anatmosphere, and water-courses emptying the mountain tributaries. Leaning overthe abyss, they hoped to catch some sounds from that orb forever mute in thesolitude of space. That last day left them.

They took down the most trifling details. A vague uneasiness took possession ofthem as they neared the end. This uneasiness would have been doubled had theyfelt how their speed had decreased. It would have seemed to them quiteinsufficient to carry them to the end. It was because the projectile then“weighed” almost nothing. Its weight was ever decreasing, and wouldbe entirely annihilated on that line where the lunar and terrestrialattractions would neutralize each other.

But in spite of his preoccupation, Michel Ardan did not forget to prepare themorning repast with his accustomed punctuality. They ate with a good appetite.Nothing was so excellent as the soup liquefied by the heat of the gas; nothingbetter than the preserved meat. Some glasses of good French wine crowned therepast, causing Michel Ardan to remark that the lunar vines, warmed by thatardent sun, ought to distill even more generous wines; that is, if theyexisted. In any case, the far-seeing Frenchman had taken care not to forget inhis collection some precious cuttings of the Medoc and Cote d’Or, uponwhich he founded his hopes.

Reiset and Regnaut’s apparatus worked with great regularity. Not an atomof carbonic acid resisted the potash; and as to the oxygen, Captain Nichollsaid “it was of the first quality.” The little watery vaporenclosed in the projectile mixing with the air tempered the dryness; and manyapartments in London, Paris, or New York, and many theaters, were certainly notin such a healthy condition.

But that it might act with regularity, the apparatus must be kept in perfectorder; so each morning Michel visited the escape regulators, tried the taps,and regulated the heat of the gas by the pyrometer. Everything had gone well upto that time, and the travelers, imitating the worthy Joseph T. Maston, beganto acquire a degree of embonpoint which would have rendered them unrecognizableif their imprisonment had been prolonged to some months. In a word, theybehaved like chickens in a coop; they were getting fat.

In looking through the scuttle Barbicane saw the specter of the dog, and otherdivers objects which had been thrown from the projectile, obstinately followingthem. Diana howled lugubriously on seeing the remains of Satellite, whichseemed as motionless as if they reposed on solid earth.

“Do you know, my friends,” said Michel Ardan, “that if one ofus had succumbed to the shock consequent on departure, we should have had agreat deal of trouble to bury him? What am I saying? to etherizehim, ashere ether takes the place of earth. You see the accusing body would havefollowed us into space like a remorse.”

“That would have been sad,” said Nicholl.

“Ah!” continued Michel, “what I regret is not being able totake a walk outside. What voluptuousness to float amid this radiant ether, tobathe oneself in it, to wrap oneself in the sun’s pure rays. If Barbicanehad only thought of furnishing us with a diving apparatus and an air-pump, Icould have ventured out and assumed fanciful attitudes of feigned monsters onthe top of the projectile.”

“Well, old Michel,” replied Barbicane, “you would not havemade a feigned monster long, for in spite of your diver’s dress, swollenby the expansion of air within you, you would have burst like a shell, orrather like a balloon which has risen too high. So do not regret it, and do notforget this—as long as we float in space, all sentimental walks beyondthe projectile are forbidden.”

Michel Ardan allowed himself to be convinced to a certain extent. He admittedthat the thing was difficult but not impossible, a word which he never uttered.

The conversation passed from this subject to another, not failing him for aninstant. It seemed to the three friends as though, under present conditions,ideas shot up in their brains as leaves shoot at the first warmth of spring.They felt bewildered. In the middle of the questions and answers which crossedeach other, Nicholl put one question which did not find an immediate solution.

“Ah, indeed!” said he; “it is all very well to go to themoon, but how to get back again?”

His two interlocutors looked surprised. One would have thought that thispossibility now occurred to them for the first time.

“What do you mean by that, Nicholl?” asked Barbicane gravely.

“To ask for means to leave a country,” added Michel, “When wehave not yet arrived there, seems to me rather inopportune.”

“I do not say that, wishing to draw back,” replied Nicholl;“but I repeat my question, and I ask, ‘How shall wereturn?’”

“I know nothing about it,” answered Barbicane.

“And I,” said Michel, “if I had known how to return, I wouldnever have started.”

“There’s an answer!” cried Nicholl.

“I quite approve of Michel’s words,” said Barbicane;“and add, that the question has no real interest. Later, when we think itis advisable to return, we will take counsel together. If the Columbiad is notthere, the projectile will be.”

“That is a step certainly. A ball without a gun!”

“The gun,” replied Barbicane, “can be manufactured. Thepowder can be made. Neither metals, saltpeter, nor coal can fail in the depthsof the moon, and we need only go 8,000 leagues in order to fall upon theterrestrial globe by virtue of the mere laws of weight.”

“Enough,” said Michel with animation. “Let it be no longer aquestion of returning: we have already entertained it too long. As tocommunicating with our former earthly colleagues, that will not bedifficult.”

“And how?”

“By means of meteors launched by lunar volcanoes.”

“Well thought of, Michel,” said Barbicane in a convinced tone ofvoice. “Laplace has calculated that a force five times greater than thatof our gun would suffice to send a meteor from the moon to the earth, and thereis not one volcano which has not a greater power of propulsion thanthat.”

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Michel; “these meteors are handy postmen,and cost nothing. And how we shall be able to laugh at the post-officeadministration! But now I think of it—”

“What do you think of?”

“A capital idea. Why did we not fasten a thread to our projectile, and wecould have exchanged telegrams with the earth?”

“The deuce!” answered Nicholl. “Do you consider the weight ofa thread 250,000 miles long nothing?”

“As nothing. They could have trebled the Columbiad’s charge; theycould have quadrupled or quintupled it!” exclaimed Michel, with whom theverb took a higher intonation each time.

“There is but one little objection to make to your proposition,”replied Barbicane, “which is that, during the rotary motion of the globe,our thread would have wound itself round it like a chain on a capstan, and thatit would inevitably have brought us to the ground.”

“By the thirty-nine stars of the Union!” said Michel, “I havenothing but impracticable ideas to-day; ideas worthy of J. T. Maston. But Ihave a notion that, if we do not return to earth, J. T. Maston will be able tocome to us.”

“Yes, he’ll come,” replied Barbicane; “he is a worthyand a courageous comrade. Besides, what is easier? Is not the Columbiad stillburied in the soil of Florida? Is cotton and nitric acid wanted wherewith tomanufacture the pyroxyle? Will not the moon pass the zenith of Florida? Ineighteen years’ time will she not occupy exactly the same place asto-day?”

“Yes,” continued Michel, “yes, Maston will come, and with himour friends Elphinstone, Blomsberry, all the members of the Gun Club, and theywill be well received. And by and by they will run trains of projectilesbetween the earth and the moon! Hurrah for J. T. Maston!”

It is probable that, if the Hon. J. T. Maston did not hear the hurrahs utteredin his honor, his ears at least tingled. What was he doing then? Doubtless,posted in the Rocky Mountains, at the station of Long’s Peak, he wastrying to find the invisible projectile gravitating in space. If he wasthinking of his dear companions, we must allow that they were not far behindhim; and that, under the influence of a strange excitement, they were devotingto him their best thoughts.

But whence this excitement, which was evidently growing upon the tenants of theprojectile? Their sobriety could not be doubted. This strange irritation of thebrain, must it be attributed to the peculiar circumstances under which theyfound themselves, to their proximity to the orb of night, from which only a fewhours separated them, to some secret influence of the moon acting upon theirnervous system? Their faces were as rosy as if they had been exposed to theroaring flames of an oven; their voices resounded in loud accents; their wordsescaped like a champagne cork driven out by carbonic acid; their gesturesbecame annoying, they wanted so much room to perform them; and, strange to say,they none of them noticed this great tension of the mind.

“Now,” said Nicholl, in a short tone, “now that I do not knowwhether we shall ever return from the moon, I want to know what we are going todo there?”

“What we are going to do there?” replied Barbicane, stamping withhis foot as if he was in a fencing saloon; “I do not know.”

“You do not know!” exclaimed Michel, with a bellow which provoked asonorous echo in the projectile.

“No, I have not even thought about it,” retorted Barbicane, in thesame loud tone.

“Well, I know,” replied Michel.

“Speak, then,” cried Nicholl, who could no longer contain thegrowling of his voice.

“I shall speak if it suits me,” exclaimed Michel, seizing hiscompanions’ arms with violence.

“ It mustsuit you,” said Barbicane, with an eye on fire anda threatening hand. “It was you who drew us into this frightful journey,and we want to know what for.”

“Yes,” said the captain, “now that I do not know whereI am going, I want to know whyI am going.”

“Why?” exclaimed Michel, jumping a yard high, “why? To takepossession of the moon in the name of the United States; to add a fortiethState to the Union; to colonize the lunar regions; to cultivate them, to peoplethem, to transport thither all the prodigies of art, of science, and industry;to civilize the Selenites, unless they are more civilized than we are; and toconstitute them a republic, if they are not already one!”

“And if there are no Selenites?” retorted Nicholl, who, under theinfluence of this unaccountable intoxication, was very contradictory.

“Who said that there were no Selenites?” exclaimed Michel in athreatening tone.

“I do,” howled Nicholl.

“Captain,” said Michel, “do not repeat that insolence, or Iwill knock your teeth down your throat!”

The two adversaries were going to fall upon each other, and the incoherentdiscussion threatened to merge into a fight, when Barbicane intervened with onebound.

“Stop, miserable men,” said he, separating his two companions;“if there are no Selenites, we will do without them.”

“Yes,” exclaimed Michel, who was not particular; “yes, wewill do without them. We have only to make Selenites. Down with theSelenites!”

“The empire of the moon belongs to us,” said Nicholl.

“Let us three constitute the republic.”

“I will be the congress,” cried Michel.

“And I the senate,” retorted Nicholl.

“And Barbicane, the president,” howled Michel.

“Not a president elected by the nation,” replied Barbicane.

“Very well, a president elected by the congress,” cried Michel;“and as I am the congress, you are unanimously elected!”

“Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! for President Barbicane,” exclaimedNicholl.

“Hip! hip! hip!” vociferated Michel Ardan.

Then the president and the senate struck up in a tremendous voice the popularsong “Yankee Doodle,” while from the congress resounded themasculine tones of the “Marseillaise.”

Then they struck up a frantic dance, with maniacal gestures, idiotic stampings,and somersaults like those of the boneless clowns in the circus. Diana, joiningin the dance, and howling in her turn, jumped to the top of the projectile. Anunaccountable flapping of wings was then heard amid most fantastic cock-crows,while five or six hens fluttered like bats against the walls.

Then the three traveling companions, acted upon by some unaccountable influenceabove that of intoxication, inflamed by the air which had set their respiratoryapparatus on fire, fell motionless to the bottom of the projectile.

CHAPTER VIII.
AT SEVENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN LEAGUES

What had happened? Whence the cause of this singular intoxication, theconsequences of which might have been very disastrous? A simple blunder ofMichel’s, which, fortunately, Nicholl was able to correct in time.

After a perfect swoon, which lasted some minutes, the captain, recoveringfirst, soon collected his scattered senses. Although he had breakfasted onlytwo hours before, he felt a gnawing hunger, as if he had not eaten anything forseveral days. Everything about him, stomach and brain, were overexcited to thehighest degree. He got up and demanded from Michel a supplementary repast.Michel, utterly done up, did not answer.

Nicholl then tried to prepare some tea destined to help the absorption of adozen sandwiches. He first tried to get some fire, and struck a match sharply.What was his surprise to see the sulphur shine with so extraordinary abrilliancy as to be almost unbearable to the eye. From the gas-burner which helit rose a flame equal to a jet of electric light.

A revelation dawned on Nicholl’s mind. That intensity of light, thephysiological troubles which had arisen in him, the overexcitement of all hismoral and quarrelsome faculties—he understood all.

“The oxygen!” he exclaimed.

And leaning over the air apparatus, he saw that the tap was allowing thecolorless gas to escape freely, life-giving, but in its pure state producingthe gravest disorders in the system. Michel had blunderingly opened the tap ofthe apparatus to the full.

Nicholl hastened to stop the escape of oxygen with which the atmosphere wassaturated, which would have been the death of the travelers, not bysuffocation, but by combustion. An hour later, the air less charged with itrestored the lungs to their normal condition. By degrees the three friendsrecovered from their intoxication; but they were obliged to sleep themselvessober over their oxygen as a drunkard does over his wine.

When Michel learned his share of the responsibility of this incident, he wasnot much disconcerted. This unexpected drunkenness broke the monotony of thejourney. Many foolish things had been said while under its influence, but alsoquickly forgotten.

“And then,” added the merry Frenchman, “I am not sorry tohave tasted a little of this heady gas. Do you know, my friends, that a curiousestablishment might be founded with rooms of oxygen, where people whose systemis weakened could for a few hours live a more active life. Fancy parties wherethe room was saturated with this heroic fluid, theaters where it should be keptat high pressure; what passion in the souls of the actors and spectators! whatfire, what enthusiasm! And if, instead of an assembly only a whole people couldbe saturated, what activity in its functions, what a supplement to life itwould derive. From an exhausted nation they might make a great and strong one,and I know more than one state in old Europe which ought to put itself underthe regime of oxygen for the sake of its health!”

Michel spoke with so much animation that one might have fancied that the tapwas still too open. But a few words from Barbicane soon shattered hisenthusiasm.

“That is all very well, friend Michel,” said he, “but willyou inform us where these chickens came from which have mixed themselves up inour concert?”

“Those chickens?”

“Yes.”

Indeed, half a dozen chickens and a fine cock were walking about, flappingtheir wings and chattering.

“Ah, the awkward things!” exclaimed Michel. “The oxygen hasmade them revolt.”

“But what do you want to do with these chickens?” asked Barbicane.

“To acclimatize them in the moon, by Jove!”

“Then why did you hide them?”

“A joke, my worthy president, a simple joke, which has proved a miserablefailure. I wanted to set them free on the lunar continent, without sayinganything. Oh, what would have been your amazement on seeing theseearthly-winged animals pecking in your lunar fields!”

“You rascal, you unmitigated rascal,” replied Barbicane, “youdo not want oxygen to mount to the head. You are always what we were under theinfluence of the gas; you are always foolish!”

“Ah, who says that we were not wise then?” replied Michel Ardan.

After this philosophical reflection, the three friends set about restoring theorder of the projectile. Chickens and cock were reinstated in their coop. Butwhile proceeding with this operation, Barbicane and his two companions had amost desired perception of a new phenomenon. From the moment of leaving theearth, their own weight, that of the projectile, and the objects it enclosed,had been subject to an increasing diminution. If they could not prove this lossof the projectile, a moment would arrive when it would be sensibly felt uponthemselves and the utensils and instruments they used.

It is needless to say that a scale would not show this loss; for the weightdestined to weight the object would have lost exactly as much as the objectitself; but a spring steelyard for example, the tension of which wasindependent of the attraction, would have given a just estimate of this loss.

We know that the attraction, otherwise called the weight, is in proportion tothe densities of the bodies, and inversely as the squares of the distances.Hence this effect: If the earth had been alone in space, if the other celestialbodies had been suddenly annihilated, the projectile, according toNewton’s laws, would weigh less as it got farther from the earth, butwithout ever losing its weight entirely, for the terrestrial attraction wouldalways have made itself felt, at whatever distance.

But, in reality, a time must come when the projectile would no longer besubject to the law of weight, after allowing for the other celestial bodieswhose effect could not be set down as zero. Indeed, the projectile’scourse was being traced between the earth and the moon. As it distanced theearth, the terrestrial attraction diminished: but the lunar attraction rose inproportion. There must come a point where these two attractions wouldneutralize each other: the projectile would possess weight no longer. If themoon’s and the earth’s densities had been equal, this point wouldhave been at an equal distance between the two orbs. But taking the differentdensities into consideration, it was easy to reckon that this point would besituated at 47/60ths of the whole journey, i.e., at 78,514 leagues fromthe earth. At this point, a body having no principle of speed or displacementin itself, would remain immovable forever, being attracted equally by bothorbs, and not being drawn more toward one than toward the other.

Now if the projectile’s impulsive force had been correctly calculated, itwould attain this point without speed, having lost all trace of weight, as wellas all the objects within it. What would happen then? Three hypothesespresented themselves.

1. Either it would retain a certain amount of motion, and pass the point ofequal attraction, and fall upon the moon by virtue of the excess of the lunarattraction over the terrestrial.

2. Or, its speed failing, and unable to reach the point of equal attraction, itwould fall upon the moon by virtue of the excess of the lunar attraction overthe terrestrial.

3. Or, lastly, animated with sufficient speed to enable it to reach the neutralpoint, but not sufficient to pass it, it would remain forever suspended in thatspot like the pretended tomb of Mahomet, between the zenith and the nadir.

Such was their situation; and Barbicane clearly explained the consequences tohis traveling companions, which greatly interested them. But how should theyknow when the projectile had reached this neutral point situated at thatdistance, especially when neither themselves, nor the objects enclosed in theprojectile, would be any longer subject to the laws of weight?

Up to this time, the travelers, while admitting that this action was constantlydecreasing, had not yet become sensible to its total absence.

But that day, about eleven o’clock in the morning, Nicholl havingaccidentally let a glass slip from his hand, the glass, instead of falling,remained suspended in the air.

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, “that is rather an amusingpiece of natural philosophy.”

And immediately divers other objects, firearms and bottles, abandoned tothemselves, held themselves up as by enchantment. Diana too, placed in space byMichel, reproduced, but without any trick, the wonderful suspension practicedby Caston and Robert Houdin. Indeed the dog did not seem to know that she wasfloating in air.

The three adventurous companions were surprised and stupefied, despite theirscientific reasonings. They felt themselves being carried into the domain ofwonders! they felt that weight was really wanting to their bodies. If theystretched out their arms, they did not attempt to fall. Their heads shook ontheir shoulders. Their feet no longer clung to the floor of the projectile.They were like drunken men having no stability in themselves.

Fancy has depicted men without reflection, others without shadow. But herereality, by the neutralizations of attractive forces, produced men in whomnothing had any weight, and who weighed nothing themselves.

Suddenly Michel, taking a spring, left the floor and remained suspended in theair, like Murillo’s monk of the Cusine des Anges.

The two friends joined him instantly, and all three formed a miraculous“Ascension” in the center of the projectile.

“Is it to be believed? is it probable? is it possible?” exclaimedMichel; “and yet it is so. Ah! if Raphael had seen us thus, what an‘Assumption’ he would have thrown upon canvas!”

“The ‘Assumption’ cannot last,” replied Barbicane.“If the projectile passes the neutral point, the lunar attraction willdraw us to the moon.”

“Then our feet will be upon the roof,” replied Michel.

“No,” said Barbicane, “because the projectile’s centerof gravity is very low; it will only turn by degrees.”

“Then all our portables will be upset from top to bottom, that is afact.”

“Calm yourself, Michel,” replied Nicholl; “no upset is to befeared; not a thing will move, for the projectile’s evolution will beimperceptible.”

“Just so,” continued Barbicane; “and when it has passed thepoint of equal attraction, its base, being the heavier, will draw itperpendicularly to the moon; but, in order that this phenomenon should takeplace, we must have passed the neutral line.”

“Pass the neutral line,” cried Michel; “then let us do as thesailors do when they cross the equator.”

A slight side movement brought Michel back toward the padded side; thence hetook a bottle and glasses, placed them “in space” before hiscompanions, and, drinking merrily, they saluted the line with a triple hurrah.The influence of these attractions scarcely lasted an hour; the travelers feltthemselves insensibly drawn toward the floor, and Barbicane fancied that theconical end of the projectile was varying a little from its normal directiontoward the moon. By an inverse motion the base was approaching first; the lunarattraction was prevailing over the terrestrial; the fall toward the moon wasbeginning, almost imperceptibly as yet, but by degrees the attractive forcewould become stronger, the fall would be more decided, the projectile, drawn byits base, would turn its cone to the earth, and fall with ever-increasing speedon to the surface of the Selenite continent; their destination would then beattained. Now nothing could prevent the success of their enterprise, andNicholl and Michel Ardan shared Barbicane’s joy.

Then they chatted of all the phenomena which had astonished them one after theother, particularly the neutralization of the laws of weight. Michel Ardan,always enthusiastic, drew conclusions which were purely fanciful.

“Ah, my worthy friends,” he exclaimed, “what progress weshould make if on earth we could throw off some of that weight, some of thatchain which binds us to her; it would be the prisoner set at liberty; no morefatigue of either arms or legs. Or, if it is true that in order to fly on theearth’s surface, to keep oneself suspended in the air merely by the playof the muscles, there requires a strength a hundred and fifty times greaterthan that which we possess, a simple act of volition, a caprice, would bear usinto space, if attraction did not exist.”

“Just so,” said Nicholl, smiling; “if we could succeed insuppressing weight as they suppress pain by anaesthesia, that would change theface of modern society!”

“Yes,” cried Michel, full of his subject, “destroy weight,and no more burdens!”

“Well said,” replied Barbicane; “but if nothing had anyweight, nothing would keep in its place, not even your hat on your head, worthyMichel; nor your house, whose stones only adhere by weight; nor a boat, whosestability on the waves is only caused by weight; not even the ocean, whosewaves would no longer be equalized by terrestrial attraction; and lastly, noteven the atmosphere, whose atoms, being no longer held in their places, woulddisperse in space!”

“That is tiresome,” retorted Michel; “nothing like thesematter-of-fact people for bringing one back to the bare reality.”

“But console yourself, Michel,” continued Barbicane, “for ifno orb exists from whence all laws of weight are banished, you are at leastgoing to visit one where it is much less than on the earth.”

“The moon?”

“Yes, the moon, on whose surface objects weigh six times less than on theearth, a phenomenon easy to prove.”

“And we shall feel it?” asked Michel.

“Evidently, as two hundred pounds will only weigh thirty pounds on thesurface of the moon.”

“And our muscular strength will not diminish?”

“Not at all; instead of jumping one yard high, you will rise eighteenfeet high.”

“But we shall be regular Herculeses in the moon!” exclaimed Michel.

“Yes,” replied Nicholl; “for if the height of the Selenitesis in proportion to the density of their globe, they will be scarcely a foothigh.”

“Lilliputians!” ejaculated Michel; “I shall play the part ofGulliver. We are going to realize the fable of the giants. This is theadvantage of leaving one’s own planet and over-running the solarworld.”

“One moment, Michel,” answered Barbicane; “if you wish toplay the part of Gulliver, only visit the inferior planets, such as Mercury,Venus, or Mars, whose density is a little less than that of the earth; but donot venture into the great planets, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune; for therethe order will be changed, and you will become Lilliputian.”

“And in the sun?”

“In the sun, if its density is thirteen hundred and twenty-four thousandtimes greater, and the attraction is twenty-seven times greater than on thesurface of our globe, keeping everything in proportion, the inhabitants oughtto be at least two hundred feet high.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Michel; “I should be nothing more than apigmy, a shrimp!”

“Gulliver with the giants,” said Nicholl.

“Just so,” replied Barbicane.

“And it would not be quite useless to carry some pieces of artillery todefend oneself.”

“Good,” replied Nicholl; “your projectiles would have noeffect on the sun; they would fall back upon the earth after someminutes.”

“That is a strong remark.”

“It is certain,” replied Barbicane; “the attraction is sogreat on this enormous orb, that an object weighing 70,000 pounds on the earthwould weigh but 1,920 pounds on the surface of the sun. If you were to fallupon it you would weigh—let me see—about 5,000 pounds, a weightwhich you would never be able to raise again.”

“The devil!” said Michel; “one would want a portable crane.However, we will be satisfied with the moon for the present; there at least weshall cut a great figure. We will see about the sun by and by.”

CHAPTER IX.
THE CONSEQUENCES OF A DEVIATION

Barbicane had now no fear of the issue of the journey, at least as far as theprojectile’s impulsive force was concerned; its own speed would carry itbeyond the neutral line; it would certainly not return to earth; it wouldcertainly not remain motionless on the line of attraction. One singlehypothesis remained to be realized, the arrival of the projectile at itsdestination by the action of the lunar attraction.

It was in reality a fall of 8,296 leagues on an orb, it is true, where weightcould only be reckoned at one sixth of terrestrial weight; a formidable fall,nevertheless, and one against which every precaution must be taken withoutdelay.

These precautions were of two sorts, some to deaden the shock when theprojectile should touch the lunar soil, others to delay the fall, andconsequently make it less violent.

To deaden the shock, it was a pity that Barbicane was no longer able to employthe means which had so ably weakened the shock at departure, that is to say, bywater used as springs and the partition breaks.

The partitions still existed, but water failed, for they could not use theirreserve, which was precious, in case during the first days the liquid elementshould be found wanting on lunar soil.

And indeed this reserve would have been quite insufficient for a spring. Thelayer of water stored in the projectile at the time of starting upon theirjourney occupied no less than three feet in depth, and spread over a surface ofnot less than fifty-four square feet. Besides, the cistern did not containone-fifth part of it; they must therefore give up this efficient means ofdeadening the shock of arrival. Happily, Barbicane, not content with employingwater, had furnished the movable disc with strong spring plugs, destined tolessen the shock against the base after the breaking of the horizontalpartitions. These plugs still existed; they had only to readjust them andreplace the movable disc; every piece, easy to handle, as their weight was nowscarcely felt, was quickly mounted.

The different pieces were fitted without trouble, it being only a matter ofbolts and screws; tools were not wanting, and soon the reinstated disc lay onsteel plugs, like a table on its legs. One inconvenience resulted from thereplacing of the disc, the lower window was blocked up; thus it was impossiblefor the travelers to observe the moon from that opening while they were beingprecipitated perpendicularly upon her; but they were obliged to give it up;even by the side openings they could still see vast lunar regions, as anaeronaut sees the earth from his car.

This replacing of the disc was at least an hour’s work. It was pasttwelve when all preparations were finished. Barbicane took fresh observationson the inclination of the projectile, but to his annoyance it had not turnedover sufficiently for its fall; it seemed to take a curve parallel to the lunardisc. The orb of night shone splendidly into space, while opposite, the orb ofday blazed with fire.

Their situation began to make them uneasy.

“Are we reaching our destination?” said Nicholl.

“Let us act as if we were about reaching it,” replied Barbicane.

“You are sceptical,” retorted Michel Ardan. “We shall arrive,and that, too, quicker than we like.”

This answer brought Barbicane back to his preparations, and he occupied himselfwith placing the contrivances intended to break their descent. We may rememberthe scene of the meeting held at Tampa Town, in Florida, when Captain Nichollcame forward as Barbicane’s enemy and Michel Ardan’s adversary. ToCaptain Nicholl’s maintaining that the projectile would smash like glass,Michel replied that he would break their fall by means of rockets properlyplaced.

Thus, powerful fireworks, taking their starting-point from the base andbursting outside, could, by producing a recoil, check to a certain degree theprojectile’s speed. These rockets were to burn in space, it is true; butoxygen would not fail them, for they could supply themselves with it, like thelunar volcanoes, the burning of which has never yet been stopped by the want ofatmosphere round the moon.

Barbicane had accordingly supplied himself with these fireworks, enclosed inlittle steel guns, which could be screwed on to the base of the projectile.Inside, these guns were flush with the bottom; outside, they protruded abouteighteen inches. There were twenty of them. An opening left in the disc allowedthem to light the match with which each was provided. All the effect was feltoutside. The burning mixture had already been rammed into each gun. They had,then, nothing to do but raise the metallic buffers fixed in the base, andreplace them by the guns, which fitted closely in their places.

This new work was finished about three o’clock, and after taking allthese precautions there remained but to wait. But the projectile wasperceptibly nearing the moon, and evidently succumbed to her influence to acertain degree; though its own velocity also drew it in an oblique direction.From these conflicting influences resulted a line which might become a tangent.But it was certain that the projectile would not fall directly on the moon; forits lower part, by reason of its weight, ought to be turned toward her.

Barbicane’s uneasiness increased as he saw his projectile resist theinfluence of gravitation. The Unknown was opening before him, the Unknown ininterplanetary space. The man of science thought he had foreseen the only threehypotheses possible—the return to the earth, the return to the moon, orstagnation on the neutral line; and here a fourth hypothesis, big with all theterrors of the Infinite, surged up inopportunely. To face it without flinching,one must be a resolute savant like Barbicane, a phlegmatic being like Nicholl,or an audacious adventurer like Michel Ardan.

Conversation was started upon this subject. Other men would have considered thequestion from a practical point of view; they would have asked themselveswhither their projectile carriage was carrying them. Not so with these; theysought for the cause which produced this effect.

“So we have become diverted from our route,” said Michel;“but why?”

“I very much fear,” answered Nicholl, “that, in spite of allprecautions taken, the Columbiad was not fairly pointed. An error, howeversmall, would be enough to throw us out of the moon’s attraction.”

“Then they must have aimed badly?” asked Michel.

“I do not think so,” replied Barbicane. “The perpendicularityof the gun was exact, its direction to the zenith of the spot incontestible;and the moon passing to the zenith of the spot, we ought to reach it at thefull. There is another reason, but it escapes me.”

“Are we not arriving too late?” asked Nicholl.

“Too late?” said Barbicane.

“Yes,” continued Nicholl. “The Cambridge Observatory’snote says that the transit ought to be accomplished in ninety-seven hoursthirteen minutes and twenty seconds; which means to say, that soonerthemoon will notbe at the point indicated, and laterit will havepassed it.”

“True,” replied Barbicane. “But we started the 1st ofDecember, at thirteen minutes and twenty-five seconds to eleven at night; andwe ought to arrive on the 5th at midnight, at the exact moment when the moonwould be full; and we are now at the 5th of December. It is now half-past threein the evening; half-past eight ought to see us at the end of our journey. Whydo we not arrive?”

“Might it not be an excess of speed?” answered Nicholl; “forwe know now that its initial velocity was greater than they supposed.”

“No! a hundred times, no!” replied Barbicane. “An excess ofspeed, if the direction of the projectile had been right, would not haveprevented us reaching the moon. No, there has been a deviation. We have beenturned out of our course.”

“By whom? by what?” asked Nicholl.

“I cannot say,” replied Barbicane.

“Very well, then, Barbicane,” said Michel, “do you wish toknow my opinion on the subject of finding out this deviation?”

“Speak.”

“I would not give half a dollar to know it. That we have deviated is afact. Where we are going matters little; we shall soon see. Since we are beingborne along in space we shall end by falling into some center of attraction orother.”

Michel Ardan’s indifference did not content Barbicane. Not that he wasuneasy about the future, but he wanted to know at any cost whyhisprojectile had deviated.

But the projectile continued its course sideways to the moon, and with it themass of things thrown out. Barbicane could even prove, by the elevations whichserved as landmarks upon the moon, which was only two thousand leagues distant,that its speed was becoming uniform—fresh proof that there was no fall.Its impulsive force still prevailed over the lunar attraction, but theprojectile’s course was certainly bringing it nearer to the moon, andthey might hope that at a nearer point the weight, predominating, would cause adecided fall.

The three friends, having nothing better to do, continued their observations;but they could not yet determine the topographical position of the satellite;every relief was leveled under the reflection of the solar rays.

They watched thus through the side windows until eight o’clock at night.The moon had grown so large in their eyes that it filled half of the firmament.The sun on one side, and the orb of night on the other, flooded the projectilewith light.

At that moment Barbicane thought he could estimate the distance which separatedthem from their aim at no more than 700 leagues. The speed of the projectileseemed to him to be more than 200 yards, or about 170 leagues a second. Underthe centripetal force, the base of the projectile tended toward the moon; butthe centrifugal still prevailed; and it was probable that its rectilinealcourse would be changed to a curve of some sort, the nature of which they couldnot at present determine.

Barbicane was still seeking the solution of his insoluble problem. Hours passedwithout any result. The projectile was evidently nearing the moon, but it wasalso evident that it would never reach her. As to the nearest distance at whichit would pass her, that must be the result of two forces, attraction andrepulsion, affecting its motion.

“I ask but one thing,” said Michel; “that we may pass nearenough to penetrate her secrets.”

“Cursed be the thing that has caused our projectile to deviate from itscourse,” cried Nicholl.

And, as if a light had suddenly broken in upon his mind, Barbicane answered,“Then cursed be the meteor which crossed our path.”

“What?” said Michel Ardan.

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Nicholl.

“I mean,” said Barbicane in a decided tone, “I mean that ourdeviation is owing solely to our meeting with this erring body.”

“But it did not even brush us as it passed,” said Michel.

“What does that matter? Its mass, compared to that of our projectile, wasenormous, and its attraction was enough to influence our course.”

“So little?” cried Nicholl.

“Yes, Nicholl; but however little it might be,” replied Barbicane,“in a distance of 84,000 leagues, it wanted no more to make us miss themoon.”

CHAPTER X.
THE OBSERVERS OF THE MOON

Barbicane had evidently hit upon the only plausible reason of this deviation.However slight it might have been, it had sufficed to modify the course of theprojectile. It was a fatality. The bold attempt had miscarried by a fortuitouscircumstance; and unless by some exceptional event, they could now never reachthe moon’s disc.

Would they pass near enough to be able to solve certain physical and geologicalquestions until then insoluble? This was the question, and the only one, whichoccupied the minds of these bold travelers. As to the fate in store forthemselves, they did not even dream of it.

But what would become of them amid these infinite solitudes, these who wouldsoon want air? A few more days, and they would fall stifled in this wanderingprojectile. But some days to these intrepid fellows was a century; and theydevoted all their time to observe that moon which they no longer hoped toreach.

The distance which had then separated the projectile from the satellite wasestimated at about two hundred leagues. Under these conditions, as regards thevisibility of the details of the disc, the travelers were farther from the moonthan are the inhabitants of earth with their powerful telescopes.

Indeed, we know that the instrument mounted by Lord Rosse at Parsonstown, whichmagnifies 6,500 times, brings the moon to within an apparent distance ofsixteen leagues. And more than that, with the powerful one set up atLong’s Peak, the orb of night, magnified 48,000 times, is brought towithin less than two leagues, and objects having a diameter of thirty feet areseen very distinctly. So that, at this distance, the topographical details ofthe moon, observed without glasses, could not be determined with precision. Theeye caught the vast outline of those immense depressions inappropriately called“seas,” but they could not recognize their nature. The prominenceof the mountains disappeared under the splendid irradiation produced by thereflection of the solar rays. The eye, dazzled as if it was leaning over a bathof molten silver, turned from it involuntarily; but the oblong form of the orbwas quite clear. It appeared like a gigantic egg, with the small end turnedtoward the earth. Indeed the moon, liquid and pliable in the first days of itsformation, was originally a perfect sphere; but being soon drawn within theattraction of the earth, it became elongated under the influence ofgravitation. In becoming a satellite, she lost her native purity of form; hercenter of gravity was in advance of the center of her figure; and from thisfact some savants draw the conclusion that the air and water had taken refugeon the opposite surface of the moon, which is never seen from the earth. Thisalteration in the primitive form of the satellite was only perceptible for afew moments. The distance of the projectile from the moon diminished veryrapidly under its speed, though that was much less than its initialvelocity—but eight or nine times greater than that which propels ourexpress trains. The oblique course of the projectile, from its very obliquity,gave Michel Ardan some hopes of striking the lunar disc at some point or other.He could not think that they would never reach it. No! he could not believe it;and this opinion he often repeated. But Barbicane, who was a better judge,always answered him with merciless logic.

“No, Michel, no! We can only reach the moon by a fall, and we are notfalling. The centripetal force keeps us under the moon’s influence, butthe centrifugal force draws us irresistibly away from it.”

This was said in a tone which quenched Michel Ardan’s last hope.

The portion of the moon which the projectile was nearing was the northernhemisphere, that which the selenographic maps place below; for these maps aregenerally drawn after the outline given by the glasses, and we know that theyreverse the objects. Such was the Mappa Selenographicaof Boeer andMoedler which Barbicane consulted. This northern hemisphere presented vastplains, dotted with isolated mountains.

At midnight the moon was full. At that precise moment the travelers should havealighted upon it, if the mischievous meteor had not diverted their course. Theorb was exactly in the condition determined by the Cambridge Observatory. Itwas mathematically at its perigee, and at the zenith of the twenty-eighthparallel. An observer placed at the bottom of the enormous Columbiad, pointedperpendicularly to the horizon, would have framed the moon in the mouth of thegun. A straight line drawn through the axis of the piece would have passedthrough the center of the orb of night. It is needless to say, that during thenight of the 5th-6th of December, the travelers took not an instant’srest. Could they close their eyes when so near this new world? No! All theirfeelings were concentrated in one single thought:—See! Representatives ofthe earth, of humanity, past and present, all centered in them! It is throughtheir eyes that the human race look at these lunar regions, and penetrate thesecrets of their satellite! A strange emotion filled their hearts as they wentfrom one window to the other. Their observations, reproduced by Barbicane, wererigidly determined. To take them, they had glasses; to correct them, maps.

As regards the optical instruments at their disposal, they had excellent marineglasses specially constructed for this journey. They possessed magnifyingpowers of 100. They would thus have brought the moon to within a distance(apparent) of less than 2,000 leagues from the earth. But then, at a distancewhich for three hours in the morning did not exceed sixty-five miles, and in amedium free from all atmospheric disturbances, these instruments could reducethe lunar surface to within less than 1,500 yards!

CHAPTER XI.
FANCY AND REALITY

“Have you ever seen the moon?” asked a professor, ironically, ofone of his pupils.

“No, sir!” replied the pupil, still more ironically, “but Imust say I have heard it spoken of.”

In one sense, the pupil’s witty answer might be given by a large majorityof sublunary beings. How many people have heard speak of the moon who havenever seen it—at least through a glass or a telescope! How many havenever examined the map of their satellite!

In looking at a selenographic map, one peculiarity strikes us. Contrary to thearrangement followed for that of the Earth and Mars, the continents occupy moreparticularly the southern hemisphere of the lunar globe. These continents donot show such decided, clear, and regular boundary lines as South America,Africa, and the Indian peninsula. Their angular, capricious, and deeplyindented coasts are rich in gulfs and peninsulas. They remind one of theconfusion in the islands of the Sound, where the land is excessively indented.If navigation ever existed on the surface of the moon, it must have beenwonderfully difficult and dangerous; and we may well pity the Selenite sailorsand hydrographers; the former, when they came upon these perilous coasts, thelatter when they took the soundings of its stormy banks.

We may also notice that, on the lunar sphere, the south pole is much morecontinental than the north pole. On the latter, there is but one slight stripof land separated from other continents by vast seas. Toward the south,continents clothe almost the whole of the hemisphere. It is even possible thatthe Selenites have already planted the flag on one of their poles, whileFranklin, Ross, Kane, Dumont, d’Urville, and Lambert have never yet beenable to attain that unknown point of the terrestrial globe.

As to islands, they are numerous on the surface of the moon. Nearly all oblongor circular, and as if traced with the compass, they seem to form one vastarchipelago, equal to that charming group lying between Greece and Asia Minor,and which mythology in ancient times adorned with most graceful legends.Involuntarily the names of Naxos, Tenedos, and Carpathos, rise before the mind,and we seek vainly for Ulysses’ vessel or the “clipper” ofthe Argonauts. So at least it was in Michel Ardan’s eyes. To him it was aGrecian archipelago that he saw on the map. To the eyes of his matter-of-factcompanions, the aspect of these coasts recalled rather the parceled-out land ofNew Brunswick and Nova Scotia, and where the Frenchman discovered traces of theheroes of fable, these Americans were marking the most favorable points for theestablishment of stores in the interests of lunar commerce and industry.

After wandering over these vast continents, the eye is attracted by the stillgreater seas. Not only their formation, but their situation and aspect remindone of the terrestrial oceans; but again, as on earth, these seas occupy thegreater portion of the globe. But in point of fact, these are not liquidspaces, but plains, the nature of which the travelers hoped soon to determine.Astronomers, we must allow, have graced these pretended seas with at least oddnames, which science has respected up to the present time. Michel Ardan wasright when he compared this map to a “Tendre card,” got up by aScudary or a Cyrano de Bergerac. “Only,” said he, “it is nolonger the sentimental card of the seventeenth century, it is the card of life,very neatly divided into two parts, one feminine, the other masculine; theright hemisphere for woman, the left for man.”

In speaking thus, Michel made his prosaic companions shrug their shoulders.Barbicane and Nicholl looked upon the lunar map from a very different point ofview to that of their fantastic friend. Nevertheless, their fantastic friendwas a little in the right. Judge for yourselves.

In the left hemisphere stretches the “Sea of Clouds,” where humanreason is so often shipwrecked. Not far off lies the “Sea ofRains,” fed by all the fever of existence. Near this is the “Sea ofStorms,” where man is ever fighting against his passions, which too oftengain the victory. Then, worn out by deceit, treasons, infidelity, and the wholebody of terrestrial misery, what does he find at the end of his career? thatvast “Sea of Humors,” barely softened by some drops of the watersfrom the “Gulf of Dew!” Clouds, rain, storms, and humors—doesthe life of man contain aught but these? and is it not summed up in these fourwords?

The right hemisphere, “dedicated to the ladies,” encloses smallerseas, whose significant names contain every incident of a feminine existence.There is the “Sea of Serenity,” over which the young girl bends;“The Lake of Dreams,” reflecting a joyous future; “The Sea ofNectar,” with its waves of tenderness and breezes of love; “The Seaof Fruitfulness;” “The Sea of Crises;” then the “Sea ofVapors,” whose dimensions are perhaps a little too confined; and lastly,that vast “Sea of Tranquillity,” in which every false passion,every useless dream, every unsatisfied desire is at length absorbed, and whosewaves emerge peacefully into the “Lake of Death!”

What a strange succession of names! What a singular division of themoon’s two hemispheres, joined to one another like man and woman, andforming that sphere of life carried into space! And was not the fantasticMichel right in thus interpreting the fancies of the ancient astronomers? Butwhile his imagination thus roved over “the seas,” his gravecompanions were considering things more geographically. They were learning thisnew world by heart. They were measuring angles and diameters.

CHAPTER XII.
OROGRAPHIC DETAILS

The course taken by the projectile, as we have before remarked, was bearing ittoward the moon’s northern hemisphere. The travelers were far from thecentral point which they would have struck, had their course not been subjectto an irremediable deviation. It was past midnight; and Barbicane thenestimated the distance at seven hundred and fifty miles, which was a littlegreater than the length of the lunar radius, and which would diminish as itadvanced nearer to the North Pole. The projectile was then not at the altitudeof the equator; but across the tenth parallel, and from that latitude,carefully taken on the map to the pole, Barbicane and his two companions wereable to observe the moon under the most favorable conditions. Indeed, by meansof glasses, the above-named distance was reduced to little more than fourteenmiles. The telescope of the Rocky Mountains brought the moon much nearer; butthe terrestrial atmosphere singularly lessened its power. Thus Barbicane,posted in his projectile, with the glasses to his eyes, could seize upondetails which were almost imperceptible to earthly observers.

“My friends,” said the president, in a serious voice, “I donot know whither we are going; I do not know if we shall ever see theterrestrial globe again. Nevertheless, let us proceed as if our work would oneday by useful to our fellow-men. Let us keep our minds free from every otherconsideration. We are astronomers; and this projectile is a room in theCambridge University, carried into space. Let us make our observations!”

This said, work was begun with great exactness; and they faithfully reproducedthe different aspects of the moon, at the different distances which theprojectile reached.

At the time that the projectile was as high as the tenth parallel, northlatitude, it seemed rigidly to follow the twentieth degree, east longitude. Wemust here make one important remark with regard to the map by which they weretaking observations. In the selenographical maps where, on account of thereversing of the objects by the glasses, the south is above and the northbelow, it would seem natural that, on account of that inversion, the eastshould be to the left hand, and the west to the right. But it is not so. If themap were turned upside down, showing the moon as we see her, the east would beto the left, and the west to the right, contrary to that which exists onterrestrial maps. The following is the reason of this anomaly. Observers in thenorthern hemisphere (say in Europe) see the moon in the south—accordingto them. When they take observations, they turn their backs to the north, thereverse position to that which they occupy when they study a terrestrial map.As they turn their backs to the north, the east is on their left, and the westto their right. To observers in the southern hemisphere (Patagonia forexample), the moon’s west would be quite to their left, and the east totheir right, as the south is behind them. Such is the reason of the apparentreversing of these two cardinal points, and we must bear it in mind in order tobe able to follow President Barbicane’s observations.

With the help of Boeer and Moedler’s Mappa Selenographica, thetravelers were able at once to recognize that portion of the disc enclosedwithin the field of their glasses.

“What are we looking at, at this moment?” asked Michel.

“At the northern part of the ‘Sea of Clouds,’” answeredBarbicane. “We are too far off to recognize its nature. Are these plainscomposed of arid sand, as the first astronomer maintained? Or are they nothingbut immense forests, according to M. Warren de la Rue’s opinion, whogives the moon an atmosphere, though a very low and a very dense one? That weshall know by and by. We must affirm nothing until we are in a position to doso.”

This “Sea of Clouds” is rather doubtfully marked out upon the maps.It is supposed that these vast plains are strewn with blocks of lava from theneighboring volcanoes on its right, Ptolemy, Purbach, Arzachel. But theprojectile was advancing, and sensibly nearing it. Soon there appeared theheights which bound this sea at this northern limit. Before them rose amountain radiant with beauty, the top of which seemed lost in an eruption ofsolar rays.

“That is—?” asked Michel.

“Copernicus,” replied Barbicane.

“Let us see Copernicus.”

This mount, situated in 9° north latitude and 20° east longitude, rose to aheight of 10,600 feet above the surface of the moon. It is quite visible fromthe earth; and astronomers can study it with ease, particularly during thephase between the last quarter and the new moon, because then the shadows arethrown lengthways from east to west, allowing them to measure the heights.

This Copernicus forms the most important of the radiating system, situated inthe southern hemisphere, according to Tycho Brahé. It rises isolated like agigantic lighthouse on that portion of the “Sea of Clouds,” whichis bounded by the “Sea of Tempests,” thus lighting by its splendidrays two oceans at a time. It was a sight without an equal, those long luminoustrains, so dazzling in the full moon, and which, passing the boundary chain onthe north, extends to the “Sea of Rains.” At one o’clock ofthe terrestrial morning, the projectile, like a balloon borne into space,overlooked the top of this superb mount. Barbicane could recognize perfectlyits chief features. Copernicus is comprised in the series of ringed mountainsof the first order, in the division of great circles. Like Kepler andAristarchus, which overlook the “Ocean of Tempests,” sometimes itappeared like a brilliant point through the cloudy light, and was taken for avolcano in activity. But it is only an extinct one—like all on that sideof the moon. Its circumference showed a diameter of about twenty-two leagues.The glasses discovered traces of stratification produced by successiveeruptions, and the neighborhood was strewn with volcanic remains which stillchoked some of the craters.

“There exist,” said Barbicane, “several kinds of circles onthe surface of the moon, and it is easy to see that Copernicus belongs to theradiating class. If we were nearer, we should see the cones bristling on theinside, which in former times were so many fiery mouths. A curious arrangement,and one without an exception on the lunar disc, is that the interior surface ofthese circles is the reverse of the exterior, and contrary to the form taken byterrestrial craters. It follows, then, that the general curve of the bottom ofthese circles gives a sphere of a smaller diameter than that of themoon.”

“And why this peculiar disposition?” asked Nicholl.

“We do not know,” replied Barbicane.

“What splendid radiation!” said Michel. “One could hardly seea finer spectacle, I think.”

“What would you say, then,” replied Barbicane, “if chanceshould bear us toward the southern hemisphere?”

“Well, I should say that it was still more beautiful,” retortedMichel Ardan.

At this moment the projectile hung perpendicularly over the circle. Thecircumference of Copernicus formed almost a perfect circle, and its steepescarpments were clearly defined. They could even distinguish a second ringedenclosure. Around spread a grayish plain, of a wild aspect, on which everyrelief was marked in yellow. At the bottom of the circle, as if enclosed in ajewel case, sparkled for one instant two or three eruptive cones, like enormousdazzling gems. Toward the north the escarpments were lowered by a depressionwhich would probably have given access to the interior of the crater.

In passing over the surrounding plains, Barbicane noticed a great number ofless important mountains; and among others a little ringed one called GuyLussac, the breadth of which measured twelve miles.

Toward the south, the plain was very flat, without one elevation, without oneprojection. Toward the north, on the contrary, till where it was bounded by the“Sea of Storms,” it resembled a liquid surface agitated by a storm,of which the hills and hollows formed a succession of waves suddenly congealed.Over the whole of this, and in all directions, lay the luminous lines, allconverging to the summit of Copernicus.

The travelers discussed the origin of these strange rays; but they could notdetermine their nature any more than terrestrial observers.

“But why,” said Nicholl, “should not these rays be simplyspurs of mountains which reflect more vividly the light of the sun?”

“No,” replied Barbicane; “if it was so, under certainconditions of the moon, these ridges would cast shadows, and they do not castany.”

And indeed, these rays only appeared when the orb of day was in opposition tothe moon, and disappeared as soon as its rays became oblique.

“But how have they endeavored to explain these lines of light?”asked Michel; “for I cannot believe that savants would ever be strandedfor want of an explanation.”

“Yes,” replied Barbicane; “Herschel has put forward anopinion, but he did not venture to affirm it.”

“Never mind. What was the opinion?”

“He thought that these rays might be streams of cooled lava which shonewhen the sun beat straight upon them. It may be so; but nothing can be lesscertain. Besides, if we pass nearer to Tycho, we shall be in a better positionto find out the cause of this radiation.”

“Do you know, my friends, what that plain, seen from the height we areat, resembles?” said Michel.

“No,” replied Nicholl.

“Very well; with all those pieces of lava lengthened like rockets, itresembles an immense game of spelikans thrown pellmell. There wants but thehook to pull them out one by one.”

“Do be serious,” said Barbicane.

“Well, let us be serious,” replied Michel quietly; “andinstead of spelikans, let us put bones. This plain, would then be nothing butan immense cemetery, on which would repose the mortal remains of thousands ofextinct generations. Do you prefer that high-flown comparison?”

“One is as good as the other,” retorted Barbicane.

“My word, you are difficult to please,” answered Michel.

“My worthy friend,” continued the matter-of-fact Barbicane,“it matters but little what it resembles, when we do not knowwhat it is.”

“Well answered,” exclaimed Michel. “That will teach me toreason with savants.”

But the projectile continued to advance with almost uniform speed around thelunar disc. The travelers, we may easily imagine, did not dream of taking amoment’s rest. Every minute changed the landscape which fled from beneaththeir gaze. About half past one o’clock in the morning, they caught aglimpse of the tops of another mountain. Barbicane, consulting his map,recognized Eratosthenes.

It was a ringed mountain nine thousand feet high, and one of those circles sonumerous on this satellite. With regard to this, Barbicane relatedKepler’s singular opinion on the formation of circles. According to thatcelebrated mathematician, these crater-like cavities had been dug by the handof man.

“For what purpose?” asked Nicholl.

“For a very natural one,” replied Barbicane. “The Selenitesmight have undertaken these immense works and dug these enormous holes for arefuge and shield from the solar rays which beat upon them during fifteenconsecutive days.”

“The Selenites are not fools,” said Michel.

“A singular idea,” replied Nicholl; “but it is probable thatKepler did not know the true dimensions of these circles, for the digging ofthem would have been the work of giants quite impossible for theSelenites.”

“Why? if weight on the moon’s surface is six times less than on theearth?” said Michel.

“But if the Selenites are six times smaller?” retorted Nicholl.

“And if there are noSelenites?” added Barbicane.

This put an end to the discussion.

Soon Eratosthenes disappeared under the horizon without the projectile beingsufficiently near to allow close observation. This mountain separated theApennines from the Carpathians. In the lunar orography they have discerned somechains of mountains, which are chiefly distributed over the northernhemisphere. Some, however, occupy certain portions of the southern hemispherealso.

About two o’clock in the morning Barbicane found that they were above thetwentieth lunar parallel. The distance of the projectile from the moon was notmore than six hundred miles. Barbicane, now perceiving that the projectile wassteadily approaching the lunar disc, did not despair; if not of reaching her,at least of discovering the secrets of her configuration.

CHAPTER XIII.
LUNAR LANDSCAPES

At half-past two in the morning, the projectile was over the thirteenth lunarparallel and at the effective distance of five hundred miles, reduced by theglasses to five. It still seemed impossible, however, that it could ever touchany part of the disc. Its motive speed, comparatively so moderate, wasinexplicable to President Barbicane. At that distance from the moon it musthave been considerable, to enable it to bear up against her attraction. Herewas a phenomenon the cause of which escaped them again. Besides, time failedthem to investigate the cause. All lunar relief was defiling under the eyes ofthe travelers, and they would not lose a single detail.

Under the glasses the disc appeared at the distance of five miles. What wouldan aeronaut, borne to this distance from the earth, distinguish on its surface?We cannot say, since the greatest ascension has not been more than 25,000 feet.

This, however, is an exact description of what Barbicane and his companions sawat this height. Large patches of different colors appeared on the disc.Selenographers are not agreed upon the nature of these colors. There areseveral, and rather vividly marked. Julius Schmidt pretends that, if theterrestrial oceans were dried up, a Selenite observer could not distinguish onthe globe a greater diversity of shades between the oceans and the continentalplains than those on the moon present to a terrestrial observer. According tohim, the color common to the vast plains known by the name of“seas” is a dark gray mixed with green and brown. Some of the largecraters present the same appearance. Barbicane knew this opinion of the Germanselenographer, an opinion shared by Boeer and Moedler. Observation has provedthat right was on their side, and not on that of some astronomers who admit theexistence of only gray on the moon’s surface. In some parts green wasvery distinct, such as springs, according to Julius Schmidt, from the seas of“Serenity and Humors.” Barbicane also noticed large craters,without any interior cones, which shed a bluish tint similar to the reflectionof a sheet of steel freshly polished. These colors belonged really to the lunardisc, and did not result, as some astronomers say, either from the imperfectionin the objective of the glasses or from the interposition of the terrestrialatmosphere.

Not a doubt existed in Barbicane’s mind with regard to it, as he observedit through space, and so could not commit any optical error. He considered theestablishment of this fact as an acquisition to science. Now, were these shadesof green, belonging to tropical vegetation, kept up by a low dense atmosphere?He could not yet say.

Farther on, he noticed a reddish tint, quite defined. The same shade had beforebeen observed at the bottom of an isolated enclosure, known by the name ofLichtenburg’s circle, which is situated near the Hercynian mountains, onthe borders of the moon; but they could not tell the nature of it.

They were not more fortunate with regard to another peculiarity of the disc,for they could not decide upon the cause of it.

Michel Ardan was watching near the president, when he noticed long white lines,vividly lighted up by the direct rays of the sun. It was a succession ofluminous furrows, very different from the radiation of Copernicus not longbefore; they ran parallel with each other.

Michel, with his usual readiness, hastened to exclaim:

“Look there! cultivated fields!”

“Cultivated fields!” replied Nicholl, shrugging his shoulders.

“Plowed, at all events,” retorted Michel Ardan; “but whatlaborers those Selenites must be, and what giant oxen they must harness totheir plow to cut such furrows!”

“They are not furrows,” said Barbicane; “they arerifts.”

“Rifts? stuff!” replied Michel mildly; “but what do you meanby ‘rifts’ in the scientific world?”

Barbicane immediately enlightened his companion as to what he knew about lunarrifts. He knew that they were a kind of furrow found on every part of the discwhich was not mountainous; that these furrows, generally isolated, measuredfrom 400 to 500 leagues in length; that their breadth varied from 1,000 to1,500 yards, and that their borders were strictly parallel; but he knew nothingmore either of their formation or their nature.

Barbicane, through his glasses, observed these rifts with great attention. Henoticed that their borders were formed of steep declivities; they were longparallel ramparts, and with some small amount of imagination he might haveadmitted the existence of long lines of fortifications, raised by Seleniteengineers. Of these different rifts some were perfectly straight, as if cut bya line; others were slightly curved, though still keeping their bordersparallel; some crossed each other, some cut through craters; here they woundthrough ordinary cavities, such as Posidonius or Petavius; there they woundthrough the seas, such as the “Sea of Serenity.”

These natural accidents naturally excited the imaginations of these terrestrialastronomers. The first observations had not discovered these rifts. NeitherHévelius, Cassin, La Hire, nor Herschel seemed to have known them. It wasSchroeter who in 1789 first drew attention to them. Others followed who studiedthem, as Pastorff, Gruithuysen, Boeer, and Moedler. At this time their numberamounts to seventy; but, if they have been counted, their nature has not yetbeen determined; they are certainly notfortifications, any more thanthey are the ancient beds of dried-up rivers; for, on one side, the waters, soslight on the moon’s surface, could never have worn such drains forthemselves; and, on the other, they often cross craters of great elevation.

We must, however, allow that Michel Ardan had “an idea,” and that,without knowing it, he coincided in that respect with Julius Schmidt.

“Why,” said he, “should not these unaccountable appearancesbe simply phenomena of vegetation?”

“What do you mean?” asked Barbicane quickly.

“Do not excite yourself, my worthy president,” replied Michel;“might it not be possible that the dark lines forming that bastion wererows of trees regularly placed?”

“You stick to your vegetation, then?” said Barbicane.

“I like,” retorted Michel Ardan, “to explain what you savantscannot explain; at least my hypotheses has the advantage of indicating whythese rifts disappear, or seem to disappear, at certain seasons.”

“And for what reason?”

“For the reason that the trees become invisible when they lose theirleaves, and visible again when they regain them.”

“Your explanation is ingenious, my dear companion,” repliedBarbicane, “but inadmissible.”

“Why?”

“Because, so to speak, there are no seasons on the moon’s surface,and that, consequently, the phenomena of vegetation of which you speak cannotoccur.”

Indeed, the slight obliquity of the lunar axis keeps the sun at an almost equalheight in every latitude. Above the equatorial regions the radiant orb almostinvariably occupies the zenith, and does not pass the limits of the horizon inthe polar regions; thus, according to each region, there reigns a perpetualwinter, spring, summer, or autumn, as in the planet Jupiter, whose axis is butlittle inclined upon its orbit.

What origin do they attribute to these rifts? That is a question difficult tosolve. They are certainly anterior to the formation of craters and circles, forseveral have introduced themselves by breaking through their circular ramparts.Thus it may be that, contemporary with the later geological epochs, they aredue to the expansion of natural forces.

But the projectile had now attained the fortieth degree of lunar latitude, at adistance not exceeding 40 miles. Through the glasses objects appeared to beonly four miles distant.

At this point, under their feet, rose Mount Helicon, 1,520 feet high, and roundabout the left rose moderate elevations, enclosing a small portion of the“Sea of Rains,” under the name of the Gulf of Iris. The terrestrialatmosphere would have to be one hundred and seventy times more transparent thanit is, to allow astronomers to make perfect observations on the moon’ssurface; but in the void in which the projectile floated no fluid interposeditself between the eye of the observer and the object observed. And more,Barbicane found himself carried to a greater distance than the most powerfultelescopes had ever done before, either that of Lord Rosse or that of the RockyMountains. He was, therefore, under extremely favorable conditions for solvingthat great question of the habitability of the moon; but the solution stillescaped him; he could distinguish nothing but desert beds, immense plains, andtoward the north, arid mountains. Not a work betrayed the hand of man; not aruin marked his course; not a group of animals was to be seen indicating life,even in an inferior degree. In no part was there life, in no part was there anappearance of vegetation. Of the three kingdoms which share the terrestrialglobe between them, one alone was represented on the lunar and that themineral.

“Ah, indeed!” said Michel Ardan, a little out of countenance;“then you see no one?”

“No,” answered Nicholl; “up to this time, not a man, not ananimal, not a tree! After all, whether the atmosphere has taken refuge at thebottom of cavities, in the midst of the circles, or even on the opposite faceof the moon, we cannot decide.”

“Besides,” added Barbicane, “even to the most piercing eye aman cannot be distinguished farther than three and a half miles off; so that,if there are any Selenites, they can see our projectile, but we cannot seethem.”

Toward four in the morning, at the height of the fiftieth parallel, thedistance was reduced to 300 miles. To the left ran a line of mountainscapriciously shaped, lying in the full light. To the right, on the contrary,lay a black hollow resembling a vast well, unfathomable and gloomy, drilledinto the lunar soil.

This hole was the “Black Lake”; it was Pluto, a deep circle whichcan be conveniently studied from the earth, between the last quarter and thenew moon, when the shadows fall from west to east.

This black color is rarely met with on the surface of the satellite. As yet ithas only been recognized in the depths of the circle of Endymion, to the eastof the “Cold Sea,” in the northern hemisphere, and at the bottom ofGrimaldi’s circle, on the equator, toward the eastern border of the orb.

Pluto is an annular mountain, situated in 51° north latitude, and 9° eastlongitude. Its circuit is forty-seven miles long and thirty-two broad.

Barbicane regretted that they were not passing directly above this vastopening. There was an abyss to fathom, perhaps some mysterious phenomenon tosurprise; but the projectile’s course could not be altered. They mustrigidly submit. They could not guide a balloon, still less a projectile, whenonce enclosed within its walls. Toward five in the morning the northern limitsof the “Sea of Rains” was at length passed. The mounts of Condamineand Fontenelle remained—one on the right, the other on the left. Thatpart of the disc beginning with 60° was becoming quite mountainous. The glassesbrought them to within two miles, less than that separating the summit of MontBlanc from the level of the sea. The whole region was bristling with spikes andcircles. Toward the 60° Philolaus stood predominant at a height of 5,550 feetwith its elliptical crater, and seen from this distance, the disc showed a veryfantastical appearance. Landscapes were presented to the eye under verydifferent conditions from those on the earth, and also very inferior to them.

The moon having no atmosphere, the consequences arising from the absence ofthis gaseous envelope have already been shown. No twilight on her surface;night following day and day following night with the suddenness of a lamp whichis extinguished or lighted amid profound darkness—no transition from coldto heat, the temperature falling in an instant from boiling point to the coldof space.

Another consequence of this want of air is that absolute darkness reigns wherethe sun’s rays do not penetrate. That which on earth is called diffusionof light, that luminous matter which the air holds in suspension, which createsthe twilight and the daybreak, which produces the umbraeandpenumbrae, and all the magic of chiaro-oscuro, does not existon the moon. Hence the harshness of contrasts, which only admit of two colors,black and white. If a Selenite were to shade his eyes from the sun’srays, the sky would seem absolutely black, and the stars would shine to him ason the darkest night. Judge of the impression produced on Barbicane and histhree friends by this strange scene! Their eyes were confused. They could nolonger grasp the respective distances of the different plains. A lunarlandscape without the softening of the phenomena of chiaro-oscurocouldnot be rendered by an earthly landscape painter; it would be spots of ink on awhite page—nothing more.

This aspect was not altered even when the projectile, at the height of 80°, wasonly separated from the moon by a distance of fifty miles; nor even when, atfive in the morning, it passed at less than twenty-five miles from the mountainof Gioja, a distance reduced by the glasses to a quarter of a mile. It seemedas if the moon might be touched by the hand! It seemed impossible that, beforelong, the projectile would not strike her, if only at the north pole, thebrilliant arch of which was so distinctly visible on the black sky.

Michel Ardan wanted to open one of the scuttles and throw himself on to themoon’s surface! A very useless attempt; for if the projectile could notattain any point whatever of the satellite, Michel, carried along by itsmotion, could not attain it either.

At that moment, at six o’clock, the lunar pole appeared. The disc onlypresented to the travelers’ gaze one half brilliantly lit up, while theother disappeared in the darkness. Suddenly the projectile passed the line ofdemarcation between intense light and absolute darkness, and was plunged inprofound night!

CHAPTER XIV.
THE NIGHT OF THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOUR HOURS AND A HALF

At the moment when this phenomenon took place so rapidly, the projectile wasskirting the moon’s north pole at less than twenty-five miles distance.Some seconds had sufficed to plunge it into the absolute darkness of space. Thetransition was so sudden, without shade, without gradation of light, withoutattenuation of the luminous waves, that the orb seemed to have beenextinguished by a powerful blow.

“Melted, disappeared!” Michel Ardan exclaimed, aghast.

Indeed, there was neither reflection nor shadow. Nothing more was to be seen ofthat disc, formerly so dazzling. The darkness was complete. and rendered evenmore so by the rays from the stars. It was “that blackness” inwhich the lunar nights are insteeped, which last three hundred and fifty-fourhours and a half at each point of the disc, a long night resulting from theequality of the translatory and rotary movements of the moon. The projectile,immerged in the conical shadow of the satellite, experienced the action of thesolar rays no more than any of its invisible points.

In the interior, the obscurity was complete. They could not see each other.Hence the necessity of dispelling the darkness. However desirous Barbicanemight be to husband the gas, the reserve of which was small, he was obliged toask from it a fictitious light, an expensive brilliancy which the sun thenrefused.

“Devil take the radiant orb!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, “whichforces us to expend gas, instead of giving us his rays gratuitously.”

“Do not let us accuse the sun,” said Nicholl, “it is not hisfault, but that of the moon, which has come and placed herself like a screenbetween us and it.”

“It is the sun!” continued Michel.

“It is the moon!” retorted Nicholl.

An idle dispute, which Barbicane put an end to by saying:

“My friends, it is neither the fault of the sun nor of the moon; it isthe fault of the projectile, which, instead of rigidly following itscourse, has awkwardly missed it. To be more just, it is the fault of thatunfortunate meteor which has so deplorably altered our first direction.”

“Well,” replied Michel Ardan, “as the matter is settled, letus have breakfast. After a whole night of watching it is fair to buildourselves up a little.”

This proposal meeting with no contradiction, Michel prepared the repast in afew minutes. But they ate for eating’s sake, they drank without toasts,without hurrahs. The bold travelers being borne away into gloomy space, withouttheir accustomed cortegeof rays, felt a vague uneasiness in theirhearts. The “strange” shadow so dear to Victor Hugo’s penbound them on all sides. But they talked over the interminable night of threehundred and fifty-four hours and a half, nearly fifteen days, which the law ofphysics has imposed on the inhabitants of the moon.

Barbicane gave his friends some explanation of the causes and the consequencesof this curious phenomenon.

“Curious indeed,” said they; “for, if each hemisphere of themoon is deprived of solar light for fifteen days, that above which we now floatdoes not even enjoy during its long night any view of the earth so beautifullylit up. In a word she has no moon (applying this designation to our globe) buton one side of her disc. Now if this were the case with the earth—if, forexample, Europe never saw the moon, and she was only visible at the antipodes,imagine to yourself the astonishment of a European on arriving inAustralia.”

“They would make the voyage for nothing but to see the moon!”replied Michel.

“Very well!” continued Barbicane, “that astonishment isreserved for the Selenites who inhabit the face of the moon opposite to theearth, a face which is ever invisible to our countrymen of the terrestrialglobe.”

“And which we should have seen,” added Nicholl, “if we hadarrived here when the moon was new, that is to say fifteen days later.”

“I will add, to make amends,” continued Barbicane, “that theinhabitants of the visible face are singularly favored by nature, to thedetriment of their brethren on the invisible face. The latter, as you see, havedark nights of 354 hours, without one single ray to break the darkness. Theother, on the contrary, when the sun which has given its light for fifteen dayssinks below the horizon, see a splendid orb rise on the opposite horizon. It isthe earth, which is thirteen times greater than the diminutive moon that weknow—the earth which developes itself at a diameter of two degrees, andwhich sheds a light thirteen times greater than that qualified by atmosphericstrata—the earth which only disappears at the moment when the sunreappears in its turn!”

“Nicely worded!” said Michel, “slightly academicalperhaps.”

“It follows, then,” continued Barbicane, without knitting hisbrows, “that the visible face of the disc must be very agreeable toinhabit, since it always looks on either the sun when the moon is full, or onthe earth when the moon is new.”

“But,” said Nicholl, “that advantage must be well compensatedby the insupportable heat which the light brings with it.”

“The inconvenience, in that respect, is the same for the two faces, forthe earth’s light is evidently deprived of heat. But the invisible faceis still more searched by the heat than the visible face. I say that foryou, Nicholl, because Michel will probably not understand.”

“Thank you,” said Michel.

“Indeed,” continued Barbicane, “when the invisible facereceives at the same time light and heat from the sun, it is because the moonis new; that is to say, she is situated between the sun and the earth. Itfollows, then, considering the position which she occupies in opposition whenfull, that she is nearer to the sun by twice her distance from the earth; andthat distance may be estimated at the two-hundredth part of that whichseparates the sun from the earth, or in round numbers 400,000 miles. So thatinvisible face is so much nearer to the sun when she receives its rays.”

“Quite right,” replied Nicholl.

“On the contrary,” continued Barbicane.

“One moment,” said Michel, interrupting his grave companion.

“What do you want?”

“I ask to be allowed to continue the explanation.”

“And why?”

“To prove that I understand.”

“Get along with you,” said Barbicane, smiling.

“On the contrary,” said Michel, imitating the tone and gestures ofthe president, “on the contrary, when the visible face of the moon is litby the sun, it is because the moon is full, that is to say, opposite the sunwith regard to the earth. The distance separating it from the radiant orb isthen increased in round numbers to 400,000 miles, and the heat which shereceives must be a little less.”

“Very well said!” exclaimed Barbicane. “Do you know, Michel,that, for an amateur, you are intelligent.”

“Yes,” replied Michel coolly, “we are all so on the Boulevarddes Italiens.”

Barbicane gravely grasped the hand of his amiable companion, and continued toenumerate the advantages reserved for the inhabitants of the visible face.

Among others, he mentioned eclipses of the sun, which only take place on thisside of the lunar disc; since, in order that they may take place, it isnecessary for the moon to be in opposition. These eclipses, caused bythe interposition of the earth between the moon and the sun, can last twohours; during which time, by reason of the rays refracted by itsatmosphere, the terrestrial globe can appear as nothing but a black point uponthe sun.

“So,” said Nicholl, “there is a hemisphere, that invisiblehemisphere which is very ill supplied, very ill treated, by nature.”

“Never mind,” replied Michel; “if we ever become Selenites,we will inhabit the visible face. I like the light.”

“Unless, by any chance,” answered Nicholl, “the atmosphereshould be condensed on the other side, as certain astronomers pretend.”

“That would be a consideration,” said Michel.

Breakfast over, the observers returned to their post. They tried to see throughthe darkened scuttles by extinguishing all light in the projectile; but not aluminous spark made its way through the darkness.

One inexplicable fact preoccupied Barbicane. Why, having passed within such ashort distance of the moon—about twenty-five miles only—why theprojectile had not fallen? If its speed had been enormous, he could haveunderstood that the fall would not have taken place; but, with a relativelymoderate speed, that resistance to the moon’s attraction could not beexplained. Was the projectile under some foreign influence? Did some kind ofbody retain it in the ether? It was quite evident that it could never reach anypoint of the moon. Whither was it going? Was it going farther from, or nearing,the disc? Was it being borne in that profound darkness through the infinity ofspace? How could they learn, how calculate, in the midst of this night? Allthese questions made Barbicane uneasy, but he could not solve them.

Certainly, the invisible orb was there, perhaps only some few milesoff; but neither he nor his companions could see it. If there was any noise onits surface, they could not hear it. Air, that medium of sound, was wanting totransmit the groanings of that moon which the Arabic legends call “a manalready half granite, and still breathing.”

One must allow that that was enough to aggravate the most patient observers. Itwas just that unknown hemisphere which was stealing from their sight. That facewhich fifteen days sooner, or fifteen days later, had been, or would be,splendidly illuminated by the solar rays, was then being lost in utterdarkness. In fifteen days where would the projectile be? Who could say? Wherewould the chances of conflicting attractions have drawn it to? Thedisappointment of the travelers in the midst of this utter darkness may beimagined. All observation of the lunar disc was impossible. The constellationsalone claimed all their attention; and we must allow that the astronomers Faye,Charconac, and Secchi, never found themselves in circumstances so favorable fortheir observation.

Indeed, nothing could equal the splendor of this starry world, bathed in limpidether. Its diamonds set in the heavenly vault sparkled magnificently. The eyetook in the firmament from the Southern Cross to the North Star, those twoconstellations which in 12,000 years, by reason of the succession of equinoxes,will resign their part of the polar stars, the one to Canopus in the southernhemisphere, the other to Wega in the northern. Imagination loses itself in thissublime Infinity, amid which the projectile was gravitating, like a new starcreated by the hand of man. From a natural cause, these constellations shonewith a soft luster; they did not twinkle, for there was no atmosphere which, bythe intervention of its layers unequally dense and of different degrees ofhumidity, produces this scintillation. These stars were soft eyes, looking outinto the dark night, amid the silence of absolute space.

Long did the travelers stand mute, watching the constellated firmament, uponwhich the moon, like a vast screen, made an enormous black hole. But at lengtha painful sensation drew them from their watchings. This was an intense cold,which soon covered the inside of the glass of the scuttles with a thick coatingof ice. The sun was no longer warming the projectile with its direct rays, andthus it was losing the heat stored up in its walls by degrees. This heat wasrapidly evaporating into space by radiation, and a considerably lowertemperature was the result. The humidity of the interior was changed into iceupon contact with the glass, preventing all observation.

Nicholl consulted the thermometer, and saw that it had fallen to seventeendegrees (Centigrade) below zero.^[3]So that, in spite of the many reasons for economizing, Barbicane, after havingbegged light from the gas, was also obliged to beg for heat. Theprojectile’s low temperature was no longer endurable. Its tenants wouldhave been frozen to death.

[3]1° Fahrenheit.

“Well!” observed Michel, “we cannot reasonably complain ofthe monotony of our journey! What variety we have had, at least in temperature.Now we are blinded with light and saturated with heat, like the Indians of thePampas! now plunged into profound darkness, amid the cold, like the Esquimauxof the north pole. No, indeed! we have no right to complain; nature doeswonders in our honor.”

“But,” asked Nicholl, “what is the temperatureoutside?”

“Exactly that of the planetary space,” replied Barbicane.

“Then,” continued Michel Ardan, “would not this be the timeto make the experiment which we dared not attempt when we were drowned in thesun’s rays?

“It is now or never,” replied Barbicane, “for we are in agood position to verify the temperature of space, and see if Fourier orPouillet’s calculations are exact.”

“In any case it is cold,” said Michel. “See! the steam of theinterior is condensing on the glasses of the scuttles. If the fall continues,the vapor of our breath will fall in snow around us.”

“Let us prepare a thermometer,” said Barbicane.

We may imagine that an ordinary thermometer would afford no result under thecircumstances in which this instrument was to be exposed. The mercury wouldhave been frozen in its ball, as below 42° Fahrenheit below zero it is nolonger liquid. But Barbicane had furnished himself with a spirit thermometer onWafferdin’s system, which gives the minima of excessively lowtemperatures.

Before beginning the experiment, this instrument was compared with an ordinaryone, and then Barbicane prepared to use it.

“How shall we set about it?” asked Nicholl.

“Nothing is easier,” replied Michel Ardan, who was never at a loss.“We open the scuttle rapidly; throw out the instrument; it follows theprojectile with exemplary docility; and a quarter of an hour after, draw itin.”

“With the hand?” asked Barbicane.

“With the hand,” replied Michel.

“Well, then, my friend, do not expose yourself,” answeredBarbicane, “for the hand that you draw in again will be nothing but astump frozen and deformed by the frightful cold.”

“Really!”

“You will feel as if you had had a terrible burn, like that of iron at awhite heat; for whether the heat leaves our bodies briskly or enters briskly,it is exactly the same thing. Besides, I am not at all certain that the objectswe have thrown out are still following us.”

“Why not?” asked Nicholl.

“Because, if we are passing through an atmosphere of the slightestdensity, these objects will be retarded. Again, the darkness prevents ourseeing if they still float around us. But in order not to expose ourselves tothe loss of our thermometer, we will fasten it, and we can then more easilypull it back again.”

Barbicane’s advice was followed. Through the scuttle rapidly opened,Nicholl threw out the instrument, which was held by a short cord, so that itmight be more easily drawn up. The scuttle had not been opened more than asecond, but that second had sufficed to let in a most intense cold.

“The devil!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, “it is cold enough tofreeze a white bear.”

Barbicane waited until half an hour had elapsed, which was more than timeenough to allow the instrument to fall to the level of the surroundingtemperature. Then it was rapidly pulled in.

Barbicane calculated the quantity of spirits of wine overflowed into the littlevial soldered to the lower part of the instrument, and said:

“A hundred and forty degrees Centigrade^[4]below zero!”

[4]218 degrees Fahrenheit below zero.

M. Pouillet was right and Fourier wrong. That was the undoubted temperature ofthe starry space. Such is, perhaps, that of the lunar continents, when the orbof night has lost by radiation all the heat which fifteen days of sun havepoured into her.

CHAPTER XV.
HYPERBOLA OR PARABOLA

We may, perhaps, be astonished to find Barbicane and his companions so littleoccupied with the future reserved for them in their metal prison which wasbearing them through the infinity of space. Instead of asking where they weregoing, they passed their time making experiments, as if they had been quietlyinstalled in their own study.

We might answer that men so strong-minded were above such anxieties—thatthey did not trouble themselves about such trifles—and that they hadsomething else to do than to occupy their minds with the future.

The truth was that they were not masters of their projectile; they couldneither check its course, nor alter its direction.

A sailor can change the head of his ship as he pleases; an aeronaut can give avertical motion to his balloon. They, on the contrary, had no power over theirvehicle. Every maneuver was forbidden. Hence the inclination to let thingsalone, or as the sailors say, “let her run.”

Where did they find themselves at this moment, at eight o’clock in themorning of the day called upon the earth the 6th of December? Very certainly inthe neighborhood of the moon, and even near enough for her to look to them likean enormous black screen upon the firmament. As to the distance which separatedthem, it was impossible to estimate it. The projectile, held by someunaccountable force, had been within four miles of grazing thesatellite’s north pole.

But since entering the cone of shadow these last two hours, had the distanceincreased or diminished? Every point of mark was wanting by which to estimateboth the direction and the speed of the projectile.

Perhaps it was rapidly leaving the disc, so that it would soon quit the pureshadow. Perhaps, again, on the other hand, it might be nearing it so much thatin a short time it might strike some high point on the invisible hemisphere,which would doubtlessly have ended the journey much to the detriment of thetravelers.

A discussion arose on this subject, and Michel Ardan, always ready with anexplanation, gave it as his opinion that the projectile, held by the lunarattraction, would end by falling on the surface of the terrestrial globe likean aerolite.

“First of all, my friend,” answered Barbicane, “everyaerolite does not fall to the earth; it is only a small proportion which do so;and if we had passed into an aerolite, it does not necessarily follow that weshould ever reach the surface of the moon.”

“But how if we get near enough?” replied Michel.

“Pure mistake,” replied Barbicane. “Have you not seenshooting stars rush through the sky by thousands at certain seasons?”

“Yes.”

“Well, these stars, or rather corpuscles, only shine when they are heatedby gliding over the atmospheric layers. Now, if they enter the atmosphere, theypass at least within forty miles of the earth, but they seldom fall upon it.The same with our projectile. It may approach very near to the moon, and notyet fall upon it.”

“But then,” asked Michel, “I shall be curious to know how ourerring vehicle will act in space?”

“I see but two hypotheses,” replied Barbicane, after somemoments’ reflection.

“What are they?”

“The projectile has the choice between two mathematical curves, and itwill follow one or the other according to the speed with which it is animated,and which at this moment I cannot estimate.”

“Yes,” said Nicholl, “it will follow either a parabola or ahyperbola.”

“Just so,” replied Barbicane. “With a certain speed it willassume the parabola, and with a greater the hyperbola.”

“I like those grand words,” exclaimed Michel Ardan; “oneknows directly what they mean. And pray what is your parabola, if youplease?”

“My friend,” answered the captain, “the parabola is a curveof the second order, the result of the section of a cone intersected by a planeparallel to one of the sides.”

“Ah! ah!” said Michel, in a satisfied tone.

“It is very nearly,” continued Nicholl, “the course describedby a bomb launched from a mortar.”

“Perfect! And the hyperbola?”

“The hyperbola, Michel, is a curve of the second order, produced by theintersection of a conic surface and a plane parallel to its axis, andconstitutes two branches separated one from the other, both tendingindefinitely in the two directions.”

“Is it possible!” exclaimed Michel Ardan in a serious tone, as ifthey had told him of some serious event. “What I particularly like inyour definition of the hyperbola (I was going to say hyperblague) is that it isstill more obscure than the word you pretend to define.”

Nicholl and Barbicane cared little for Michel Ardan’s fun. They were deepin a scientific discussion. What curve would the projectile follow? was theirhobby. One maintained the hyperbola, the other the parabola. They gave eachother reasons bristling with x. Their arguments were couched inlanguage which made Michel jump. The discussion was hot, and neither would giveup his chosen curve to his adversary.

This scientific dispute lasted so long that it made Michel very impatient.

“Now, gentlemen cosines, will you cease to throw parabolas and hyperbolasat each other’s heads? I want to understand the only interesting questionin the whole affair. We shall follow one or the other of these curves? Good.But where will they lead us to?”

“Nowhere,” replied Nicholl.

“How, nowhere?”

“Evidently,” said Barbicane, “they are open curves, which maybe prolonged indefinitely.”

“Ah, savants!” cried Michel; “and what are either the one orthe other to us from the moment we know that they equally lead us into infinitespace?”

Barbicane and Nicholl could not forbear smiling. They had just been creating“art for art’s sake.” Never had so idle a question beenraised at such an inopportune moment. The sinister truth remained that, whetherhyperbolically or parabolically borne away, the projectile would never againmeet either the earth or the moon.

What would become of these bold travelers in the immediate future? If they didnot die of hunger, if they did not die of thirst, in some days, when the gasfailed, they would die from want of air, unless the cold had killed them first.Still, important as it was to economize the gas, the excessive lowness of thesurrounding temperature obliged them to consume a certain quantity. Strictlyspeaking, they could do without its light, but not without itsheat. Fortunately the caloric generated by Reiset’s andRegnaut’s apparatus raised the temperature of the interior of theprojectile a little, and without much expenditure they were able to keep itbearable.

But observations had now become very difficult. the dampness of the projectilewas condensed on the windows and congealed immediately. This cloudiness had tobe dispersed continually. In any case they might hope to be able to discoversome phenomena of the highest interest.

But up to this time the disc remained dumb and dark. It did not answer themultiplicity of questions put by these ardent minds; a matter which drew thisreflection from Michel, apparently a just one:

“If ever we begin this journey over again, we shall do well to choose thetime when the moon is at the full.”

“Certainly,” said Nicholl, “that circumstance will be morefavorable. I allow that the moon, immersed in the sun’s rays, will not bevisible during the transit, but instead we should see the earth, which would befull. And what is more, if we were drawn round the moon, as at this moment, weshould at least have the advantage of seeing the invisible part of her discmagnificently lit.”

“Well said, Nicholl,” replied Michel Ardan. “What do youthink, Barbicane?”

“I think this,” answered the grave president: “If ever webegin this journey again, we shall start at the same time and under the sameconditions. Suppose we had attained our end, would it not have been better tohave found continents in broad daylight than a country plunged in utterdarkness? Would not our first installation have been made under bettercircumstances? Yes, evidently. As to the invisible side, we could have visitedit in our exploring expeditions on the lunar globe. So that the time of thefull moon was well chosen. But we ought to have arrived at the end; and inorder to have so arrived, we ought to have suffered no deviation on theroad.”

“I have nothing to say to that,” answered Michel Ardan. “Hereis, however, a good opportunity lost of observing the other side of themoon.”

But the projectile was now describing in the shadow that incalculable coursewhich no sight-mark would allow them to ascertain. Had its direction beenaltered, either by the influence of the lunar attraction, or by the action ofsome unknown star? Barbicane could not say. But a change had taken place in therelative position of the vehicle; and Barbicane verified it about four in themorning.

The change consisted in this, that the base of the projectile had turned towardthe moon’s surface, and was so held by a perpendicular passing throughits axis. The attraction, that is to say the weight, had brought about thisalteration. The heaviest part of the projectile inclined toward the invisibledisc as if it would fall upon it.

Was it falling? Were the travelers attaining that much desired end? No. And theobservation of a sign-point, quite inexplicable in itself, showed Barbicanethat his projectile was not nearing the moon, and that it had shifted byfollowing an almost concentric curve.

This point of mark was a luminous brightness, which Nicholl sighted suddenly,on the limit of the horizon formed by the black disc. This point could not beconfounded with a star. It was a reddish incandescence which increased bydegrees, a decided proof that the projectile was shifting toward it and notfalling normally on the surface of the moon.

“A volcano! it is a volcano in action!” cried Nicholl; “adisemboweling of the interior fires of the moon! That world is not quiteextinguished.”

“Yes, an eruption,” replied Barbicane, who was carefully studyingthe phenomenon through his night glass. “What should it be, if not avolcano?”

“But, then,” said Michel Ardan, “in order to maintain thatcombustion, there must be air. So the atmosphere does surround that part of themoon.”

“Perhaps so,” replied Barbicane, “but not necessarily.

The volcano, by the decomposition of certain substances, can provide its ownoxygen, and thus throw flames into space. It seems to me that the deflagration,by the intense brilliancy of the substances in combustion, is produced in pureoxygen. We must not be in a hurry to proclaim the existence of a lunaratmosphere.”

The fiery mountain must have been situated about the 45° south latitude on theinvisible part of the disc; but, to Barbicane’s great displeasure, thecurve which the projectile was describing was taking it far from the pointindicated by the eruption. Thus he could not determine its nature exactly. Halfan hour after being sighted, this luminous point had disappeared behind thedark horizon; but the verification of this phenomenon was of considerableconsequence in their selenographic studies. It proved that all heat had not yetdisappeared from the bowels of this globe; and where heat exists, who canaffirm that the vegetable kingdom, nay, even the animal kingdom itself, has notup to this time resisted all destructive influences? The existence of thisvolcano in eruption, unmistakably seen by these earthly savants, woulddoubtless give rise to many theories favorable to the grave question of thehabitability of the moon.

Barbicane allowed himself to be carried away by these reflections. He forgothimself in a deep reverie in which the mysterious destiny of the lunar worldwas uppermost. He was seeking to combine together the facts observed up to thattime, when a new incident recalled him briskly to reality. This incident wasmore than a cosmical phenomenon; it was a threatened danger, the consequence ofwhich might be disastrous in the extreme.

Suddenly, in the midst of the ether, in the profound darkness, an enormous massappeared. It was like a moon, but an incandescent moon whose brilliancy was allthe more intolerable as it cut sharply on the frightful darkness of space. Thismass, of a circular form, threw a light which filled the projectile. The formsof Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan, bathed in its white sheets, assumedthat livid spectral appearance which physicians produce with the fictitiouslight of alcohol impregnated with salt.

“By Jove!” cried Michel Ardan, “we are hideous. What is thatill-conditioned moon?”

“A meteor,” replied Barbicane.

“A meteor burning in space?”

“Yes.”

This shooting globe suddenly appearing in shadow at a distance of at most 200miles, ought, according to Barbicane, to have a diameter of 2,000 yards. Itadvanced at a speed of about one mile and a half per second. It cut theprojectile’s path and must reach it in some minutes. As it approached itgrew to enormous proportions.

Imagine, if possible, the situation of the travelers! It is impossible todescribe it. In spite of their courage, their sang-froid, theircarelessness of danger, they were mute, motionless with stiffened limbs, a preyto frightful terror. Their projectile, the course of which they could notalter, was rushing straight on this ignited mass, more intense than the openmouth of an oven. It seemed as though they were being precipitated toward anabyss of fire.

Barbicane had seized the hands of his two companions, and all three lookedthrough their half-open eyelids upon that asteroid heated to a white heat. Ifthought was not destroyed within them, if their brains still worked amid allthis awe, they must have given themselves up for lost.

Two minutes after the sudden appearance of the meteor (to them two centuries ofanguish) the projectile seemed almost about to strike it, when the globe offire burst like a bomb, but without making any noise in that void where sound,which is but the agitation of the layers of air, could not be generated.

Nicholl uttered a cry, and he and his companions rushed to the scuttle. What asight! What pen can describe it? What palette is rich enough in colors toreproduce so magnificent a spectacle?

It was like the opening of a crater, like the scattering of an immenseconflagration. Thousands of luminous fragments lit up and irradiated space withtheir fires. Every size, every color, was there intermingled. There were raysof yellow and pale yellow, red, green, gray—a crown of fireworks of allcolors. Of the enormous and much-dreaded globe there remained nothing but thesefragments carried in all directions, now become asteroids in their turn, someflaming like a sword, some surrounded by a whitish cloud, and others leavingbehind them trains of brilliant cosmical dust.

These incandescent blocks crossed and struck each other, scattering stillsmaller fragments, some of which struck the projectile. Its left scuttle waseven cracked by a violent shock. It seemed to be floating amid a hail ofhowitzer shells, the smallest of which might destroy it instantly.

The light which saturated the ether was so wonderfully intense, that Michel,drawing Barbicane and Nicholl to his window, exclaimed, “The invisiblemoon, visible at last!”

And through a luminous emanation, which lasted some seconds, the whole threecaught a glimpse of that mysterious disc which the eye of man now saw for thefirst time. What could they distinguish at a distance which they could notestimate? Some lengthened bands along the disc, real clouds formed in the midstof a very confined atmosphere, from which emerged not only all the mountains,but also projections of less importance; its circles, its yawning craters, ascapriciously placed as on the visible surface. Then immense spaces, no longerarid plains, but real seas, oceans, widely distributed, reflecting on theirliquid surface all the dazzling magic of the fires of space; and, lastly, onthe surface of the continents, large dark masses, looking like immense forestsunder the rapid illumination of a brilliance.

Was it an illusion, a mistake, an optical illusion? Could they give ascientific assent to an observation so superficially obtained? Dared theypronounce upon the question of its habitability after so slight a glimpse ofthe invisible disc?

But the lightnings in space subsided by degrees; its accidental brilliancy diedaway; the asteroids dispersed in different directions and were extinguished inthe distance.

The ether returned to its accustomed darkness; the stars, eclipsed for amoment, again twinkled in the firmament, and the disc, so hastily discerned,was again buried in impenetrable night.

CHAPTER XVI.
THE SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE

The projectile had just escaped a terrible danger, and a very unforseen one.Who would have thought of such an encounter with meteors? These erring bodiesmight create serious perils for the travelers. They were to them so manysandbanks upon that sea of ether which, less fortunate than sailors, they couldnot escape. But did these adventurers complain of space? No, not since naturehad given them the splendid sight of a cosmical meteor bursting from expansion,since this inimitable firework, which no Ruggieri could imitate, had lit up forsome seconds the invisible glory of the moon. In that flash, continents, seas,and forests had become visible to them. Did an atmosphere, then, bring to thisunknown face its life-giving atoms? Questions still insoluble, and foreverclosed against human curiousity!

It was then half-past three in the afternoon. The projectile was following itscurvilinear direction round the moon. Had its course again been altered by themeteor? It was to be feared so. But the projectile must describe a curveunalterably determined by the laws of mechanical reasoning. Barbicane wasinclined to believe that this curve would be rather a parabola than ahyperbola. But admitting the parabola, the projectile must quickly have passedthrough the cone of shadow projected into space opposite the sun. This cone,indeed, is very narrow, the angular diameter of the moon being so little whencompared with the diameter of the orb of day; and up to this time theprojectile had been floating in this deep shadow. Whatever had been its speed(and it could not have been insignificant), its period of occultationcontinued. That was evident, but perhaps that would not have been the case in asupposedly rigidly parabolical trajectory—a new problem which tormentedBarbicane’s brain, imprisoned as he was in a circle of unknowns which hecould not unravel.

Neither of the travelers thought of taking an instant’s repose. Each onewatched for an unexpected fact, which might throw some new light on theiruranographic studies. About five o’clock, Michel Ardan distributed, underthe name of dinner, some pieces of bread and cold meat, which were quicklyswallowed without either of them abandoning their scuttle, the glass of whichwas incessantly encrusted by the condensation of vapor.

About forty-five minutes past five in the evening, Nicholl, armed with hisglass, sighted toward the southern border of the moon, and in the directionfollowed by the projectile, some bright points cut upon the dark shield of thesky. They looked like a succession of sharp points lengthened into a tremulousline. They were very bright. Such appeared the terminal line of the moon whenin one of her octants.

They could not be mistaken. It was no longer a simple meteor. This luminousridge had neither color nor motion. Nor was it a volcano in eruption. AndBarbicane did not hesitate to pronounce upon it.

“The sun!” he exclaimed.

“What! the sun?” answered Nicholl and Michel Ardan.

“Yes, my friends, it is the radiant orb itself lighting up the summit ofthe mountains situated on the southern borders of the moon. We are evidentlynearing the south pole.”

“After having passed the north pole,” replied Michel. “Wehave made the circuit of our satellite, then?”

“Yes, my good Michel.”

“Then, no more hyperbolas, no more parabolas, no more open curves tofear?”

“No, but a closed curve.”

“Which is called—”

“An ellipse. Instead of losing itself in interplanetary space, it isprobable that the projectile will describe an elliptical orbit around themoon.”

“Indeed!”

“And that it will become hersatellite.”

“Moon of the moon!” cried Michel Ardan.

“Only, I would have you observe, my worthy friend,” repliedBarbicane, “that we are none the less lost for that.”

“Yes, in another manner, and much more pleasantly,” answered thecareless Frenchman with his most amiable smile.

CHAPTER XVII.
TYCHO

At six in the evening the projectile passed the south pole at less than fortymiles off, a distance equal to that already reached at the north pole. Theelliptical curve was being rigidly carried out.

At this moment the travelers once more entered the blessed rays of the sun.They saw once more those stars which move slowly from east to west. The radiantorb was saluted by a triple hurrah. With its light it also sent heat, whichsoon pierced the metal walls. The glass resumed its accustomed appearance. Thelayers of ice melted as if by enchantment; and immediately, for economy’ssake, the gas was put out, the air apparatus alone consuming its usualquantity.

“Ah!” said Nicholl, “these rays of heat are good. With whatimpatience must the Selenites wait the reappearance of the orb of day.”

“Yes,” replied Michel Ardan, “imbibing as it were thebrilliant ether, light and heat, all life is contained in them.”

At this moment the bottom of the projectile deviated somewhat from the lunarsurface, in order to follow the slightly lengthened elliptical orbit. From thispoint, had the earth been at the full, Barbicane and his companions could haveseen it, but immersed in the sun’s irradiation she was quite invisible.Another spectacle attracted their attention, that of the southern part of themoon, brought by the glasses to within 450 yards. They did not again leave thescuttles, and noted every detail of this fantastical continent.

Mounts Doerful and Leibnitz formed two separate groups very near the southpole. The first group extended from the pole to the eighty-fourth parallel, onthe eastern part of the orb; the second occupied the eastern border, extendingfrom the 65° of latitude to the pole.

On their capriciously formed ridge appeared dazzling sheets, as mentioned byPere Secchi. With more certainty than the illustrious Roman astronomer,Barbicane was enabled to recognize their nature.

“They are snow,” he exclaimed.

“Snow?” repeated Nicholl.

“Yes, Nicholl, snow; the surface of which is deeply frozen. See how theyreflect the luminous rays. Cooled lava would never give out such intensereflection. There must then be water, there must be air on the moon. As littleas you please, but the fact can no longer be contested.” No, it could notbe. And if ever Barbicane should see the earth again, his notes will bearwitness to this great fact in his selenographic observations.

These mountains of Doerful and Leibnitz rose in the midst of plains of a mediumextent, which were bounded by an indefinite succession of circles and annularramparts. These two chains are the only ones met with in this region ofcircles. Comparatively but slightly marked, they throw up here and there somesharp points, the highest summit of which attains an altitude of 24,600 feet.

But the projectile was high above all this landscape, and the projectionsdisappeared in the intense brilliancy of the disc. And to the eyes of thetravelers there reappeared that original aspect of the lunar landscapes, raw intone, without gradation of colors, and without degrees of shadow, roughly blackand white, from the want of diffusion of light.

But the sight of this desolate world did not fail to captivate them by its verystrangeness. They were moving over this region as if they had been borne on thebreath of some storm, watching heights defile under their feet, piercing thecavities with their eyes, going down into the rifts, climbing the ramparts,sounding these mysterious holes, and leveling all cracks. But no trace ofvegetation, no appearance of cities; nothing but stratification, beds of lava,overflowings polished like immense mirrors, reflecting the sun’s rayswith overpowering brilliancy. Nothing belonging to a livingworld—everything to a dead world, where avalanches, rolling from thesummits of the mountains, would disperse noiselessly at the bottom of theabyss, retaining the motion, but wanting the sound. In any case it was theimage of death, without its being possible even to say that life had everexisted there.

Michel Ardan, however, thought he recognized a heap of ruins, to which he drewBarbicane’s attention. It was about the 80th parallel, in 30° longitude.This heap of stones, rather regularly placed, represented a vast fortress,overlooking a long rift, which in former days had served as a bed to the riversof prehistorical times. Not far from that, rose to a height of 17,400 feet theannular mountain of Short, equal to the Asiatic Caucasus. Michel Ardan, withhis accustomed ardor, maintained “the evidences” of his fortress.Beneath it he discerned the dismantled ramparts of a town; here the stillintact arch of a portico, there two or three columns lying under their base;farther on, a succession of arches which must have supported the conduit of anaqueduct; in another part the sunken pillars of a gigantic bridge, run into thethickest parts of the rift. He distinguished all this, but with so muchimagination in his glance, and through glasses so fantastical, that we mustmistrust his observation. But who could affirm, who would dare to say, that theamiable fellow did not really see that which his two companions would not see?

Moments were too precious to be sacrificed in idle discussion. The selenitecity, whether imaginary or not, had already disappeared afar off. The distanceof the projectile from the lunar disc was on the increase, and the details ofthe soil were being lost in a confused jumble. The reliefs, the circles, thecraters, and the plains alone remained, and still showed their boundary linesdistinctly. At this moment, to the left, lay extended one of the finest circlesof lunar orography, one of the curiosities of this continent. It was Newton,which Barbicane recognized without trouble, by referring to the MappaSelenographica.

Newton is situated in exactly 77° south latitude, and 16° east longitude. Itforms an annular crater, the ramparts of which, rising to a height of 21,300feet, seemed to be impassable.

Barbicane made his companions observe that the height of this mountain abovethe surrounding plain was far from equaling the depth of its crater. Thisenormous hole was beyond all measurement, and formed a gloomy abyss, the bottomof which the sun’s rays could never reach. There, according to Humboldt,reigns utter darkness, which the light of the sun and the earth cannot break.Mythologists could well have made it the mouth of hell.

“Newton,” said Barbicane, “is the most perfect type of theseannular mountains, of which the earth possesses no sample. They prove that themoon’s formation, by means of cooling, is due to violent causes; forwhile, under the pressure of internal fires the reliefs rise to considerableheight, the depths withdraw far below the lunar level.”

“I do not dispute the fact,” replied Michel Ardan.

Some minutes after passing Newton, the projectile directly overlooked theannular mountains of Moret. It skirted at some distance the summits ofBlancanus, and at about half-past seven in the evening reached the circle ofClavius.

This circle, one of the most remarkable of the disc, is situated in 58° southlatitude, and 15° east longitude. Its height is estimated at 22,950 feet. Thetravelers, at a distance of twenty-four miles (reduced to four by theirglasses) could admire this vast crater in its entirety.

“Terrestrial volcanoes,” said Barbicane, “are but mole-hillscompared with those of the moon. Measuring the old craters formed by the firsteruptions of Vesuvius and Etna, we find them little more than three miles inbreadth. In France the circle of Cantal measures six miles across; at Ceylandthe circle of the island is forty miles, which is considered the largest on theglobe. What are these diameters against that of Clavius, which we overlook atthis moment?”

“What is its breadth?” asked Nicholl.

“It is 150 miles,” replied Barbicane. “This circle iscertainly the most important on the moon, but many others measure 150, 100, or75 miles.”

“Ah! my friends,” exclaimed Michel, “can you picture toyourselves what this now peaceful orb of night must have been when its craters,filled with thunderings, vomited at the same time smoke and tongues of flame.What a wonderful spectacle then, and now what decay! This moon is nothing morethan a thin carcase of fireworks, whose squibs, rockets, serpents, and suns,after a superb brilliancy, have left but sadly broken cases. Who can say thecause, the reason, the motive force of these cataclysms?”

Barbicane was not listening to Michel Ardan; he was contemplating theseramparts of Clavius, formed by large mountains spread over several miles. Atthe bottom of the immense cavity burrowed hundreds of small extinguishedcraters, riddling the soil like a colander, and overlooked by a peak 15,000feet high.

Around the plain appeared desolate. Nothing so arid as these reliefs, nothingso sad as these ruins of mountains, and (if we may so express ourselves) thesefragments of peaks and mountains which strewed the soil. The satellite seemedto have burst at this spot.

The projectile was still advancing, and this movement did not subside. Circles,craters, and uprooted mountains succeeded each other incessantly. No moreplains; no more seas. A never ending Switzerland and Norway. And lastly, in thecanter of this region of crevasses, the most splendid mountain on the lunardisc, the dazzling Tycho, in which posterity will ever preserve the name of theillustrious Danish astronomer.

In observing the full moon in a cloudless sky no one has failed to remark thisbrilliant point of the southern hemisphere. Michel Ardan used every metaphorthat his imagination could supply to designate it by. To him this Tycho was afocus of light, a center of irradiation, a crater vomiting rays. It was thetire of a brilliant wheel, an asteriaenclosing the disc with its silvertentacles, an enormous eye filled with flames, a glory carved for Pluto’shead, a star launched by the Creator’s hand, and crushed against the faceof the moon!

Tycho forms such a concentration of light that the inhabitants of the earth cansee it without glasses, though at a distance of 240,000 miles! Imagine, then,its intensity to the eye of observers placed at a distance of only fifty miles!Seen through this pure ether, its brilliancy was so intolerable that Barbicaneand his friends were obliged to blacken their glasses with the gas smoke beforethey could bear the splendor. Then silent, scarcely uttering an interjection ofadmiration, they gazed, they contemplated. All their feelings, all theirimpressions, were concentrated in that look, as under any violent emotion alllife is concentrated at the heart.

Tycho belongs to the system of radiating mountains, like Aristarchus andCopernicus; but it is of all the most complete and decided, showingunquestionably the frightful volcanic action to which the formation of the moonis due. Tycho is situated in 43° south latitude, and 12° east longitude. Itscenter is occupied by a crater fifty miles broad. It assumes a slightlyelliptical form, and is surrounded by an enclosure of annular ramparts, whichon the east and west overlook the outer plain from a height of 15,000 feet. Itis a group of Mont Blancs, placed round one common center and crowned byradiating beams.

What this incomparable mountain really is, with all the projections convergingtoward it, and the interior excrescences of its crater, photography itselfcould never represent. Indeed, it is during the full moon that Tycho is seen inall its splendor. Then all shadows disappear, the foreshortening of perspectivedisappears, and all proofs become white—a disagreeable fact: for thisstrange region would have been marvelous if reproduced with photographicexactness. It is but a group of hollows, craters, circles, a network of crests;then, as far as the eye could see, a whole volcanic network cast upon thisencrusted soil. One can then understand that the bubbles of this centraleruption have kept their first form. Crystallized by cooling, they havestereotyped that aspect which the moon formerly presented when under thePlutonian forces.

The distance which separated the travelers from the annular summits of Tychowas not so great but that they could catch the principal details. Even on thecauseway forming the fortifications of Tycho, the mountains hanging on to theinterior and exterior sloping flanks rose in stories like gigantic terraces.They appeared to be higher by 300 or 400 feet to the west than to the east. Nosystem of terrestrial encampment could equal these natural fortifications. Atown built at the bottom of this circular cavity would have been utterlyinaccessible.

Inaccessible and wonderfully extended over this soil covered with picturesqueprojections! Indeed, nature had not left the bottom of this crater flat andempty. It possessed its own peculiar orography, a mountainous system, making ita world in itself. The travelers could distinguish clearly cones, centralhills, remarkable positions of the soil, naturally placed to receive thechefs-d’œuvreof Selenite architecture. There was marked out theplace for a temple, here the ground of a forum, on this spot the plan of apalace, in another the plateau for a citadel; the whole overlooked by a centralmountain of 1,500 feet. A vast circle, in which ancient Rome could have beenheld in its entirety ten times over.

“Ah!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, enthusiastic at the sight;“what a grand town might be constructed within that ring of mountains! Aquiet city, a peaceful refuge, beyond all human misery. How calm and isolatedthose misanthropes, those haters of humanity might live there, and all who havea distaste for social life!”

“All! It would be too small for them,” replied Barbicane simply.

CHAPTER XVIII.
GRAVE QUESTIONS

But the projectile had passed the enceinteof Tycho, and Barbicane andhis two companions watched with scrupulous attention the brilliant rays whichthe celebrated mountain shed so curiously over the horizon.

What was this radiant glory? What geological phenomenon had designed theseardent beams? This question occupied Barbicane’s mind.

Under his eyes ran in all directions luminous furrows, raised at the edges andconcave in the center, some twelve miles, others thirty miles broad. Thesebrilliant trains extended in some places to within 600 miles of Tycho, andseemed to cover, particularly toward the east, the northeast and the north, thehalf of the southern hemisphere. One of these jets extended as far as thecircle of Neander, situated on the 40th meridian. Another, by a slight curve,furrowed the “Sea of Nectar,” breaking against the chain ofPyrenees, after a circuit of 800 miles. Others, toward the west, covered the“Sea of Clouds” and the “Sea of Humors” with a luminousnetwork. What was the origin of these sparkling rays, which shone on the plainsas well as on the reliefs, at whatever height they might be? All started from acommon center, the crater of Tycho. They sprang from him. Herschel attributedtheir brilliancy to currents of lava congealed by the cold; an opinion,however, which has not been generally adopted. Other astronomers have seen inthese inexplicable rays a kind of moraines, rows of erratic blocks, which hadbeen thrown up at the period of Tycho’s formation.

“And why not?” asked Nicholl of Barbicane, who was relating andrejecting these different opinions.

“Because the regularity of these luminous lines, and the violencenecessary to carry volcanic matter to such distances, is inexplicable.”

“Eh! by Jove!” replied Michel Ardan, “it seems easy enough tome to explain the origin of these rays.”

“Indeed?” said Barbicane.

“Indeed,” continued Michel. “It is enough to say that it is avast star, similar to that produced by a ball or a stone thrown at a square ofglass!”

“Well!” replied Barbicane, smiling. “And what hand would bepowerful enough to throw a ball to give such a shock as that?”

“The hand is not necessary,” answered Nicholl, not at allconfounded; “and as to the stone, let us suppose it to be a comet.”

“Ah! those much-abused comets!” exclaimed Barbicane. “Mybrave Michel, your explanation is not bad; but your comet is useless. The shockwhich produced that rent must have some from the inside of the star. A violentcontraction of the lunar crust, while cooling, might suffice to imprint thisgigantic star.”

“A contraction! something like a lunar stomach-ache.” said MichelArdan.

“Besides,” added Barbicane, “this opinion is that of anEnglish savant, Nasmyth, and it seems to me to sufficiently explain theradiation of these mountains.”

“That Nasmyth was no fool!” replied Michel.

Long did the travelers, whom such a sight could never weary, admire thesplendors of Tycho. Their projectile, saturated with luminous gleams in thedouble irradiation of sun and moon, must have appeared like an incandescentglobe. They had passed suddenly from excessive cold to intense heat. Nature wasthus preparing them to become Selenites. Become Selenites! That idea brought uponce more the question of the habitability of the moon. After what they hadseen, could the travelers solve it? Would they decide for or against it? MichelArdan persuaded his two friends to form an opinion, and asked them directly ifthey thought that men and animals were represented in the lunar world.

“I think that we can answer,” said Barbicane; “but accordingto my idea the question ought not to be put in that form. I ask it to be putdifferently.”

“Put it your own way,” replied Michel.

“Here it is,” continued Barbicane. “The problem is a doubleone, and requires a double solution. Is the moon habitable? Has themoon ever been inhabitable?”

“Good!” replied Nicholl. “First let us see whether the moonis habitable.”

“To tell the truth, I know nothing about it,” answered Michel.

“And I answer in the negative,” continued Barbicane. “In heractual state, with her surrounding atmosphere certainly very much reduced, herseas for the most part dried up, her insufficient supply of water restricted,vegetation, sudden alternations of cold and heat, her days and nights of 354hours—the moon does not seem habitable to me, nor does she seempropitious to animal development, nor sufficient for the wants of existence aswe understand it.”

“Agreed,” replied Nicholl. “But is not the moon habitable forcreatures differently organized from ourselves?”

“That question is more difficult to answer, but I will try; and I askNicholl if motionappears to him to be a necessary result oflife, whatever be its organization?”

“Without a doubt!” answered Nicholl.

“Then, my worthy companion, I would answer that we have observed thelunar continent at a distance of 500 yards at most, and that nothing seemed tous to move on the moon’s surface. The presence of any kind of life wouldhave been betrayed by its attendant marks, such as divers buildings, and evenby ruins. And what have we seen? Everywhere and always the geological works ofnature, never the work of man. If, then, there exist representatives of theanimal kingdom on the moon, they must have fled to those unfathomable cavitieswhich the eye cannot reach; which I cannot admit, for they must have lefttraces of their passage on those plains which the atmosphere must cover,however slightly raised it may be. These traces are nowhere visible. Thereremains but one hypothesis, that of a living race to which motion, which islife, is foreign.”

“One might as well say, living creatures which do not live,”replied Michel.

“Just so,” said Barbicane, “which for us has nomeaning.”

“Then we may form our opinion?” said Michel.

“Yes,” replied Nicholl.

“Very well,” continued Michel Ardan, “the ScientificCommission assembled in the projectile of the Gun Club, after having foundedtheir argument on facts recently observed, decide unanimously upon the questionof the habitability of the moon—‘No!the moon is nothabitable.’”

This decision was consigned by President Barbicane to his notebook, where theprocess of the sitting of the 6th of December may be seen.

“Now,” said Nicholl, “let us attack the second question, anindispensable complement of the first. I ask the honorable commission, if themoon is not habitable, has she ever been inhabited, Citizen Barbicane?”

“My friends,” replied Barbicane, “I did not undertake thisjourney in order to form an opinion on the past habitability of our satellite;but I will add that our personal observations only confirm me in this opinion.I believe, indeed I affirm, that the moon has been inhabited by a human raceorganized like our own; that she has produced animals anatomically formed likethe terrestrial animals: but I add that these races, human and animal, have hadtheir day, and are now forever extinct!”

“Then,” asked Michel, “the moon must be older than theearth?”

“No!” said Barbicane decidedly, “but a world which has grownold quicker, and whose formation and deformation have been more rapid.Relatively, the organizing force of matter has been much more violent in theinterior of the moon than in the interior of the terrestrial globe. The actualstate of this cracked, twisted, and burst disc abundantly proves this. The moonand the earth were nothing but gaseous masses originally. These gases havepassed into a liquid state under different influences, and the solid masseshave been formed later. But most certainly our sphere was still gaseous orliquid, when the moon was solidified by cooling, and had becomehabitable.”

“I believe it,” said Nicholl.

“Then,” continued Barbicane, “an atmosphere surrounded it,the waters contained within this gaseous envelope could not evaporate. Underthe influence of air, water, light, solar heat, and central heat, vegetationtook possession of the continents prepared to receive it, and certainly lifeshowed itself about this period, for nature does not expend herself in vain;and a world so wonderfully formed for habitation must necessarily beinhabited.”

“But,” said Nicholl, “many phenomena inherent in oursatellite might cramp the expansion of the animal and vegetable kingdom. Forexample, its days and nights of 354 hours?”

“At the terrestrial poles they last six months,” said Michel.

“An argument of little value, since the poles are not inhabited.”

“Let us observe, my friends,” continued Barbicane, “that ifin the actual state of the moon its long nights and long days createddifferences of temperature insupportable to organization, it was not so at thehistorical period of time. The atmosphere enveloped the disc with a fluidmantle; vapor deposited itself in the shape of clouds; this natural screentempered the ardor of the solar rays, and retained the nocturnal radiation.Light, like heat, can diffuse itself in the air; hence an equality between theinfluences which no longer exists, now that atmosphere has almost entirelydisappeared. And now I am going to astonish you.”

“Astonish us?” said Michel Ardan.

“I firmly believe that at the period when the moon was inhabited, thenights and days did not last 354 hours!”

“And why?” asked Nicholl quickly.

“Because most probably then the rotary motion of the moon upon her axiswas not equal to her revolution, an equality which presents each part of herdisc during fifteen days to the action of the solar rays.”

“Granted,” replied Nicholl, “but why should not these twomotions have been equal, as they are really so?”

“Because that equality has only been determined by terrestrialattraction. And who can say that this attraction was powerful enough to alterthe motion of the moon at that period when the earth was still fluid?”

“Just so,” replied Nicholl; “and who can say that the moonhas always been a satellite of the earth?”

“And who can say,” exclaimed Michel Ardan, “that the moon didnot exist before the earth?”

Their imaginations carried them away into an indefinite field of hypothesis.Barbicane sought to restrain them.

“Those speculations are too high,” said he; “problems utterlyinsoluble. Do not let us enter upon them. Let us only admit the insufficiencyof the primordial attraction; and then by the inequality of the two motions ofrotation and revolution, the days and nights could have succeeded each other onthe moon as they succeed each other on the earth. Besides, even without theseconditions, life was possible.”

“And so,” asked Michel Ardan, “humanity has disappeared fromthe moon?”

“Yes,” replied Barbicane, “after having doubtless remainedpersistently for millions of centuries; by degrees the atmosphere becomingrarefied, the disc became uninhabitable, as the terrestrial globe will one daybecome by cooling.”

“By cooling?”

“Certainly,” replied Barbicane; “as the internal fires becameextinguished, and the incandescent matter concentrated itself, the lunar crustcooled. By degrees the consequences of these phenomena showed themselves in thedisappearance of organized beings, and by the disappearance of vegetation. Soonthe atmosphere was rarefied, probably withdrawn by terrestrial attraction; thenaerial departure of respirable air, and disappearance of water by means ofevaporation. At this period the moon becoming uninhabitable, was no longerinhabited. It was a dead world, such as we see it to-day.”

“And you say that the same fate is in store for the earth?”

“Most probably.”

“But when?”

“When the cooling of its crust shall have made it uninhabitable.”

“And have they calculated the time which our unfortunate sphere will taketo cool?”

“Certainly.”

“And you know these calculations?”

“Perfectly.”

“But speak, then, my clumsy savant,” exclaimed Michel Ardan,“for you make me boil with impatience!”

“Very well, my good Michel,” replied Barbicane quietly; “weknow what diminution of temperature the earth undergoes in the lapse of acentury. And according to certain calculations, this mean temperature willafter a period of 400,000 years, be brought down to zero!”

“Four hundred thousand years!” exclaimed Michel. “Ah! Ibreathe again. Really I was frightened to hear you; I imagined that we had notmore than 50,000 years to live.”

Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing at their companion’suneasiness. Then Nicholl, who wished to end the discussion, put the secondquestion, which had just been considered again.

“Has the moon been inhabited?” he asked.

The answer was unanimously in the affirmative. But during this discussion,fruitful in somewhat hazardous theories, the projectile was rapidly leaving themoon: the lineaments faded away from the travelers’ eyes, mountains wereconfused in the distance; and of all the wonderful, strange, and fantasticalform of the earth’s satellite, there soon remained nothing but theimperishable remembrance.

CHAPTER XIX.
A STRUGGLE AGAINST THE IMPOSSIBLE

For a long time Barbicane and his companions looked silently and sadly uponthat world which they had only seen from a distance, as Moses saw the land ofCanaan, and which they were leaving without a possibility of ever returning toit. The projectile’s position with regard to the moon had altered, andthe base was now turned to the earth.

This change, which Barbicane verified, did not fail to surprise them. If theprojectile was to gravitate round the satellite in an elliptical orbit, why wasnot its heaviest part turned toward it, as the moon turns hers to the earth?That was a difficult point.

In watching the course of the projectile they could see that on leaving themoon it followed a course analogous to that traced in approaching her. It wasdescribing a very long ellipse, which would most likely extend to the point ofequal attraction, where the influences of the earth and its satellite areneutralized.

Such was the conclusion which Barbicane very justly drew from facts alreadyobserved, a conviction which his two friends shared with him.

“And when arrived at this dead point, what will become of us?”asked Michel Ardan.

“We don’t know,” replied Barbicane.

“But one can draw some hypotheses, I suppose?”

“Two,” answered Barbicane; “either the projectile’sspeed will be insufficient, and it will remain forever immovable on this lineof double attraction—”

“I prefer the other hypothesis, whatever it may be,” interruptedMichel.

“Or,” continued Barbicane, “its speed will be sufficient, andit will continue its elliptical course, to gravitate forever around the orb ofnight.”

“A revolution not at all consoling,” said Michel, “to pass tothe state of humble servants to a moon whom we are accustomed to look upon asour own handmaid. So that is the fate in store for us?”

Neither Barbicane nor Nicholl answered.

“You do not answer,” continued Michel impatiently.

“There is nothing to answer,” said Nicholl.

“Is there nothing to try?”

“No,” answered Barbicane. “Do you pretend to fight againstthe impossible?”

“Why not? Do one Frenchman and two Americans shrink from such aword?”

“But what would you do?”

“Subdue this motion which is bearing us away.”

“Subdue it?”

“Yes,” continued Michel, getting animated, “or else alter it,and employ it to the accomplishment of our own ends.”

“And how?”

“That is your affair. If artillerymen are not masters of their projectilethey are not artillerymen. If the projectile is to command the gunner, we hadbetter ram the gunner into the gun. My faith! fine savants! who do not knowwhat is to become of us after inducing me—”

“Inducing you!” cried Barbicane and Nicholl. “Inducing you!What do you mean by that?”

“No recrimination,” said Michel. “I do not complain, the triphas pleased me, and the projectile agrees with me; but let us do all that ishumanly possible to do the fall somewhere, even if only on the moon.”

“We ask no better, my worthy Michel,” replied Barbicane, “butmeans fail us.”

“We cannot alter the motion of the projectile?”

“No.”

“Nor diminish its speed?”

“No.”

“Not even by lightening it, as they lighten an overloaded vessel?”

“What would you throw out?” said Nicholl. “We have no ballaston board; and indeed it seems to me that if lightened it would go muchquicker.”

“Slower.”

“Quicker.”

“Neither slower nor quicker,” said Barbicane, wishing to make histwo friends agree; “for we float is space, and must no longer considerspecific weight.”

“Very well,” cried Michel Ardan in a decided voice; “thentheir remains but one thing to do.”

“What is it?” asked Nicholl.

“Breakfast,” answered the cool, audacious Frenchman, who alwaysbrought up this solution at the most difficult juncture.

In any case, if this operation had no influence on the projectile’scourse, it could at least be tried without inconvenience, and even with successfrom a stomachic point of view. Certainly Michel had none but good ideas.

They breakfasted then at two in the morning; the hour mattered little. Michelserved his usual repast, crowned by a glorious bottle drawn from his privatecellar. If ideas did not crowd on their brains, we must despair of theChambertin of 1853. The repast finished, observation began again. Around theprojectile, at an invariable distance, were the objects which had been thrownout. Evidently, in its translatory motion round the moon, it had not passedthrough any atmosphere, for the specific weight of these different objectswould have checked their relative speed.

On the side of the terrestrial sphere nothing was to be seen. The earth was buta day old, having been new the night before at twelve; and two days must elapsebefore its crescent, freed from the solar rays, would serve as a clock to theSelenites, as in its rotary movement each of its points after twenty-four hoursrepasses the same lunar meridian.

On the moon’s side the sight was different; the orb shone in all hersplendor amid innumerable constellations, whose purity could not be troubled byher rays. On the disc, the plains were already returning to the dark tint whichis seen from the earth. The other part of the nimbus remained brilliant, and inthe midst of this general brilliancy Tycho shone prominently like a sun.

Barbicane had no means of estimating the projectile’s speed, butreasoning showed that it must uniformly decrease, according to the laws ofmechanical reasoning. Having admitted that the projectile was describing anorbit around the moon, this orbit must necessarily be elliptical; scienceproves that it must be so. No motive body circulating round an attracting bodyfails in this law. Every orbit described in space is elliptical. And why shouldthe projectile of the Gun Club escape this natural arrangement? In ellipticalorbits, the attracting body always occupies one of the foci; so that at onemoment the satellite is nearer, and at another farther from the orb aroundwhich it gravitates. When the earth is nearest the sun she is in herperihelion; and in her aphelion at the farthest point. Speaking of the moon,she is nearest to the earth in her perigee, and farthest from it in her apogee.To use analogous expressions, with which the astronomers’ language isenriched, if the projectile remains as a satellite of the moon, we must saythat it is in its “aposelene” at its farthest point, and in its“periselene” at its nearest. In the latter case, the projectilewould attain its maximum of speed; and in the former its minimum. It wasevidently moving toward its aposelenitical point; and Barbicane had reason tothink that its speed would decrease up to this point, and then increase bydegrees as it neared the moon. This speed would even become nil, ifthis point joined that of equal attraction. Barbicane studied the consequencesof these different situations, and thinking what inference he could draw fromthem, when he was roughly disturbed by a cry from Michel Ardan.

“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “I must admit we are down-rightsimpletons!”

“I do not say we are not,” replied Barbicane; “butwhy?”

“Because we have a very simple means of checking this speed which isbearing us from the moon, and we do not use it!”

“And what is the means?”

“To use the recoil contained in our rockets.”

“Done!” said Nicholl.

“We have not used this force yet,” said Barbicane, “it istrue, but we will do so.”

“When?” asked Michel.

“When the time comes. Observe, my friends, that in the position occupiedby the projectile, an oblique position with regard to the lunar disc, ourrockets, in slightly altering its direction, might turn it from the mooninstead of drawing it nearer?”

“Just so,” replied Michel.

“Let us wait, then. By some inexplicable influence, the projectile isturning its base toward the earth. It is probable that at the point of equalattraction, its conical cap will be directed rigidly toward the moon; at thatmoment we may hope that its speed will be nil; then will be the momentto act, and with the influence of our rockets we may perhaps provoke a falldirectly on the surface of the lunar disc.”

“Bravo!” said Michel. “What we did not do, what we could notdo on our first passage at the dead point, because the projectile was thenendowed with too great a speed.”

“Very well reasoned,” said Nicholl.

“Let us wait patiently,” continued Barbicane. “Putting everychance on our side, and after having so much despaired, I may say I think weshall gain our end.”

This conclusion was a signal for Michel Ardan’s hips and hurrahs. Andnone of the audacious boobies remembered the question that they themselves hadsolved in the negative. No! the moon is not inhabited; no! the moon is probablynot habitable. And yet they were going to try everything to reach her.

One single question remained to be solved. At what precise moment theprojectile would reach the point of equal attraction, on which the travelersmust play their last card. In order to calculate this to within a few seconds,Barbicane had only to refer to his notes, and to reckon the different heightstaken on the lunar parallels. Thus the time necessary to travel over thedistance between the dead point and the south pole would be equal to thedistance separating the north pole from the dead point. The hours representingthe time traveled over were carefully noted, and the calculation was easy.Barbicane found that this point would be reached at one in the morning on thenight of the 7th-8th of December. So that, if nothing interfered with itscourse, it would reach the given point in twenty-two hours.

The rockets had primarily been placed to check the fall of the projectile uponthe moon, and now they were going to employ them for a directly contrarypurpose. In any case they were ready, and they had only to wait for the momentto set fire to them.

“Since there is nothing else to be done,” said Nicholl, “Imake a proposition.”

“What is it?” asked Barbicane.

“I propose to go to sleep.”

“What a motion!” exclaimed Michel Ardan.

“It is forty hours since we closed our eyes,” said Nicholl.“Some hours of sleep will restore our strength.”

“Never,” interrupted Michel.

“Well,” continued Nicholl, “every one to his taste; I shallgo to sleep.” And stretching himself on the divan, he soon snored like aforty-eight pounder.

“That Nicholl has a good deal of sense,” said Barbicane;“presently I shall follow his example.” Some moments after hiscontinued bass supported the captain’s baritone.

“Certainly,” said Michel Ardan, finding himself alone, “thesepractical people have sometimes most opportune ideas.”

And with his long legs stretched out, and his great arms folded under his head,Michel slept in his turn.

But this sleep could be neither peaceful nor lasting, the minds of these threemen were too much occupied, and some hours after, about seven in the morning,all three were on foot at the same instant.

The projectile was still leaving the moon, and turning its conical part moreand more toward her.

An explicable phenomenon, but one which happily served Barbicane’s ends.

Seventeen hours more, and the moment for action would have arrived.

The day seemed long. However bold the travelers might be, they were greatlyimpressed by the approach of that moment which would decide all—eitherprecipitate their fall on to the moon, or forever chain them in an immutableorbit. They counted the hours as they passed too slow for their wish; Barbicaneand Nicholl were obstinately plunged in their calculations, Michel going andcoming between the narrow walls, and watching that impassive moon with alonging eye.

At times recollections of the earth crossed their minds. They saw once moretheir friends of the Gun Club, and the dearest of all, J. T. Maston. At thatmoment, the honorable secretary must be filling his post on the RockyMountains. If he could see the projectile through the glass of his gigantictelescope, what would he think? After seeing it disappear behind themoon’s south pole, he would see them reappear by the north pole! Theymust therefore be a satellite of a satellite! Had J. T. Maston given thisunexpected news to the world? Was this the denouementof this greatenterprise?

But the day passed without incident. The terrestrial midnight arrived. The 8thof December was beginning. One hour more, and the point of equal attractionwould be reached. What speed would then animate the projectile? They could notestimate it. But no error could vitiate Barbicane’s calculations. At onein the morning this speed ought to be and would be nil.

Besides, another phenomenon would mark the projectile’s stopping-point onthe neutral line. At that spot the two attractions, lunar and terrestrial,would be annulled. Objects would “weigh” no more. This singularfact, which had surprised Barbicane and his companions so much in going, wouldbe repeated on their return under the very same conditions. At this precisemoment they must act.

Already the projectile’s conical top was sensibly turned toward the lunardisc, presented in such a way as to utilize the whole of the recoil produced bythe pressure of the rocket apparatus. The chances were in favor of thetravelers. If its speed was utterly annulled on this dead point, a decidedmovement toward the moon would suffice, however slight, to determine its fall.

“Five minutes to one,” said Nicholl.

“All is ready,” replied Michel Ardan, directing a lighted match tothe flame of the gas.

“Wait!” said Barbicane, holding his chronometer in his hand.

At that moment weight had no effect. The travelers felt in themselves theentire disappearance of it. They were very near the neutral point, if they didnot touch it.

“One o’clock,” said Barbicane.

Michel Ardan applied the lighted match to a train in communication with therockets. No detonation was heard in the inside, for there was no air. But,through the scuttles, Barbicane saw a prolonged smoke, the flames of which wereimmediately extinguished.

The projectile sustained a certain shock, which was sensibly felt in theinterior.

The three friends looked and listened without speaking, and scarcely breathing.One might have heard the beating of their hearts amid this perfect silence.

“Are we falling?” asked Michel Ardan, at length.

“No,” said Nicholl, “since the bottom of the projectile isnot turning to the lunar disc!”

At this moment, Barbicane, quitting his scuttle, turned to his two companions.He was frightfully pale, his forehead wrinkled, and his lips contracted.

“We are falling!” said he.

“Ah!” cried Michel Ardan, “on to the moon?”

“On to the earth!”

“The devil!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, adding philosophically,“well, when we came into this projectile we were very doubtful as to theease with which we should get out of it!”

And now this fearful fall had begun. The speed retained had borne theprojectile beyond the dead point. The explosion of the rockets could not divertits course. This speed in going had carried it over the neutral line, and inreturning had done the same thing. The laws of physics condemned it to passthrough every point which it had already gone through. It was a terriblefall, from a height of 160,000 miles, and no springs to break it. According tothe laws of gunnery, the projectile must strike the earth with a speed equal tothat with which it left the mouth of the Columbiad, a speed of 16,000 yards inthe last second.

But to give some figures of comparison, it has been reckoned that an objectthrown from the top of the towers of Notre Dame, the height of which is only200 feet, will arrive on the pavement at a speed of 240 miles per hour. Herethe projectile must strike the earth with a speed of 115,200 miles per hour.

“We are lost!” said Michel coolly.

“Very well! if we die,” answered Barbicane, with a sort ofreligious enthusiasm, “the results of our travels will be magnificentlyspread. It is His own secret that God will tell us! In the other life the soulwill want to know nothing, either of machines or engines! It will be identifiedwith eternal wisdom!”

“In fact,” interrupted Michel Ardan, “the whole of the otherworld may well console us for the loss of that inferior orb called themoon!”

Barbicane crossed his arms on his breast, with a motion of sublime resignation,saying at the same time:

“The will of heaven be done!”

CHAPTER XX.
THE SOUNDINGS OF THE SUSQUEHANNA

Well, lieutenant, and our soundings?”

“I think, sir, that the operation is nearing its completion,”replied Lieutenant Bronsfield. “But who would have thought of findingsuch a depth so near in shore, and only 200 miles from the Americancoast?”

“Certainly, Bronsfield, there is a great depression,” said CaptainBlomsberry. “In this spot there is a submarine valley worn byHumboldt’s current, which skirts the coast of America as far as theStraits of Magellan.”

“These great depths,” continued the lieutenant, “are notfavorable for laying telegraphic cables. A level bottom, like that supportingthe American cable between Valentia and Newfoundland, is much better.”

“I agree with you, Bronsfield. With your permission, lieutenant, whereare we now?”

“Sir, at this moment we have 3,508 fathoms of line out, and the ballwhich draws the sounding lead has not yet touched the bottom; for if so, itwould have come up of itself.”

“Brook’s apparatus is very ingenious,” said CaptainBlomsberry; “it gives us very exact soundings.”

“Touch!” cried at this moment one of the men at the forewheel, whowas superintending the operation.

The captain and the lieutenant mounted the quarterdeck.

“What depth have we?” asked the captain.

“Three thousand six hundred and twenty-seven fathoms,” replied thelieutenant, entering it in his notebook.

“Well, Bronsfield,” said the captain, “I will take down theresult. Now haul in the sounding line. It will be the work of some hours. Inthat time the engineer can light the furnaces, and we shall be ready to startas soon as you have finished. It is ten o’clock, and with yourpermission, lieutenant, I will turn in.”

“Do so, sir; do so!” replied the lieutenant obligingly.

The captain of the Susquehanna, as brave a man as need be, and the humbleservant of his officers, returned to his cabin, took a brandy-grog, whichearned for the steward no end of praise, and turned in, not without havingcomplimented his servant upon his making beds, and slept a peaceful sleep.

It was then ten at night. The eleventh day of the month of December was drawingto a close in a magnificent night.

The Susquehanna, a corvette of 500 horse-power, of the United States navy, wasoccupied in taking soundings in the Pacific Ocean about 200 miles off theAmerican coast, following that long peninsula which stretches down the coast ofMexico.

The wind had dropped by degrees. There was no disturbance in the air. Thepennant hung motionless from the maintop-gallant- mast truck.

Captain Jonathan Blomsberry (cousin-german of Colonel Blomsberry, one of themost ardent supporters of the Gun Club, who had married an aunt of the captainand daughter of an honorable Kentucky merchant)—Captain Blomsberry couldnot have wished for finer weather in which to bring to a close his delicateoperations of sounding. His corvette had not even felt the great tempest, whichby sweeping away the groups of clouds on the Rocky Mountains, had allowed themto observe the course of the famous projectile.

Everything went well, and with all the fervor of a Presbyterian, he did notforget to thank heaven for it. The series of soundings taken by theSusquehanna, had for its aim the finding of a favorable spot for the laying ofa submarine cable to connect the Hawaiian Islands with the coast of America.

It was a great undertaking, due to the instigation of a powerful company. Itsmanaging director, the intelligent Cyrus Field, purposed even covering all theislands of Oceanica with a vast electrical network, an immense enterprise, andone worthy of American genius.

To the corvette Susquehanna had been confided the first operations of sounding.It was on the night of the 11th-12th of December, she was in exactly 27°7′ north latitude, and 41° 37′ west longitude, on the meridian ofWashington.

The moon, then in her last quarter, was beginning to rise above the horizon.

After the departure of Captain Blomsberry, the lieutenant and some officerswere standing together on the poop. On the appearance of the moon, theirthoughts turned to that orb which the eyes of a whole hemisphere werecontemplating. The best naval glasses could not have discovered the projectilewandering around its hemisphere, and yet all were pointed toward that brilliantdisc which millions of eyes were looking at at the same moment.

“They have been gone ten days,” said Lieutenant Bronsfield at last.“What has become of them?”

“They have arrived, lieutenant,” exclaimed a young midshipman,“and they are doing what all travelers do when they arrive in a newcountry, taking a walk!”

“Oh! I am sure of that, if you tell me so, my young friend,” saidLieutenant Bronsfield, smiling.

“But,” continued another officer, “their arrival cannot bedoubted. The projectile was to reach the moon when full on the 5th at midnight.We are now at the 11th of December, which makes six days. And in six timestwenty-four hours, without darkness, one would have time to settle comfortably.I fancy I see my brave countrymen encamped at the bottom of some valley, on theborders of a Selenite stream, near a projectile half-buried by its fall amidvolcanic rubbish, Captain Nicholl beginning his leveling operations, PresidentBarbicane writing out his notes, and Michel Ardan embalming the lunar solitudeswith the perfume of his—”

“Yes! it must be so, it is so!” exclaimed the young midshipman,worked up to a pitch of enthusiasm by this ideal description of his superiorofficer.

“I should like to believe it,” replied the lieutenant, who wasquite unmoved. “Unfortunately direct news from the lunar world is stillwanting.”

“Beg pardon, lieutenant,” said the midshipman, “but cannotPresident Barbicane write?”

A burst of laughter greeted this answer.

“No letters!” continued the young man quickly. “The postaladministration has something to see to there.”

“Might it not be the telegraphic service that is at fault?” askedone of the officers ironically.

“Not necessarily,” replied the midshipman, not at all confused.“But it is very easy to set up a graphic communication with theearth.”

“And how?”

“By means of the telescope at Long’s Peak. You know it brings themoon to within four miles of the Rocky Mountains, and that it shows objects onits surface of only nine feet in diameter. Very well; let our industriousfriends construct a giant alphabet; let them write words three fathoms long,and sentences three miles long, and then they can send us news ofthemselves.”

The young midshipman, who had a certain amount of imagination, was loudlyapplauded; Lieutenant Bronsfield allowing that the idea was possible, butobserving that if by these means they could receive news from the lunar worldthey could not send any from the terrestrial, unless the Selenites hadinstruments fit for taking distant observations at their disposal.

“Evidently,” said one of the officers; “but what has becomeof the travelers? what they have done, what they have seen, that above all mustinterest us. Besides, if the experiment has succeeded (which I do not doubt),they will try it again. The Columbiad is still sunk in the soil of Florida. Itis now only a question of powder and shot; and every time the moon is at herzenith a cargo of visitors may be sent to her.”

“It is clear,” replied Lieutenant Bronsfield, “that J. T.Maston will one day join his friends.”

“If he will have me,” cried the midshipman, “I amready!”

“Oh! volunteers will not be wanting,” answered Bronsfield;“and if it were allowed, half of the earth’s inhabitants wouldemigrate to the moon!”

This conversation between the officers of the Susquehanna was kept up untilnearly one in the morning. We cannot say what blundering systems were broached,what inconsistent theories advanced by these bold spirits. SinceBarbicane’s attempt, nothing seemed impossible to the Americans. They hadalready designed an expedition, not only of savants, but of a whole colonytoward the Selenite borders, and a complete army, consisting of infantry,artillery, and cavalry, to conquer the lunar world.

At one in the morning, the hauling in of the sounding-line was not yetcompleted; 1,670 fathoms were still out, which would entail some hours’work. According to the commander’s orders, the fires had been lighted,and steam was being got up. The Susquehanna could have started that veryinstant.

At that moment (it was seventeen minutes past one in the morning) LieutenantBronsfield was preparing to leave the watch and return to his cabin, when hisattention was attracted by a distant hissing noise. His comrades and himselffirst thought that this hissing was caused by the letting off of steam; butlifting their heads, they found that the noise was produced in the highestregions of the air. They had not time to question each other before the hissingbecame frightfully intense, and suddenly there appeared to their dazzled eyesan enormous meteor, ignited by the rapidity of its course and its frictionthrough the atmospheric strata.

This fiery mass grew larger to their eyes, and fell, with the noise of thunder,upon the bowsprit, which it smashed close to the stem, and buried itself in thewaves with a deafening roar!

A few feet nearer, and the Susquehanna would have foundered with all on board!

At this instant Captain Blomsberry appeared, half-dressed, and rushing on tothe forecastle-deck, whither all the officers had hurried, exclaimed,“With your permission, gentlemen, what has happened?”

And the midshipman, making himself as it were the echo of the body, cried,“Commander, it is ‘they’ come back again!”

CHAPTER XXI.
J. T. MASTON RECALLED

“It is ‘they’ come back again!” the young midshipmanhad said, and every one had understood him. No one doubted but that the meteorwas the projectile of the Gun Club. As to the travelers which it enclosed,opinions were divided regarding their fate.

“They are dead!” said one.

“They are alive!” said another; “the crater is deep, and theshock was deadened.”

“But they must have wanted air,” continued a third speaker;“they must have died of suffocation.”

“Burned!” replied a fourth; “the projectile was nothing butan incandescent mass as it crossed the atmosphere.”

“What does it matter!” they exclaimed unanimously; “living ordead, we must pull them out!”

But Captain Blomsberry had assembled his officers, and “with theirpermission,” was holding a council. They must decide upon something to bedone immediately. The more hasty ones were for fishing up the projectile. Adifficult operation, though not an impossible one. But the corvette had noproper machinery, which must be both fixed and powerful; so it was resolvedthat they should put in at the nearest port, and give information to the GunClub of the projectile’s fall.

This determination was unanimous. The choice of the port had to be discussed.The neighboring coast had no anchorage on 27° latitude. Higher up, above thepeninsula of Monterey, stands the important town from which it takes its name;but, seated on the borders of a perfect desert, it was not connected with theinterior by a network of telegraphic wires, and electricity alone could spreadthese important news fast enough.

Some degrees above opened the bay of San Francisco. Through the capital of thegold country communication would be easy with the heart of the Union. And inless than two days the Susquehanna, by putting on high pressure, could arrivein that port. She must therefore start at once.

The fires were made up; they could set off immediately. Two thousand fathoms ofline were still out, which Captain Blomsberry, not wishing to lose precioustime in hauling in, resolved to cut.

“we will fasten the end to a buoy,” said he, “and that buoywill show us the exact spot where the projectile fell.”

“Besides,” replied Lieutenant Bronsfield, “we have oursituation exact—27° 7′ north latitude and 41° 37′ westlongitude.”

“Well, Mr. Bronsfield,” replied the captain, “now, with yourpermission, we will have the line cut.”

A strong buoy, strengthened by a couple of spars, was thrown into the ocean.The end of the rope was carefully lashed to it; and, left solely to the riseand fall of the billows, the buoy would not sensibly deviate from the spot.

At this moment the engineer sent to inform the captain that steam was up andthey could start, for which agreeable communication the captain thanked him.The course was then given north-northeast, and the corvette, wearing, steeredat full steam direct for San Francisco. It was three in the morning.

Four hundred and fifty miles to cross; it was nothing for a good vessel likethe Susquehanna. In thirty-six hours she had covered that distance; and on the14th of December, at twenty-seven minutes past one at night, she entered thebay of San Francisco.

At the sight of a ship of the national navy arriving at full speed, with herbowsprit broken, public curiosity was greatly roused. A dense crowd soonassembled on the quay, waiting for them to disembark.

After casting anchor, Captain Blomsberry and Lieutenant Bronsfield entered aneight-pared cutter, which soon brought them to land.

They jumped on to the quay.

“The telegraph?” they asked, without answering one of the thousandquestions addressed to them.

The officer of the port conducted them to the telegraph office through aconcourse of spectators. Blomsberry and Bronsfield entered, while the crowdcrushed each other at the door.

Some minutes later a fourfold telegram was sent out—the first to theNaval Secretary at Washington; the second to the vice-president of the GunClub, Baltimore; the third to the Hon. J. T. Maston, Long’s Peak, RockyMountains; and the fourth to the sub-director of the Cambridge Observatory,Massachusetts.

It was worded as follows:

In 20° 7′ north latitude, and 41° 37′ west longitude, on the 12thof December, at seventeen minutes past one in the morning, the projectile ofthe Columbiad fell into the Pacific. Send instructions.—BLOMSBERRY,Commander Susquehanna.

Five minutes afterward the whole town of San Francisco learned the news. Beforesix in the evening the different States of the Union had heard the greatcatastrophe; and after midnight, by the cable, the whole of Europe knew theresult of the great American experiment. We will not attempt to picture theeffect produced on the entire world by that unexpected denouement.

On receipt of the telegram the Naval Secretary telegraphed to the Susquehannato wait in the bay of San Francisco without extinguishing her fires. Day andnight she must be ready to put to sea.

The Cambridge observatory called a special meeting; and, with that composurewhich distinguishes learned bodies in general, peacefully discussed thescientific bearings of the question. At the Gun Club there was an explosion.All the gunners were assembled. Vice-President the Hon. Wilcome was in the actof reading the premature dispatch, in which J. T. Maston and Belfast announcedthat the projectile had just been seen in the gigantic reflector ofLong’s Peak, and also that it was held by lunar attraction, and wasplaying the part of under satellite to the lunar world.

We know the truth on that point.

But on the arrival of Blomsberry’s dispatch, so decidely contradicting J.T. Maston’s telegram, two parties were formed in the bosom of the GunClub. On one side were those who admitted the fall of the projectile, andconsequently the return of the travelers; on the other, those who believed inthe observations of Long’s Peak, concluded that the commander of theSusquehanna had made a mistake. To the latter the pretended projectile wasnothing but a meteor! nothing but a meteor, a shooting globe, which in its fallhad smashed the bows of the corvette. It was difficult to answer this argument,for the speed with which it was animated must have made observation verydifficult. The commander of the Susquehanna and her officers might have made amistake in all good faith; one argument however, was in their favor, namely,that if the projectile had fallen on the earth, its place of meeting with theterrestrial globe could only take place on this 27° north latitude, and (takinginto consideration the time that had elapsed, and the rotary motion of theearth) between the 41° and the 42° of west longitude. In any case, it wasdecided in the Gun Club that Blomsberry brothers, Bilsby, and Major Elphinstoneshould go straight to San Francisco, and consult as to the means of raising theprojectile from the depths of the ocean.

These devoted men set off at once; and the railroad, which will soon cross thewhole of Central America, took them as far as St. Louis, where the swiftmail-coaches awaited them. Almost at the same moment in which the Secretary ofMarine, the vice-president of the Gun Club, and the sub-director of theObservatory received the dispatch from San Francisco, the Honorable J. T.Maston was undergoing the greatest excitement he had ever experienced in hislife, an excitement which even the bursting of his pet gun, which had more thanonce nearly cost him his life, had not caused him. We may remember that thesecretary of the Gun Club had started soon after the projectile (and almost asquickly) for the station on Long’s Peak, in the Rocky Mountains, J.Belfast, director of the Cambridge Observatory, accompanying him. Arrivedthere, the two friends had installed themselves at once, never quitting thesummit of their enormous telescope. We know that this gigantic instrument hadbeen set up according to the reflecting system, called by the English“front view.” This arrangement subjected all objects to but onereflection, making the view consequently much clearer; the result was that,when they were taking observation, J. T. Maston and Belfast were placed in theupperpart of the instrument and not in the lower, which they reached bya circular staircase, a masterpiece of lightness, while below them opened ametal well terminated by the metallic mirror, which measured two hundred andeighty feet in depth.

It was on a narrow platform placed above the telescope that the two savantspassed their existence, execrating the day which hid the moon from their eyes,and the clouds which obstinately veiled her during the night.

What, then, was their delight when, after some days of waiting, on the night ofthe 5th of December, they saw the vehicle which was bearing their friends intospace! To this delight succeeded a great deception, when, trusting to a cursoryobservation, they launched their first telegram to the world, erroneouslyaffirming that the projectile had become a satellite of the moon, gravitatingin an immutable orbit.

From that moment it had never shown itself to their eyes—a disappearanceall the more easily explained, as it was then passing behind the moon’sinvisible disc; but when it was time for it to reappear on the visible disc,one may imagine the impatience of the fuming J. T. Maston and his not lessimpatient companion. Each minute of the night they thought they saw theprojectile once more, and they did not see it. Hence constant discussions andviolent disputes between them, Belfast affirming that the projectile could notbe seen, J. T. Maston maintaining that “it had put his eyes out.”

“It is the projectile!” repeated J. T. Maston.

“No,” answered Belfast; “it is an avalanche detached from alunar mountain.”

“Well, we shall see it to-morrow.”

“No, we shall not see it any more. It is carried into space.”

“Yes!”

“No!”

And at these moments, when contradictions rained like hail, the well-knownirritability of the secretary of the Gun Club constituted a permanent dangerfor the Honorable Belfast. The existence of these two together would soon havebecome impossible; but an unforseen event cut short their everlastingdiscussions.

During the night, from the 14th to the 15th of December, the two irreconcilablefriends were busy observing the lunar disc, J. T. Maston abusing the learnedBelfast as usual, who was by his side; the secretary of the Gun Clubmaintaining for the thousandth time that he had just seen the projectile, andadding that he could see Michel Ardan’s face looking through one of thescuttles, at the same time enforcing his argument by a series of gestures whichhis formidable hook rendered very unpleasant.

At this moment Belfast’s servant appeared on the platform (it was ten atnight) and gave him a dispatch. It was the commander of the Susquehanna’stelegram.

Belfast tore the envelope and read, and uttered a cry.

“What!” said J. T. Maston.

“The projectile!”

“Well!”

“Has fallen to the earth!”

Another cry, this time a perfect howl, answered him. He turned toward J. T.Maston. The unfortunate man, imprudently leaning over the metal tube, haddisappeared in the immense telescope. A fall of two hundred and eighty feet!Belfast, dismayed, rushed to the orifice of the reflector.

He breathed. J. T. Maston, caught by his metal hook, was holding on by one ofthe rings which bound the telescope together, uttering fearful cries.

Belfast called. Help was brought, tackle was let down, and they hoisted up, notwithout some trouble, the imprudent secretary of the Gun Club.

He reappeared at the upper orifice without hurt.

“Ah!” said he, “if I had broken the mirror?”

“You would have paid for it,” replied Belfast severely.

“And that cursed projectile has fallen?” asked J. T. Maston.

“Into the Pacific!”

“Let us go!”

A quarter of an hour after the two savants were descending the declivity of theRocky Mountains; and two days after, at the same time as their friends of theGun Club, they arrived at San Francisco, having killed five horses on the road.

Elphinstone, the brothers Blomsberry, and Bilsby rushed toward them on theirarrival.

“What shall we do?” they exclaimed.

“Fish up the projectile,” replied J. T. Maston, “and thesooner the better.”

CHAPTER XXII.
RECOVERED FROM THE SEA

The spot where the projectile sank under the waves was exactly known; but themachinery to grasp it and bring it to the surface of the ocean was stillwanting. It must first be invented, then made. American engineers could not betroubled with such trifles. The grappling-irons once fixed, by their help theywere sure to raise it in spite of its weight, which was lessened by the densityof the liquid in which it was plunged.

But fishing-up the projectile was not the only thing to be thought of. Theymust act promptly in the interest of the travelers. No one doubted that theywere still living.

“Yes,” repeated J. T. Maston incessantly, whose confidence gainedover everybody, “our friends are clever people, and they cannot havefallen like simpletons. They are alive, quite alive; but we must make haste ifwe wish to find them so. Food and water do not trouble me; they have enough fora long while. But air, air, that is what they will soon want; so quick,quick!”

And they did go quick. They fitted up the Susquehanna for her new destination.Her powerful machinery was brought to bear upon the hauling-chains. Thealuminum projectile only weighed 19,250 pounds, a weight very inferior to thatof the transatlantic cable which had been drawn up under similar conditions.The only difficulty was in fishing up a cylindro-conical projectile, the wallsof which were so smooth as to offer no hold for the hooks. On that accountEngineer Murchison hastened to San Francisco, and had some enormousgrappling-irons fixed on an automatic system, which would never let theprojectile go if it once succeeded in seizing it in its powerful claws.Diving-dresses were also prepared, which through this impervious coveringallowed the divers to observe the bottom of the sea. He also had put on boardan apparatus of compressed air very cleverly designed. There were perfectchambers pierced with scuttles, which, with water let into certaincompartments, could draw it down into great depths. These apparatuses were atSan Francisco, where they had been used in the construction of a submarinebreakwater; and very fortunately it was so, for there was no time to constructany. But in spite of the perfection of the machinery, in spite of the ingenuityof the savants entrusted with the use of them, the success of the operation wasfar from being certain. How great were the chances against them, the projectilebeing 20,000 feet under the water! And if even it was brought to the surface,how would the travelers have borne the terrible shock which 20,000 feet ofwater had perhaps not sufficiently broken? At any rate they must act quickly.J. T. Maston hurried the workmen day and night. He was ready to don thediving-dress himself, or try the air apparatus, in order to reconnoiter thesituation of his courageous friends.

But in spite of all the diligence displayed in preparing the different engines,in spite of the considerable sum placed at the disposal of the Gun Club by theGovernment of the Union, five long days (five centuries!) elapsed before thepreparations were complete. During this time public opinion was excited to thehighest pitch. Telegrams were exchanged incessantly throughout the entire worldby means of wires and electric cables. The saving of Barbicane, Nicholl, andMichel Ardan was an international affair. Every one who had subscribed to theGun Club was directly interested in the welfare of the travelers.

At length the hauling-chains, the air-chambers, and the automaticgrappling-irons were put on board. J. T. Maston, Engineer Murchison, and thedelegates of the Gun Club, were already in their cabins. They had but to start,which they did on the 21st of December, at eight o’clock at night, thecorvette meeting with a beautiful sea, a northeasterly wind, and rather sharpcold. The whole population of San Francisco was gathered on the quay, greatlyexcited but silent, reserving their hurrahs for the return. Steam was fully up,and the screw of the Susquehanna carried them briskly out of the bay.

It is needless to relate the conversations on board between the officers,sailors, and passengers. All these men had but one thought. All these heartsbeat under the same emotion. While they were hastening to help them, what wereBarbicane and his companions doing? What had become of them? Were they able toattempt any bold maneuver to regain their liberty? None could say. The truth isthat every attempt must have failed! Immersed nearly four miles under theocean, this metal prison defied every effort of its prisoners.

On the 23rd inst., at eight in the morning, after a rapid passage, theSusquehanna was due at the fatal spot. They must wait till twelve to take thereckoning exactly. The buoy to which the sounding line had been lashed had notyet been recognized.

At twelve, Captain Blomsberry, assisted by his officers who superintended theobservations, took the reckoning in the presence of the delegates of the GunClub. Then there was a moment of anxiety. Her position decided, the Susquehannawas found to be some minutes westward of the spot where the projectile haddisappeared beneath the waves.

The ship’s course was then changed so as to reach this exact point.

At forty-seven minutes past twelve they reached the buoy; it was in perfectcondition, and must have shifted but little.

“At last!” exclaimed J. T. Maston.

“Shall we begin?” asked Captain Blomsberry.

“Without losing a second.”

Every precaution was taken to keep the corvette almost completely motionless.Before trying to seize the projectile, Engineer Murchison wanted to find itsexact position at the bottom of the ocean. The submarine apparatus destined forthis expedition was supplied with air. The working of these engines was notwithout danger, for at 20,000 feet below the surface of the water, and undersuch great pressure, they were exposed to fracture, the consequences of whichwould be dreadful.

J. T. Maston, the brothers Blomsberry, and Engineer Murchison, without heedingthese dangers, took their places in the air-chamber. The commander, posted onhis bridge, superintended the operation, ready to stop or haul in the chains onthe slightest signal. The screw had been shipped, and the whole power of themachinery collected on the capstan would have quickly drawn the apparatus onboard. The descent began at twenty-five minutes past one at night, and thechamber, drawn under by the reservoirs full of water, disappeared from thesurface of the ocean.

The emotion of the officers and sailors on board was now divided between theprisoners in the projectile and the prisoners in the submarine apparatus. As tothe latter, they forgot themselves, and, glued to the windows of the scuttles,attentively watched the liquid mass through which they were passing.

The descent was rapid. At seventeen minutes past two, J. T. Maston and hiscompanions had reached the bottom of the Pacific; but they saw nothing but anarid desert, no longer animated by either fauna or flora. By the light of theirlamps, furnished with powerful reflectors, they could see the dark beds of theocean for a considerable extent of view, but the projectile was nowhere to beseen.

The impatience of these bold divers cannot be described, and having anelectrical communication with the corvette, they made a signal already agreedupon, and for the space of a mile the Susquehanna moved their chamber alongsome yards above the bottom.

Thus they explored the whole submarine plain, deceived at every turn by opticalillusions which almost broke their hearts. Here a rock, there a projection fromthe ground, seemed to be the much-sought-for projectile; but their mistake wassoon discovered, and then they were in despair.

“But where are they? where are they?” cried J. T. Maston. And thepoor man called loudly upon Nicholl, Barbicane, and Michel Ardan, as if hisunfortunate friends could either hear or answer him through such animpenetrable medium! The search continued under these conditions until thevitiated air compelled the divers to ascend.

The hauling in began about six in the evening, and was not ended beforemidnight.

“To-morrow,” said J. T. Maston, as he set foot on the bridge of thecorvette.

“Yes,” answered Captain Blomsberry.

“And on another spot?”

“Yes.”

J. T. Maston did not doubt of their final success, but his companions, nolonger upheld by the excitement of the first hours, understood all thedifficulty of the enterprise. What seemed easy at San Francisco, seemed here inthe wide ocean almost impossible. The chances of success diminished in rapidproportion; and it was from chance alone that the meeting with the projectilemight be expected.

The next day, the 24th, in spite of the fatigue of the previous day, theoperation was renewed. The corvette advanced some minutes to westward, and theapparatus, provided with air, bore the same explorers to the depths of theocean.

The whole day passed in fruitless research; the bed of the sea was a desert.The 25th brought no other result, nor the 26th.

It was disheartening. They thought of those unfortunates shut up in theprojectile for twenty-six days. Perhaps at that moment they were experiencingthe first approach of suffocation; that is, if they had escaped the dangers oftheir fall. The air was spent, and doubtless with the air all theirmorale.

“The air, possibly,” answered J. T. Maston resolutely, “buttheir moralenever!”

On the 28th, after two more days of search, all hope was gone. This projectilewas but an atom in the immensity of the ocean. They must give up all idea offinding it.

But J. T. Maston would not hear of going away. He would not abandon the placewithout at least discovering the tomb of his friends. But Commander Blomsberrycould no longer persist, and in spite of the exclamations of the worthysecretary, was obliged to give the order to sail.

On the 29th of December, at nine A.M., the Susquehanna, heading northeast,resumed her course to the bay of San Francisco.

It was ten in the morning; the corvette was under half-steam, as it wasregretting to leave the spot where the catastrophe had taken place, when asailor, perched on the main-top-gallant crosstrees, watching the sea, criedsuddenly:

“A buoy on the lee bow!”

The officers looked in the direction indicated, and by the help of theirglasses saw that the object signalled had the appearance of one of those buoyswhich are used to mark the passages of bays or rivers. But, singularly to say,a flag floating on the wind surmounted its cone, which emerged five or six feetout of water. This buoy shone under the rays of the sun as if it had been madeof plates of silver. Commander Blomsberry, J. T. Maston, and the delegates ofthe Gun Club were mounted on the bridge, examining this object straying atrandom on the waves.

All looked with feverish anxiety, but in silence. None dared give expression tothe thoughts which came to the minds of all.

The corvette approached to within two cables’ lengths of the object.

A shudder ran through the whole crew. That flag was the American flag!

At this moment a perfect howling was heard; it was the brave J. T. Maston whohad just fallen all in a heap. Forgetting on the one hand that his right armhad been replaced by an iron hook, and on the other that a simple gutta-perchacap covered his brain-box, he had given himself a formidable blow.

They hurried toward him, picked him up, restored him to life. And what were hisfirst words?

“Ah! trebly brutes! quadruply idiots! quintuply boobies that weare!”

“What is it?” exclaimed everyone around him.

“What is it?”

“Come, speak!”

“It is, simpletons,” howled the terrible secretary, “it isthat the projectile only weighs 19,250 pounds!”

“Well?”

“And that it displaces twenty-eight tons, or in other words 56,000pounds, and that consequently it floats!”

Ah! what stress the worthy man had laid on the verb “float!” And itwas true! All, yes! all these savants had forgotten this fundamental law,namely, that on account of its specific lightness, the projectile, after havingbeen drawn by its fall to the greatest depths of the ocean, must naturallyreturn to the surface. And now it was floating quietly at the mercy of thewaves.

The boats were put to sea. J. T. Maston and his friends had rushed into them!Excitement was at its height! Every heart beat loudly while they advanced tothe projectile. What did it contain? Living or dead?

Living, yes! living, at least unless death had struck Barbicane and his twofriends since they had hoisted the flag. Profound silence reigned on the boats.All were breathless. Eyes no longer saw. One of the scuttles of the projectilewas open. Some pieces of glass remained in the frame, showing that it had beenbroken. This scuttle was actually five feet above the water.

A boat came alongside, that of J. T. Maston, and J. T. Maston rushed to thebroken window.

At that moment they heard a clear and merry voice, the voice of Michel Ardan,exclaiming in an accent of triumph:

“White all, Barbicane, white all!”

Barbicane, Michel Ardan, and Nicholl were playing at dominoes!

CHAPTER XXIII.
THE END

We may remember the intense sympathy which had accompanied the travelers ontheir departure. If at the beginning of the enterprise they had excited suchemotion both in the old and new world, with what enthusiasm would they bereceived on their return! The millions of spectators which had beset thepeninsula of Florida, would they not rush to meet these sublime adventurers?Those legions of strangers, hurrying from all parts of the globe toward theAmerican shores, would they leave the Union without having seen Barbicane,Nicholl, and Michel Ardan? No! and the ardent passion of the public was boundto respond worthily to the greatness of the enterprise. Human creatures who hadleft the terrestrial sphere, and returned after this strange voyage intocelestial space, could not fail to be received as the prophet Elias would be ifhe came back to earth. To see them first, and then to hear them, such was theuniversal longing.

Barbicane, Michel Ardan, Nicholl, and the delegates of the Gun Club, returningwithout delay to Baltimore, were received with indescribable enthusiasm. Thenotes of President Barbicane’s voyage were ready to be given to thepublic. The New York Heraldbought the manuscript at a price not yetknown, but which must have been very high. Indeed, during the publication of“A Journey to the Moon,” the sale of this paper amounted to fivemillions of copies. Three days after the return of the travelers to the earth,the slightest detail of their expedition was known. There remained nothing morebut to see the heroes of this superhuman enterprise.

The expedition of Barbicane and his friends round the moon had enabled them tocorrect the many admitted theories regarding the terrestrial satellite. Thesesavants had observed de visu, and under particular circumstances. Theyknew what systems should be rejected, what retained with regard to theformation of that orb, its origin, its habitability. Its past, present, andfuture had even given up their last secrets. Who could advance objectionsagainst conscientious observers, who at less than twenty-four miles distancehad marked that curious mountain of Tycho, the strangest system of lunarorography? How answer those savants whose sight had penetrated the abyss ofPluto’s circle? How contradict those bold ones whom the chances of theirenterprise had borne over that invisible face of the disc, which no human eyeuntil then had ever seen? It was now their turn to impose some limit on thatselenographic science, which had reconstructed the lunar world as Cuvier didthe skeleton of a fossil, and say, “The moon wasthis, a habitableworld, inhabited before the earth. The moon isthat, a worlduninhabitable, and now uninhabited.”

To celebrate the return of its most illustrious member and his two companions,the Gun Club decided upon giving a banquet, but a banquet worthy of theconquerors, worthy of the American people, and under such conditions that allthe inhabitants of the Union could directly take part in it.

All the head lines of railroads in the States were joined by flying rails; andon all the platforms, lined with the same flags, and decorated with the sameornaments, were tables laid and all served alike. At certain hours,successively calculated, marked by electric clocks which beat the seconds atthe same time, the population were invited to take their places at the banquettables. For four days, from the 5th to the 9th of January, the trains werestopped as they are on Sundays on the railways of the United States, and everyroad was open. One engine only at full speed, drawing a triumphal carriage, hadthe right of traveling for those four days on the railroads of the UnitedStates.

The engine was manned by a driver and a stoker, and bore, by special favor, theHon. J. T. Maston, secretary of the Gun Club. The carriage was reserved forPresident Barbicane, Colonel Nicholl, and Michel Ardan. At the whistle of thedriver, amid the hurrahs, and all the admiring vociferations of the Americanlanguage, the train left the platform of Baltimore. It traveled at a speed ofone hundred and sixty miles in the hour. But what was this speed compared withthat which had carried the three heroes from the mouth of the Columbiad?

Thus they sped from one town to the other, finding whole populations at tableon their road, saluting them with the same acclamations, lavishing the samebravos! They traveled in this way through the east of the Union, Pennsylvania,Connecticut, Massachusetts, Vermont, Maine, and New Hampshire; the north andwest by New York, Ohio, Michigan, and Wisconsin; returning to the south byIllinois, Missouri, Arkansas, Texas, and Louisiana; they went to the southeastby Alabama and Florida, going up by Georgia and the Carolinas, visiting thecenter by Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, and Indiana, and, after quitting theWashington station, re-entered Baltimore, where for four days one would havethought that the United States of America were seated at one immense banquet,saluting them simultaneously with the same hurrahs! The apotheosis was worthyof these three heroes whom fable would have placed in the rank of demigods.

And now will this attempt, unprecedented in the annals of travels, lead to anypractical result? Will direct communication with the moon ever be established?Will they ever lay the foundation of a traveling service through the solarworld? Will they go from one planet to another, from Jupiter to Mercury, andafter awhile from one star to another, from the Polar to Sirius? Will thismeans of locomotion allow us to visit those suns which swarm in the firmament?

To such questions no answer can be given. But knowing the bold ingenuity of theAnglo-Saxon race, no one would be astonished if the Americans seek to make someuse of President Barbicane’s attempt.

Thus, some time after the return of the travelers, the public received withmarked favor the announcement of a company, limited, with a capital of ahundred million of dollars, divided into a hundred thousand shares of athousand dollars each, under the name of the “National Company ofInterstellary Communication.” President, Barbicane; vice-president,Captain Nicholl; secretary, J. T. Maston; director of movements, Michel Ardan.

And as it is part of the American temperament to foresee everything inbusiness, even failure, the Honorable Harry Trolloppe, judge commissioner, andFrancis Drayton, magistrate, were nominated beforehand!

THE END.

Related articles