After the sand appeared some compact white clay, resembling the chalk
of Great Britain, which extended down to a depth of four feet. Then the
iron of the picks struck upon the hard bed of the soil; a kind of rock
formed of petrified shells, very dry, very solid, and which the picks
could with difficulty penetrate. At this point the excavation exhibited
a depth of six feet and a half and the work of the masonry was begun.

At the bottom of this excavation they constructed a wheel of oak, a kind
of circle strongly bolted together, and of immense strength. The centre
of this wooden disc was hollowed out to a diameter equal to the exterior
diameter of the Columbiad. Upon this wheel rested the first layers of
the masonry, the stones of which were bound together by hydraulic cement,
with irresistible tenacity. The workmen, after laying the stones from
the circumference to the centre, 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 away the rock from underneath the
_wheel_ itself, taking care to support it as they advanced upon blocks
of great thickness. At every two feet which the hole gained in depth they
successively withdrew the blocks. The _wheel_ then sank little by little,
and with it the massive ring of masonry, on the upper bed of which the
masons laboured incessantly, always reserving some vent holes to permit
the escape of gas during the operation of casting.

This kind of work required on the part of the workmen extreme nicety and
minute attention. More than one, in digging underneath the wheel, was
dangerously injured by the splinters of stone. But their ardour never
relaxed, night or day. By day they worked under the rays of the scorching
sun; by night, under the gleam of the electric light. The sounds of
the picks against the rock, the bursting of mines, the grinding of the
machines, the wreaths of smoke scattered through the air, traced around
Stones Hill a circle of terror which the herds of buffaloes and the war
parties of the Seminoles never ventured to pass. Nevertheless, the works
advanced regularly, as the steam-cranes actively removed the rubbish.
Of unexpected obstacles there was little account; and with regard to
foreseen difficulties, they were speedily disposed of.

Illustration: THE WORK PROGRESSED REGULARLY.

At the expiration of the first month the well had attained the depth
assigned for that lapse of time, viz. 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
water which made its way right across the outer soil. It became necessary
to employ very powerful pumps and compressed engines to drain it off,
so as to close up 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 several workmen.

No fresh occurrence thenceforward arrested the progress of the operation;
and on the 10th of June, twenty days before the expiration of the period
fixed by Barbicane, the well, lined throughout with its facing of stone,
had attained the depth of 900 feet. At the bottom the masonry rested upon
a massive block measuring thirty feet in thickness, whilst on the upper
portion it was level with the surrounding soil.

President Barbicane and the members of the Gun Club warmly congratulated
their engineer Murchison: the cyclopean work had been accomplished with
extraordinary rapidity.

During these eight months Barbicane never quitted Stones Hill for a
single instant. Keeping ever close by the work of excavation, he busied
himself incessantly with the welfare and health of his workpeople, and
was singularly fortunate in warding off the epidemics common to large
communities of men, and so disastrous in those regions of the globe which
are exposed to the influences of tropical climates.

Many workmen, it is true, paid with their lives for the rashness inherent
in these dangerous labours; but these mishaps are impossible to be
avoided, and they are classed amongst details with which the Americans
trouble themselves but little. They have in fact more regard for human
nature in general than for the individual in particular.

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

   CHAPTER XV.

   THE FÊTE OF THE CASTING.

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

At 600 yards from the well, and circularly arranged around it as a central
point, rose 1200 reverberating ovens, each six feet in diameter, and
separated from each other by an interval of three feet. The circumference
occupied by these 1200 ovens presented a length of two miles. Being all
constructed on the same plan, each with its high quadrangular chimney,
they produced a most singular effect.

It will be remembered that on their third meeting the Committee had
decided to use cast-iron for the Columbiad, and in particular the _white_
description. This metal in fact is the most tenacious, the most ductile,
and the most malleable, and consequently suitable for all moulding
operations; and when smelted with pit coal, is of superior quality for
all engineering works requiring great resisting power, such as cannon,
steam-boilers, hydraulic presses, and the like.

Cast-iron, however, if subjected to only one single fusion, is rarely
sufficiently homogeneous; and it requires a second fusion completely to
refine it by dispossessing it of its last earthly deposits. So before
being forwarded to Tampa Town, the iron ore, molten in the great furnaces
of Coldspring, and brought into contact with coal and silicium heated to
a high temperature, was carburized and transformed into cast-iron. After
this first operation, the metal was sent on to Stones Hill. They had,
however, to deal with 136,000,000 lbs. of iron, a quantity far too costly
to send by railway. The cost of transport would have been double that of
material. It appeared preferable to freight vessels at New York, and to
load them with the iron in bars. This, however, required not less than
sixty-eight vessels of 1000 tons, a veritable fleet, which, quitting New
York on the 3rd of May, on the 10th of the same month ascended the Bay
of Espiritu Santo, and discharged their cargoes, without dues, in the
port at Tampa Town. Thence the iron was transported by rail to Stones
Hill, and about the middle of January this enormous mass of metal was
delivered at its destination.

It will be easily understood that 1200 furnaces were not too many to
melt simultaneously these 60,000 tons of iron. Each of these furnaces
contained nearly 140,000 lbs. weight of metal. They were all built after
the model of those which served for the casting of the Rodman gun, they
were trapezoidal in shape, with a high elliptical arch. These furnaces,
constructed of fireproof brick, were especially adapted for burning
pit coal, with a flat bottom upon which the iron bars were laid. This
bottom, inclined at an angle of 25°, allowed the metal to flow into the
receiving troughs; and the 1200 converging trenches carried the molten
metal down to the central well.

The day following that on which the works of the masonry and boring had
been completed, Barbicane set to work upon the central mould. His object
now was to raise within the centre of the well, and with a coincident
axis, a cylinder 900 feet high, and 9 feet in diameter, which should
exactly fill up the space reserved for the bore of the Columbiad. This
cylinder was composed of a mixture of clay and sand, with the addition of
a little hay and straw. The space left between the mould and the masonry
was intended to be filled up by the molten metal, which would thus form
the walls six feet in thickness. This cylinder, in order to maintain its
equilibrium, had to be bound by iron bands, and firmly fixed at certain
intervals by cross-clamps fastened into the stone lining; after the
castings these would be buried in the block of metal, leaving no external
projection.

Illustration: THE CASTING.

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

"This fête of the casting will be a grand ceremony," said J. T. Maston
to his friend Barbicane.

"Undoubtedly," said Barbicane; "but it will not be a public fête."

"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 an
extremely delicate, not to say a dangerous operation, and I should prefer
its being done privately. At the discharge of the projectile, a fête if
you like—till then, no!"

The president was right. The operation involved unforeseen dangers, which
a great influx of spectators would have hindered him from averting. It was
necessary to preserve complete freedom of movement. No one was admitted
within the enclosure except a delegation of members of the Gun Club,
who had made the voyage to Tampa Town. Among these was the brisk Bilsby,
Tom Hunter, Colonel Blomsberry, Major Elphinstone, General Morgan, and
the rest of the lot to whom the casting of the Columbiad was a matter
of personal interest. J. T. Maston became their cicerone. He omitted no
point of detail; he conducted them throughout the magazines, workshops,
through the midst of the engines, and compelled them to visit the whole
1200 furnaces one after the other. At the end of the twelve-hundredth
visit they were pretty well knocked up.

The casting was to take place at 12 o'clock precisely. The previous
evening each furnace had been charged with 114,000 lbs. weight of metal
in bars disposed cross-ways to each other, so as to allow the hot air
to circulate freely between them. At daybreak the 1200 chimneys vomited
their torrents of flame into the air, and the ground was agitated with
dull tremblings. As many pounds of metal as there were to _cast_, so many
pounds of coal were there to _burn_. Thus there were 68,000 tons of coal
which projected in the face of the sun a thick curtain of smoke. The heat
soon became insupportable within the circle of furnaces, the rumbling of
which resembled the rolling of thunder. The powerful ventilators added
their continuous blasts and saturated with oxygen the glowing plates. The
operation, to be successful, required to be conducted with great rapidity.
On a signal given by a cannon-shot each furnace was to give vent to the
molten iron and completely to empty itself. These arrangements made,
foremen and workmen waited the preconcerted moment with an impatience
mingled with a certain amount of emotion. Not a soul remained within the
enclosure. Each superintendent took his post by the aperture of the run.

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

Twelve o'clock struck! A gunshot suddenly pealed forth and shot its
flame into the air. Twelve hundred melting-troughs were simultaneously
opened and twelve hundred fiery serpents crept towards the central
well, unrolling their incandescent curves. There, down they plunged
with a terrific noise into a depth of 900 feet. It was an exciting and
a magnificent spectacle. The ground trembled, while these molten waves,
launching into the sky their wreaths of smoke, evaporated the moisture
of the mould and hurled it upwards through the vent-holes of the stone
lining in the form of dense vapour-clouds. These artificial clouds
unrolled their thick spirals to a height of 1000 yards into the air.
A savage, wandering somewhere beyond the limits of the horizon, might
have believed that some new crater was forming in the bosom of Florida,
although there was neither any eruption, nor typhoon, nor storm, nor
struggle of the elements, nor any of those terrible phenomena which
nature is capable of producing. No, it was man alone who had produced
these reddish vapours, these gigantic flames worthy of a volcano itself,
these tremendous vibrations resembling the shock of an earthquake, these
reverberations rivalling those of hurricanes 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
was indeed every reason to expect success, since the mould had absorbed
the entire mass of the molten metal; still some considerable time must
elapse before they could arrive at any certainty upon the matter.

The patience of the members of the Gun Club was sorely tried during this
period of 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 in the open sky and the ground burnt the soles of the
feet within a radius of 200 feet round the summit of Stones Hill. It was
impossible to approach nearer. All they could do was to wait with what
patience they might.

"Here we are at the 10th August," exclaimed J. T. Maston one morning,
"only four months to the 1st of December! We shall never be ready in
time!" Barbicane said nothing, but his silence covered serious irritation.

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

"At last!" exclaimed the President of the Gun Club, with an immense sigh
of relief.

The work was resumed the same day. They proceeded at once to extract the
interior mould, for the purpose of clearing out the boring of the piece.
Pickaxes and boring irons were set to work without intermission. The
clayey and sandy soils had acquired extreme hardness under the action of
the heat; but by the aid of the machines, the rubbish on being dug out
was rapidly carted away on railway waggons; and such was the ardour of
the work, so persuasive the arguments of Barbicane's dollars, that by
the 3rd of September all traces of the mould had entirely disappeared.

Immediately the operation of boring was commenced; and by the aid of
powerful machines, a few weeks later, the inner surface of the immense
tube had been rendered perfectly cylindrical, and the bore of the piece
had acquired a thorough polish.

At length, on the 22nd of September, less than a twelvemonth after
Barbicane's original proposition, the enormous weapon, accurately bored,
and exactly vertically pointed, was ready for work. There was only the
moon now to wait for; and they were pretty sure that she would not fail
in the rendezvous.

The ecstacy of J. T. Maston knew no bounds, and he narrowly escaped a
frightful fall while staring down the tube. But for the strong hand of
Colonel Blomsberry, the worthy secretary, like a modern Erostratus, would
have found his death in the depths of the Columbiad.

The cannon was then finished; there was no possible doubt as to its
perfect completion. So, on the 6th of October, Captain Nicholl opened
an account between himself and President Barbicane, in which he debited
himself to the latter in the sum of 2000 dollars. One may believe that
the Captain's wrath was increased to its highest point, and must have
made him seriously ill. However, he had still three bets of three, four,
and five thousand dollars, respectively; and if he gained two out of
these, his position would not be very bad. But the money question did
not enter into his calculations; it was the success of his rival in
casting a cannon against which iron plates sixty feet thick would have
been ineffectual, that dealt him a terrible blow.

After the 23rd of September the enclosure of Stones Hill was thrown open
to the public; and it will be easily imagined what was the concourse of
visitors to this spot! There was an incessant flow of people to and from
Tampa Town and the place, 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,
the aggregate of spectators would be counted by millions; for they were
already arriving 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
numerous comers was but scantily gratified. Most had counted upon
witnessing the spectacle of the casting, and they were treated to
nothing but smoke. This was sorry food for hungry eyes; but Barbicane
would admit no one to that operation. Then ensued grumbling, discontent,
murmurs; they blamed the President, taxed him with dictatorial conduct.
His proceedings were declared "un-American." There was very nearly a
riot round Stones Hill; but Barbicane remained inflexible. When, however,
the Columbiad was entirely finished, this state of closed doors could
no longer be maintained; besides it would have been bad taste, and even
imprudence, to affront the public feeling. Barbicane, therefore, opened
the enclosure to all comers; but, true to his practical 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 plus ultra_ of earthly felicity. Consequently, there was not
one curious spectator who was not willing to give himself the treat of
visiting the interior of this metallic abyss. Baskets suspended from
steam-cranes permitted 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 of the 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 the experiment, the influx of visitors enabled
the Gun Club to pocket nearly 500,000 dollars!

Illustration: TAMPA TOWN AFTER THE UNDERTAKING.

It is needless to say that the first visitors of the Columbiad were the
members of the Gun Club. This privilege was justly reserved for that
illustrious body. The ceremony took place on the 25th September. A basket
of honour took down the President, J. T. Maston, Major Elphinstone,
General Morgan, Colonel Blomsberry, and other members of the club, to
the number of ten in all. How hot it was at the bottom of that long tube
of metal! They were half suffocated. But what delight! What ecstasy! A
table had been laid with six covers on the massive stone which formed
the bottom of the Columbiad, and lighted by a jet of electric light
resembling that of day itself. Numerous exquisite dishes, which seemed
to descend from heaven, were placed successively before the guests, and
the 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
backwards and forwards. They drank to the earth and to her satellite, to
the Gun Club, the Union, the moon, Diana, Phœbe, Selene, the "peaceful
courier of the night"! All the hurrahs, carried upwards upon the sonorous
waves of the immense acoustic tube, arrived with the sound of thunder
at its mouth; and the multitude ranged round Stones Hill heartily united
their shouts with those of the ten revellers hidden from view at the
bottom of the gigantic Columbiad.

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

Illustration: THE BANQUET IN THE COLUMBIAD.

   CHAPTER XVII.

   A TELEGRAPHIC DESPATCH.

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 to the 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 the journals, which the public devoured with eager
eyes.

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

One day, the 30th September, at 3.47 p.m., a telegram, transmitted by
cable from Valentia (Ireland) to Newfoundland and the American mainland,
arrived at the address of President Barbicane.

The President tore open the envelope, read the despatch, and, despite
his remarkable 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 despatch, which figures now in the archives of
the Gun Club:—

   "France, Paris,

   "30 _September_, 4 _a.m._

   "Barbicane, Tampa Town, Florida, United States.

   "Substitute for your spherical shell a cylindro-conical projectile.
    I shall go inside. Shall arrive by steamer 'Atlanta.'

   "Michel Ardan."

   CHAPTER XVIII.

   THE PASSENGER OF THE "ATLANTA."

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

The contents of the despatch, however, speedily became known; for
the telegraphic officials possessed but little discretion, and Michel
Ardan's proposition ran at once throughout the several States of the
Union. Barbicane had, therefore, no further motive for keeping silence.
Consequently, he called together such of his colleagues as were at the
moment in Tampa Town, and without any expression of his own opinions
simply read to them the laconic text itself. 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
looked upon the enterprise as simple and practicable enough—a mere
question of gunnery; but when a person, professing to be a reasonable
being, offered to take passage within the projectile, the whole thing
became a farce, or, in plainer language a _humbug._

Illustration: PRESIDENT BARBICANE AT HIS WINDOW.

One question, however, remained. Did such a being exist? This telegram
flashed across the depths of the Atlantic, the designation of the vessel
on board which he was to take his passage, the date assigned for his
speedy arrival, all combined to impart a certain character of reality to
the proposal. They must get some clearer notion of the matter. Scattered
groups of inquirers at length condensed themselves into a compact crowd,
which made straight for the residence of President Barbicane. That worthy
individual was keeping quiet with the intention of watching events as they
arose. But he had forgotten to take into account the public impatience;
and it was with no pleasant countenance that he watched the population
of Tampa Town gathering under his windows. The murmurs and vociferations
below presently obliged him to appear. He came forward, therefore, and
on silence being procured, a citizen put point-blank to him 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 you do."

"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," replied the
orator. "Have you altered the plans of the projectile according to the
request of the telegram?"

"Not yet, gentlemen; but you are right! we must have better information
to 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
the telegraph office. A few minutes later a telegram was despatched to
the secretary of the underwriters at Liverpool, requesting answers to
the following queries:—

"About the ship 'Atlanta'—when did she leave Europe? Had she on board
a Frenchman named Michel Ardan?"

Two hours afterwards Barbicane received information too exact to leave
room for the smallest remaining doubt.

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

That very evening he wrote to the house of Breadwill and Co., requesting
them to suspend the casting of the projectile until the receipt of
further orders. On the 20th October, at 9 a.m., the semaphores of the
Bahama Canal signalled a thick smoke on the horizon. Two hours later a
large steamer exchanged signals with them. The name of the Atlanta flew
at once over Tampa Town. At four o'clock the English vessel entered the
Bay of Espiritu Santo. At five it crossed the passage of Hillisborough
Bay at full steam. At six she cast anchor at Port Tampa. The anchor had
scarcely caught the sandy bottom when 500 boats surrounded the "Atlanta,"
and the steamer was taken by assault. Barbicane was the first to set foot
on deck, and in a voice of which he vainly tried to conceal the emotion,
called "Michel Ardan."

"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 42 years of age, of large build, but slightly
round-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
patches of yellowish whisker upon full cheeks. Round, wildish eyes,
slightly near-sighted, completed a physiognomy essentially _feline._ His
nose was firmly shaped, his mouth particularly sweet in expression, high
forehead, intelligent and furrowed with wrinkles like a newly-ploughed
field. The body was powerfully developed and firmly fixed upon long legs.
Muscular arms, and a general air of decision gave him the appearance of
a hardy, jolly companion. He was dressed in a suit of ample dimensions,
loose neckerchief, open shirt-collar, disclosing a robust neck; his cuffs
were invariably unbuttoned, through which appeared a pair of red hands.

Illustration: MICHEL ARDEN.

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 sailors
say, gesticulating, making free with everybody, biting his nails with
nervous avidity. He was one of those originals which nature sometimes
invents in the freak of a moment, and of which she then breaks the mould.

Amongst other peculiarities, this curiosity gave himself out for a
sublime ignoramus, "like Shakespeare," and professed supreme contempt
for all scientific men. Those "fellows," as he called them, "are only
fit to mark the points, while we play the game." He was, in fact, a
thorough Bohemian, adventurous, but not an adventurer; a hair-brained
fellow, a kind of Icarus, only possessing relays of wings. For the rest,
he was ever in scrapes, ending invariably by falling on his feet, like
those little pith figures which they sell for children's toys. In two
words, his motto was "I have my opinions," and the love of the impossible
constituted his ruling passion.

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

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

Barbicane followed him without uttering a word.

"You are Barbicane, I suppose?" said Michel Ardan in a tone of voice in
which he would have addressed a friend of twenty years' standing.

"Yes," replied the President of the G. C.

"All right! how d'ye do, Barbicane? how are you getting on—pretty well?
that's right."

"So," said Barbicane without further preliminary, "you are quite
determined to go."

"Quite decided."

"Nothing will stop you?"

"Nothing. Have you modified your projectile according to my telegram."

"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 a
tour in the moon, and I mean to profit by it. There is the whole gist of
the matter."

Barbicane looked hard at this man who spoke so lightly of his project
with such complete absence of anxiety. "But, at least," said he, "you
have some plans, some means of carrying your project into execution?"

"Excellent, my dear Barbicane; only permit me to offer one remark:—My
wish is to tell my story once for all, to everybody, and then to have
done with it; then there will be no need for recapitulation. So, if you
have no objection, assemble your friends, colleagues, the whole town,
all Florida, all America if you like, and to-morrow I shall be ready to
explain my plans and answer any objections whatever that may be advanced.
You may rest assured I shall wait without stirring. Will that suit you?"

"All right," replied Barbicane.

So saying, the President left the cabin and informed the crowd of the
proposal of Michel Ardan. His words were received with clappings of hands
and shouts of joy. They had removed all difficulties. To-morrow every
one would contemplate at his ease this European hero. However, some of
the spectators, more infatuated than the rest, would not leave the deck
of the "Atlanta." They passed the night on board. Amongst others, J.
T. Maston got his hook fixed in the combing of 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 never tired 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
to retire, he re-entered the passenger's cabin, and remained there till
the bell of the steamer made it midnight.

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

   CHAPTER XIX.

   A MONSTER MEETING.

On the following day Barbicane, fearing that indiscreet questions might
be put to Michel Ardan, was desirous of reducing the number of the
audience to a few of the initiated, his own colleagues for instance. He
might as well have tried to check the Falls of Niagara! He was compelled,
therefore, to give up the idea, and to let his new friend run the chances
of a public conference. The place chosen for this monster meeting was a
vast plain situated in the rear of the town. In a few hours, thanks to the
help of the shipping in port, an immense roofing of canvas was stretched
over the parched prairie, and protected it from the burning rays of the
sun. There 300,000 people braved for many hours the stifling heat while
awaiting the arrival of the Frenchman. Of this crowd of spectators a first
set could both see and hear; a second set saw badly and heard nothing
at all; and as for the third, it could neither see nor hear 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 his right by
President Barbicane, and on his left by J. T. Maston, more radiant than
the midday sun and nearly as ruddy. Ardan mounted a platform, from the
top of which his view extended over a sea of black hats. He exhibited not
the slightest embarrassment; he was just as gay, familiar, and pleasant
as if he were at home. To the hurrahs which greeted him he replied by
a graceful bow; then, waving his hand to request silence, he spoke in
perfectly correct English as follows:—

Illustration: THE MEETING.

"Gentlemen, despite the very hot weather I request your patience for a
short time while I offer some explanations regarding the projects which
seem to have so interested you. I am neither an orator nor a man of
science, and I had no idea of addressing you in public; but my friend
Barbicane has told me that you would like to hear me, and I am quite at
your service. Listen to me, therefore, with your 600,000 ears, and please
to excuse the faults of the speaker. Now pray do not forget that you see
before you a perfect ignoramus whose ignorance goes so far that he cannot
even understand the difficulties! It seemed to him that it was a matter
quite simple, natural, and easy to take one's place in a projectile and
start for the moon! That journey must be undertaken sooner or later;
and, as for the mode of locomotion adopted, it follows 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; and lastly by railway.
Well, the projectile is the vehicle of the future, and the planets
themselves are nothing else! Now some of you, gentlemen, may imagine that
the velocity we propose to impart to it is extravagant. It is nothing
of the kind. All the stars exceed it in rapidity, and the earth herself
is at this moment carrying us round the sun at three times as rapid a
rate, and yet she is a mere lounger on the way compared with many others
of the planets! And her velocity is constantly _decreasing._ Is it not
evident, then, I ask you, that there will some day appear velocities far
greater than these, of which light or electricity will probably be the
mechanical agent?

"Yes, gentlemen," continued the orator, "in spite of the opinions of
certain narrow-minded people, who would shut up the human race upon
this globe, as within some magic circle which it must never outstep, we
shall one 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 to zero."

The assembly, strongly predisposed as they were in favour 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 not seem quite
convinced. Very good! Let us reason the matter out. Do you know how long
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
the circumference of the earth; and there are no sailors or travellers,
of even moderate activity, who have not made longer journeys than that
in their lifetime. And now consider that I shall be only ninety-seven
hours on my journey. Ah! I see you are reckoning that the moon is a long
way off from the earth, and that one must think twice before making the
experiment. What would you say, then, if we were talking of going to
Neptune, which revolves at a distance of more than two thousand seven
hundred and twenty millions of miles from the sun! And yet what is that
compared with the distance of the fixed stars, some of which, such as
Arcturus, are at billions of miles distant from us? And then you talk
of the _distance_ which separates the planets from the sun! And there
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 system is a solid, homogeneous body; the planets which compose
it are in _actual contact_ with each other; and whatever space exists
between them is nothing more than the 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, with the conviction which must
penetrate all your minds, 'Distance is but an empty 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 of his movements,
he nearly fell from the platform to the ground. He just escaped a severe
fall, which would have proved to him that distance was by no means _an
empty name._

Illustration: PROJECTILE TRAINS FOR THE MOON.

"Gentlemen," resumed the orator, "I repeat that the distance between the
earth and her satellite is a mere trifle, and undeserving of serious
consideration. I am convinced that before twenty years are over one half
of our earth will have paid a visit to the moon. Now, my worthy friends,
if you have any question to put to me, you will, I fear, sadly embarrass
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
turn which the discussion had assumed. It became now, however, desirable
to divert Ardan from questions of a practical nature, with which he was
doubtless far less conversant. Barbicane, therefore, hastened to get in
a word, and began by asking his new friend whether he thought that the
moon and the planets were inhabited.

"You put before me a great problem, my worthy President," replied the
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 natural
philosopher's point of view, I should say that _nothing useless_ existed
in the world; and, replying to your question by another, I should venture
to assert, that if these worlds are _habitable_, they either are, have
been, or will be inhabited."

"No one could answer more logically or fairly," replied the president.
"The question then reverts to this: _Are_ these worlds habitable? 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 many arguments
_against_ the habitability of the worlds. The conditions of life must
evidently be greatly modified upon the majority of them. To mention
only the planets, we should be either broiled alive in some, or frozen
to death in others, according as they are more or less removed from the
sun."

"I regret," replied Michel Ardan, "that I have not the honour of personally
knowing my contradictor, for I would have attempted to answer him. His
objection has its merits, I admit; but I think we may successfully combat
it, as well as all others which affect the habitability of the other
worlds. If I were a _natural philosopher,_ I would tell him that if less
of caloric were _set in motion_ upon the planets which are nearest to
the sun, and more, on the contrary, upon those which are farthest removed
from it, this simple fact would alone suffice to equalize the heat, and
to render the temperature of those worlds supportable by beings organized
like ourselves. If I were a _naturalist_, I would tell him that, according
to some illustrious men of science, nature has furnished us with instances
upon the earth of animals existing under very varying conditions of life;
that fish respire in a medium fatal to other animals; that amphibious
creatures possess a double existence very difficult of explanation; that
certain denizens of the seas maintain life at enormous depths, and there
support a pressure equal to that of fifty or sixty atmospheres without
being crushed; that several aquatic insects, insensible to temperature,
are met with equally among boiling springs and in the frozen plains
of the Polar Sea; in fine, that we cannot help recognizing in nature a
diversity of means of operation oftentimes incomprehensible, but not the
less real. If I were a _chemist_, I would tell him that the aerolites,
bodies evidently formed exteriorly of our terrestrial globe, have, upon
analysis, revealed indisputable traces of carbon, a substance which
owes its origin solely to organized beings, and which, according to the
experiments of Reichenbach, must necessarily itself have been _endued
with animation._ And lastly, were I a theologian, I would tell him that
the scheme of the Divine Redemption, according to St. Paul, seems to be
applicable, not merely to the earth, but to all the celestial worlds.
But, unfortunately I am neither theologian, nor chemist, nor naturalist,
nor philosopher; therefore, in my absolute ignorance of the great laws
which govern the universe, I confine myself to saying in reply, 'I do not
know whether the worlds are inhabited or not; and since I do not know,
_I am going to see!_"

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

"Gentlemen, you will observe that I have but slightly touched upon
this great question. There is another altogether different line of
arguments in favour of the habitability of the stars, which I omit for
the present. I only desire to call attention to one point. To those who
maintain that the planets are _not_ inhabited one may reply:—You might
be perfectly in the right, if you could only show that the earth is the
_best possible world,_ spite of what Voltaire has said. She has but _one_
satellite, while Jupiter, Uranus, Saturn, Neptune have each several,
an advantage by no means to be despised. But that which renders our own
globe so uncomfortable is the inclination of its axis to the plane of its
orbit. Hence the inequality of days and nights; hence the disagreeable
diversity of the seasons. On the surface of our unhappy spheroid 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
on the surface of Jupiter, for example, where the axis is but slightly
inclined, the inhabitants may enjoy uniform temperatures. It possesses
zones of perpetual springs, summers, autumns, and winters; every Jovian
may choose for himself what climate he likes, and there spend the whole
of his life in security from all variations of temperature. You will, I
am sure, readily admit this superiority of Jupiter over our own planet,
to say nothing of his years, which each equal twelve of ours! Under
such auspices, and such marvellous conditions of existence, it appears
to me that the inhabitants of so fortunate a world must be in every
respect superior to ourselves. All we require, in order to attain to
such perfection, is the mere trifle of having an axis of rotation less
inclined to the plane of its orbit!"

"Hurrah!" roared an energetic voice, "let us unite our efforts, invent
the necessary machines, and rectify the earth's axis!"

A thunder of applause followed this proposal, the author of which was, of
course, no other than J. T. Maston. And, in all probability, if the truth
must be 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 rectifying its 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
uttered in a strong and determined voice:—

"Now that the speaker has favoured us with so much imagination, would he
be so good as to return to his subject, and give us a little practical
view of the question?"

All eyes were directed towards the person who spoke. He was a little
dried-up man, of an active figure, with an American "goatee" beard.
Profiting by the different movements in the crowd, he had managed by
degrees to gain the front row of spectators. There, with arms crossed
and stern gaze, he watched the hero of the meeting. After having put
his question he remained silent, and appeared to take no notice of
the thousands of looks directed towards 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 _moon_ and not about the _earth_."

"You are right, sir," replied Michel Ardan; "the discussion has become
irregular. We will return to the moon."

"Sir," said the unknown, "you pretend that our satellite is inhabited.
Very good; but if Selenites do exist, that race of beings assuredly must
live without breathing, for—I warn you for your own sake—there is
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 the point of being involved in a struggle with this person upon the
very gist of the 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, who
ventures to affirm that?"

"The men of science."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Sir," replied Michel, "pleasantry apart, I have a profound respect for
men of science who do possess science, but a profound contempt for men
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,
a bird cannot possibly fly; and others who demonstrate theoretically that
fishes were 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, asks
nothing better than to learn."

"Why, then, do you introduce scientific questions if you have never
studied them?" asked the unknown somewhat coarsely.

"For the reason that 'he is always brave who never suspects danger.' I
know nothing, it is true; but it is precisely my very weakness which
constitutes my strength."

"Your weakness amounts to folly," retorted the unknown in a passion.

"All the better," replied our Frenchman, "if it carries me up to the
_moon._"

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

Illustration: ATTACK AND RIPOSTE.

"Sir," replied Ardan's antagonist, "there are many and incontrovertible
reasons which prove the absence of an atmosphere in the moon. I might
say that, _à priori_, if one ever did exist, it must have been absorbed
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 rays cross a
medium such as the air, they are deflected out of the straight line; in
other words, they undergo _refraction._ Well! When stars are occulted by
the moon, their rays, on grazing the edge of her disc, exhibit not the
least deviation, 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, if not your _only_
argument; and a really scientific man might be puzzled to answer it. For
myself, I will simply say that it is defective, because it assumes 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 admit
the existence of volcanoes on the moon's surface?"

"_Extinct_, yes! In activity, no!"

"These volcanoes, however, were at one time in a state of activity?"

"True! but, as they furnished themselves the oxygen necessary for
combustion, the mere fact of their eruption does not prove the presence
of an atmosphere."

"Proceed again, then; and let us set aside this class of arguments in
order to come to direct observations. In 1715 the astronomers Louville
and Halley, watching the eclipse of the 3rd May, remarked some very
extraordinary scintillations. These jets of light, rapid in nature, and
of frequent recurrence, they attributed to thunderstorms generated in
the lunar atmosphere."

"In 1715," replied the unknown, "the astronomers Louville and Halley
mistook for lunar phenomena some which were purely terrestrial, such as
meteoric or other bodies which are generated in our own atmosphere. This
was the scientific explanation at the time of the facts; and that is my
answer now."

"On again, then," replied Ardan; "Herschel, in 1787, observed a great
number of luminous points on the moon's surface, did he not?"

"Yes! but without offering any solution of them. Herschel himself never
inferred from them the necessity of a lunar atmosphere. And I may add
that Bœer and Moedler, the two great authorities upon the moon, are
quite agreed as to the entire absence of air on its surface."

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

"Let us proceed," replied Ardan, with perfect coolness, "and come to one
important fact. A skilful French astronomer, M. Laussedat, in watching
the eclipse of July 18, 1860, proved that the horns of the solar crescent
were _rounded and truncated._ Now, this appearance could only have been
produced by a deviation of the solar rays in traversing the atmosphere
of the moon. There is no other possible explanation of the fact."

"But is this established as a fact?"

"Absolutely certain!"

A counter-movement here took place in favour of the hero of the meeting,
whose opponent was now reduced to silence. Ardan resumed the conversation;
and without exhibiting any exultation at the advantage he had gained,
simply said,—

"You see, then, my dear sir, we must not pronounce with absolute
positiveness against the existence of an atmosphere in the moon. That
atmosphere is, probably, of extreme rarity; nevertheless at the present
day science 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 hundred
feet in height."

"In any case you will do well to take every precaution, for the air will
be 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
to breathe 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 are in accord
regarding the presence of a certain atmosphere, we are forced to admit
the presence of a certain quantity of water. This is a happy consequence
for me. Moreover, my amiable contradictor, permit me to submit to you
one further observation. We only know one side of the moon's disc; and
if there is but little air on the face presented to us, it is possible
that there is plenty on the one turned away from us."

"And for what reason?"

"Because the moon, under the action of the earth's attraction, has
assumed the form of an egg, which we look at from the smaller end. Hence
it follows, by Hausen's calculations, that its centre of gravity is
situated in the other hemisphere. Hence it results that the great mass
of air and water must have been drawn away to the other face of our
satellite during the first days of its creation."

"Pure fancies!" cried the unknown.

"No! Pure theories! which are based upon the laws of mechanics, and it
seems difficult to me to refute them. I appeal then to this meeting, and
I put it to them whether life, such as exists upon the earth, is possible
on the surface 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
a hearing. 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
the storm pass on, which would soon have assumed formidable proportions,
if Michel Ardan had not quieted it by a gesture. He was too chivalrous
to abandon his opponent in an apparent extremity.

"You wished to say a few more words?" he asked, in a pleasant voice.

"Yes, a thousand; or rather, no, only one! If you persevere in your
enterprise, you must be a—"

"Very rash person! How can you treat me as such? me, who have demanded a
cylindro-conical projectile, in order to prevent turning round and round
on my way like a squirrel?"

"But, unhappy man, the dreadful recoil will smash you to pieces at your
starting."

"My dear contradictor, you have just put your finger upon the true and
the only difficulty; nevertheless, I have too good an opinion of the
industrial genius of the Americans not to believe that they will succeed
in overcoming it."

"But the heat developed by the rapidity of the projectile in crossing
the strata of air?"

"Oh! the walls are thick, and I shall soon have crossed the atmosphere."

"But victuals and water?"

"I have calculated for a twelvemonth's supply, and I shall be only four
days on the journey."

"But for air to breathe on the road?"

"I shall make it by 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 the
moon."

"Still it will be enough to smash you like glass!"

"What is to prevent my retarding the shock by means of rockets conveniently
placed, and lighted at the right moment?"

"But after all, supposing all difficulties surmounted, all obstacles
removed, supposing everything combined to favour you, and granting that
you may arrive 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 became
silent. But its silence was more eloquent than could have been its cries
of enthusiasm. The unknown profited by the opportunity and once more
protested,—

"You will inevitably kill yourself!" he cried; "and your death will be
that of a madman, useless even to science!"

"Go on, my dear unknown, for truly your prophecies are most agreeable!"

"It really is too much!" cried Michel Ardan's adversary. "I do not know
why I should continue so frivolous a discussion! Please yourself about
this insane expedition! We need not trouble ourselves about you!"

"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 impossible
experiment!"

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

The platform was lifted by a hundred strong arms, and the President of
the Gun Club shared with Michel Ardan triumphal honours. The shield was
heavy, but the bearers came in continuous relays, disputing, struggling,
even fighting among themselves in their eagerness to lend their shoulders
to this demonstration.

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

The shouts of the immense crowd continued at their highest pitch throughout
this triumphant march. Michel Ardan took it all with evident pleasure.
His face gleamed with delight. Several times the platform seemed seized
with pitching and rolling like a weather-beaten ship. But the two heroes
of the meeting had good sea-legs. They never stumbled; and their vessel
arrived without dues at the port of Tampa Town.

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

During this time a scene, short, grave, and decisive, took place between
the mysterious 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 to the quay; and the two presently found
themselves alone 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.

Illustration: THE PLATFORM WAS SUDDENLY CARRIED AWAY.

"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. There is
a wood situated three miles from Tampa, the wood of Skersnaw. Do you know
it?"

"I know it."

"Will you be so good as to enter it to-morrow morning at five o'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
the captain parted. Barbicane returned to his lodging; but instead of
snatching a few hours of repose, he passed the night in endeavouring to
discover a means of evading the recoil of the projectile, and resolving
the difficult problem proposed 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
the captain—this dreadful, savage duel, in which each adversary became
a man-hunter—Michel Ardan was resting from the fatigues of his triumph.
_Resting_ is hardly an appropriate expression, for American beds rival
marble or granite tables for hardness.

Ardan was sleeping, then, badly enough, tossing about between the cloths
which served him for sheets, and he was dreaming of making a more
comfortable couch in his projectile when a frightful noise disturbed his
dreams. Thundering blows shook his door. They seemed to be caused by some
iron instrument. A great deal of loud talking was distinguishable in this
racket, which was rather too early in the morning. "Open the door," some
one shrieked, "for Heaven's sake!" Ardan saw no reason for complying with
a demand so roughly expressed. However, he got up and opened the door
just as it was giving way before the blows of this determined visitor.
The secretary of the Gun Club burst into the room. A bomb could not have
made more noise or have entered the room with less ceremony.

"Last night," cried J. T. Maston, _ex abrupto_, "our president was
publicly insulted during the meeting. He provoked his adversary, who is
none other than Captain Nicholl! They are fighting this morning in the
wood of Skersnaw. I heard all particulars from the mouth of Barbicane
himself. If he is killed, then our scheme is at end. We must prevent this
duel; and one man alone has enough influence over Barbicane to stop him,
and that man is Michel Ardan."

Illustration: MASTON BURST INTO THE ROOM.

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

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

Nothing is more dreadful than private duels in America. The two adversaries
attack each other like wild beasts. Then it is that they might well covet
those wonderful properties of the Indians of the prairies—their quick
intelligence, their ingenious cunning, their scent of the enemy. A single
mistake, a moment's hesitation, a single false step may cause death. On
these occasions Yankees are often accompanied by their dogs, and keep up
the struggle for hours.

"What demons you are!" cried Michel Ardan, when his companion had depicted
this scene to him with much energy.

"Yes we are," replied J. T. modestly; "but we had better make haste."

Though Michel Ardan and he had crossed the plain still wet with dew, and
had taken the shortest route over creeks and ricefields, they could not
reach Skersnaw 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 faggots from
trees that had been levelled by his axe.

Maston ran towards 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
known by 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 gun-shots?" 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 not
intended for us."

"Ah!" cried Maston, in a tone which could not be mistaken, "I would
rather have twenty balls in my own head than one in Barbicane's."

"Forward, then," said Ardan, pressing his companion's hand.

A few moments later the two friends had disappeared in the copse. It was
a dense thicket, in which rose huge cypresses, sycamores, tulip-trees,
olives, tamarinds, oaks, and magnolias. These different trees had
interwoven their branches 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 glances on the bushes, and momentarily
expecting to hear the sound of rifles. As for the 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 barely perceptible paths
along which Indians had tracked some enemy, and which the dense 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 like Barbicane
would not dodge with his enemy, or ensnare him, would not even manœuvre!
He is too open, too brave. He has gone straight ahead, right into the
danger, and doubtless far enough from the bushman for the wind to prevent
his hearing the report of the rifles."

"But surely," replied Michel Ardan, "since we entered the wood 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
in silence. From time to time, indeed, they raised great shouts, calling
alternately Barbicane and Nicholl, neither of whom, however, answered
their cries. Only the birds, awakened by the sound, flew past them
and disappeared among the branches, while some frightened deer fled
precipitately before them.

For another hour their search was continued. The greater part of the
wood had been explored. There was nothing to reveal the presence of the
combatants. The information of the bushman was after all doubtful, and
Ardan was about to propose 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
can he be doing?"

"But can you recognize him?" asked Ardan, whose short sight was of little
use to him in such circumstances.

"Yes! yes! He is turning towards 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 his adversary!"

"Let us go to him," said Michel Ardan, "and find out the truth."

But he and his companion had barely taken fifty steps when they paused to
examine 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, and in 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-catcher who had laid this snare was no human being,
but a venomous spider, peculiar to that 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 sudden retreat and taken refuge in
the upper branches of the tulip-tree, for a formidable enemy menaced its
stronghold.

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

Nicholl lovingly watched its flight, when he heard these words pronounced
by a voice 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 killing
Barbicane or being killed by him."

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

Illustration: IN THE MIDST OF THIS SNARE WAS A POOR LITTLE BIRD.

"Nicholl!" said Michel Ardan, "this is not courteous! we ought always to
treat an adversary with respect; rest assured if Barbicane is still alive
we shall find him all the more easily; because if he has not, like you,
been amusing himself with freeing oppressed birds, he must be looking
for _you_. When we have found him, Michel Ardan tells you this, there
will be no duel between you."

"Between President Barbicane and myself," gravely replied Nicholl, "there
is a rivalry which the death of one of us—"

"Pooh, pooh!" said Ardan. "Brave fellows like you indeed! you shall not
fight!"

"I will fight, sir!"

"No!"

"Captain," said J. T. Maston, with much feeling, "I am a friend of the
president's, his _alter ego_, his second self; if you really 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 fully understand
his idea of being killed himself in order to save his friend. But neither
he nor Barbicane will fall before the balls of Captain Nicholl. Indeed I
have so attractive a proposal to make to the two rivals, that both will
be eager to accept it."

"What is it?" asked Nicholl with manifest incredulity.

"Patience!" exclaimed Ardan. "I can only reveal it in the presence 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
rifle threw it over his shoulder, and advanced in silence.

Another half-hour passed, and the pursuit was still fruitless. Maston was
oppressed by sinister forebodings. He looked fiercely at Nicholl, asking
himself whether the captain's vengeance had been already satisfied, and
the unfortunate Barbicane, shot, was perhaps lying dead on some bloody
track. The same thought seemed 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
feet off appeared, half-veiled by the foliage. "It is he!" said Maston.

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

"Barbicane, Barbicane!"

No answer! Ardan rushed towards 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 memorandum
book, whilst his unloaded rifle lay beside him on the ground.

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

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

"Ah, it is you!" he cried at last. "I have found it, my friend, I have
found it!"

"What?"

"My plan!"

"What plan?"

"The plan for counteracting the effect of the shock at the departure of
the projectile!"

"Indeed?" said Michel Ardan, looking at the captain out of the corner 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 you at the same
time the worthy Captain Nicholl!"

"Nicholl!" cried Barbicane, who jumped up at once. "Pardon me, captain,
I had quite forgotten—I am ready!"

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

Illustration: "GO WITH ME, AND SEE WHETHER WE ARE STOPPED
   ON OUR JOURNEY."

"Thank Heaven!" said he. "It is a happy thing that brave men like you two
did not meet sooner! we should now have been mourning for one or other
of you. But, thanks to Providence, which has interfered, there is now no
further cause for alarm. When one forgets one's anger in mechanics or in
cobwebs, 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 such good fellows
as you are made on purpose to smash each other's skulls with shot?"

There was in "the situation" somewhat of the ridiculous, something
quite unexpected; Michel Ardan saw this, and determined to effect a
reconciliation.

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

"Make it," said Nicholl.

"Our friend Barbicane believes that his projectile will go straight to
the moon?"

"Yes, certainly," replied the president.

"And our friend Nicholl is persuaded it will fall back upon the earth?"

"I am certain of it," cried the captain.

"Good!" said Ardan. "I cannot pretend to make you agree; but I suggest
this:—Go with me, and so see whether we are stopped on our journey."

"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 the
decision of the president.

"Well?" said Michel. "There is now no fear of the shock!"

"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 to each
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
President Barbicane, as well as its singular _denouement_. From that
day forth, Michel Ardan had not one moment's rest. Deputations from all
corners of the Union harassed him without cessation or intermission.
He was compelled to receive them all, whether he would or no. How many
hands he shook, how many people he was "hail-fellow-well-met" with, it
is impossible to guess! Such a triumphal result would have intoxicated
any other man; but he managed to keep himself in a state of delightful
_semi_-tipsiness.

Among the deputations of all kinds which assailed him, that of "The
Lunatics" were careful not to forget what they owed to the future
conqueror of the moon. One day, certain of these poor people, so numerous
in America, came to call upon him, and requested permission to return
with him to their native country.

"Singular hallucination!" said he to Barbicane, after having dismissed
the deputation with promises to convey numbers of messages to friends in
the moon. "Do you believe in the influence of the moon upon distempers?"

"Scarcely!"

"No more do I, despite some remarkable recorded facts of history. For
instance, during an epidemic in 1693, a large number of persons died
at the very moment of an eclipse. The celebrated Bacon always fainted
during an eclipse. Charles VI. relapsed six times into madness during
the year 1399, sometimes during the new, sometimes during the full
moon. Gall observed that insane persons underwent an accession of their
disorder twice in every month, at the epochs of new and full moon. In
fact, numerous observations made upon fevers, somnambulisms, and other
human maladies, seem to prove that the moon does 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 not true!'"

In the height of his triumph, Michel Ardan had to encounter all the
annoyances incidental to a man of celebrity. Managers of entertainments
wanted to exhibit him. Barnum offered him a million dollars to make the
tour of the United States in his show. As for his photographs, they were
sold of all sizes, and his portrait taken in every imaginable posture.
More than half a million copies were disposed of in an incredibly short
space of time.

But it was not only the men who paid him homage, but the women also. He
might have married well a hundred times over, if he had been willing to
settle in life. The old maids, in particular, of forty years and upwards,
and dry in proportion, devoured his photographs day and night. They
would have married him by hundreds, even if he had imposed upon them the
condition of accompanying him into space. He had, however, no intention
of transplanting a race of Franco-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 was highly gratified by his inspection, and made the
descent to the bottom of the tube of this gigantic machine which was
presently to launch him to the regions of 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 and Nicholl accepted the
proposal of Michel Ardan, he determined to join them, and make one of
a snug party of four. So one day he determined to be admitted as one
of the travellers. Barbicane, pained at having to refuse him, gave him
clearly to understand that the projectile could not possibly contain
so many passengers. Maston, in despair, went in search of Michel Ardan,
who counselled him to resign himself to the situation, adding one or two
arguments _ad hominem_.

"You see, old fellow," he said, "you must not take what I say in bad part;
but really, between ourselves, you are in too incomplete a condition to
appear in the moon!"

"Incomplete?" shrieked the valiant invalid.

"Yes, my dear fellow! imagine our meeting some of the inhabitants up
there! Would you like to give them such a melancholy notion of what goes
on down here? to teach them what war is, to inform them that we employ
our time chiefly in devouring each other, in smashing arms and legs, and
that too on a globe which is capable of supporting a hundred billions of
inhabitants, and which 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 I am."

"Unquestionably," replied Michel Ardan; "but we shall not."

In fact, a preparatory experiment, tried on the 18th October, had yielded
the 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 of the projectile's departure, had procured a 38-inch
mortar from the arsenal of Pensacola. He had this placed on the bank of
Hillisborough Roads, in order that the shell might fall back into the
sea, and the shock be thereby destroyed. 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 thick
padding fastened upon a kind of elastic network, made of the best steel,
lined the inside of the walls. It was a veritable _nest_ most 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, of ascertaining how this little animal, least of all others
subject to giddiness, would endure this experimental voyage.

The mortar was charged with 160 lbs. of powder, and the shell placed in
the chamber. On being fired, the projectile rose with great velocity,
described a majestic parabola, attained a height of about a thousand
feet, and with a graceful 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 of
its fall; some active divers plunged into the water and attached ropes
to the handles of the shell, which was quickly dragged on board. Five
minutes did not elapse between the moment of enclosing the animals and
that of unscrewing the coverlid of their prison.

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

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

After this experiment all hesitation, all fear disappeared.

Illustration: THE CAT TAKEN OUT OF THE SHELL.

Besides, Barbicane's plans would ensure greater perfection for his
projectile, and go far to annihilate altogether the effects of the shock.
Nothing now remained but to go!

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

After the example of his illustrious fellow-countryman, the Marquis de
la Fayette, the government had decreed to him the title of "Citizen of
the United States of America."

   CHAPTER XXIII.

   THE PROJECTILE-VEHICLE.

On the completion of the Columbiad the public interest centred in the
projectile itself, the vehicle which was destined to carry the three
hardy adventurers into space.

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

The projectile had now to be filled to the depth of three feet with a
bed of water, intended to support a watertight wooden disc, which worked
easily within the walls of the projectile. It was upon this kind of
raft that the travellers were to take their place. This body of water
was divided by horizontal partitions, which the shock of the departure
would have to break in succession. Then each sheet of the water, from
the lowest to the highest, running off into escape tubes toward the top
of the projectile, constituted a kind of spring; and the wooden disc,
supplied with extremely powerful plugs, could not strike the lowest plate
except after breaking successively the different partitions. Undoubtedly
the travellers would still have to encounter a violent _recoil_ after
the complete escapement of the water; but the first shock would be almost
entirely destroyed by this powerful spring. The upper part of the walls
were lined with a thick padding of leather, fastened upon springs of the
best steel, behind which the escape tubes were completely concealed; thus
all imaginable precautions had been taken for averting the first shock;
and if they _did_ get crushed, they must, as Michel Ardan said, be made
of very bad materials.

Illustration: THE ARRIVAL OF THE PROJECTILE AT STONE'S HILL.

The entrance into this metallic tower was by a narrow aperture contrived
in the wall of the cone. This was hermetically closed by a plate of
aluminium, fastened internally by powerful screw-pressure. The travellers
could therefore quit their prison at pleasure, as soon as they should
reach the moon.

Light and view were given by means of four thick lenticular glass
scuttles, two pierced in the circular wall itself, the third in the
bottom, the fourth in the top. These scuttles then were protected against
the shock of departure by plates let into solid grooves, which could
easily be opened outwards by unscrewing them from the inside. Reservoirs
firmly fixed contained water and the necessary provisions; and fire and
light were procurable by means of gas, contained in a special reservoir
under a pressure of several atmospheres. They had only to turn a tap,
and for six hours the gas would light and warm this comfortable vehicle.

There now remained only the question of air; for allowing for the
consumption of air by Barbicane, his two companions, and two dogs which
he proposed taking with him, it was necessary to renew the air of the
projectile. Now air consists principally of twenty-one parts of oxygen
and seventy-nine of nitrogen. The lungs absorb the oxygen, which is
indispensable for the support of life, and reject the nitrogen. The air
expired loses nearly five per cent. of the former and contains nearly an
equal volume of carbonic acid, produced by the combustion of the elements
of the blood. In an air-tight enclosure, then, after a certain time, all
the oxygen of the air will be replaced by the carbonic acid—a gas fatal
to life. There were two things to be done then—first, to replace the
absorbed oxygen; secondly, to destroy the expired carbonic acid; both
easy enough to do, by means of chlorate of potassium and caustic potash.
The former is a salt which appears under the form of white crystals;
when raised to a temperature of 400° it is transformed into chlorate
of potass, and the oxygen which it contains is entirely liberated. Now
twenty-eight pounds of chlorate of potassium produce seven pounds of
oxygen, or 2400 _litres_—the quantity necessary for the travellers
during twenty-four hours.

Caustic potash has a great affinity for carbonic acid; and it is
sufficient to shake it in order for it to seize upon the acid and form
bi-carbonate of potass. By these two means they would be enabled to
restore to the vitiated air its life-supporting properties.

It is necessary, however, to add that the experiments had hitherto been
made _in anima vili_. Whatever its scientific accuracy was, they were at
present ignorant how it would answer with human beings. The honour of
putting it to the proof was energetically claimed by J. T. Maston.

"Since I am not to go," said the brave artillerist, "I may at least live
for a week in the projectile."

It would have been hard to refuse him; so they consented to his wish.
A sufficient quantity of chlorate of potassium and of caustic potash
was placed at his disposal, together with provisions for eight days.
And having shaken hands with his friends, on the 12th November, at six
o'clock a.m., after strictly informing them not to open his prison before
the 20th, at six o'clock p.m., he slid down the projectile, the plate
of which was at once hermetically sealed. What did he do with himself
during that week? They could get no information. The thickness of the
walls of the projectile prevented any sound reaching from the inside
to the outside. On the 20th of November, at six p.m. exactly, the plate
was opened. The friends of J. T. Maston had been all along in a state of
much anxiety; but they were promptly reassured on hearing a jolly voice
shouting a boisterous hurrah.

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

Illustration: J. T. MASTON HAD GROWN FAT.

   CHAPTER XXIV.

   THE TELESCOPE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

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

At the period when the Gun Club essayed their great experiment, such
instruments had reached a high degree of perfection, and produced some
magnificent results. Two telescopes in particular, at this time, were
possessed of remarkable power and of gigantic dimensions. The first,
constructed by Herschel, was thirty-six feet in length, and had an
object-glass of four feet six inches; it possessed a magnifying power
of 6000. The second was raised in Ireland, in Parsonstown Park, and
belongs to Lord Rosse. The length of this tube is forty-eight feet, and
the diameter of its object-glass six feet; it magnifies 6400 times, and
required an immense erection of brickwork and masonry for the purpose of
working it, its weight being twelve tons and a half.

Still, despite these colossal dimensions, the actual enlargements
scarcely exceeded 6000 times in round numbers; consequently, the moon
was brought within no nearer an apparent distance than thirty-nine miles;
and objects of less 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
and fifteen feet long, it became necessary to bring the moon within an
apparent distance of five miles at most; and for that purpose to establish
a magnifying power of 48,000 times.

Such was the question proposed to the Observatory of Cambridge. There
was no lack of funds; the difficulty was purely one of construction.

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

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

Eastwards rise the Apalachians, the very highest point of which, in New
Hampshire, does not exceed the very moderate altitude of 5600 feet.

On the west, however, rise the Rocky Mountains, that immense range which,
commencing at the Straits of Magellan, follows the western coast of
Southern America under the name of the Andes or the Cordilleras, until
it crosses the Isthmus of Panama, and runs up the whole of North America
to the very borders of the Polar Sea. The highest elevation of this range
still does not exceed 10,700 feet. With this elevation, nevertheless, the
Gun Club were compelled to be content, inasmuch as they had determined
that both telescope and Columbiad should be erected within the limits of
the Union. All the necessary apparatus was consequently sent on to the
summit of Long's Peak, in the territory of Missouri.

Illustration: THE TELESCOPE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.

Neither pen nor language can describe the difficulties of all kinds
which the American engineers had to surmount, or the prodigies of daring
and skill which they accomplished. They had to raise enormous stones,
massive pieces of wrought iron, heavy corner-clamps and huge portions
of cylinder, with an object-glass weighing nearly 30,000 lbs., above
the line of perpetual snow for more than 10,000 feet in height, after
crossing desert prairies, impenetrable forests, fearful rapids, far
from all centres of population, and in the midst of savage regions, in
which every detail of life becomes an almost insoluble problem. And yet,
notwithstanding these innumerable obstacles, American genius triumphed.
In less than a year after the commencement of the works, towards the close
of September, the gigantic reflector rose into the air to a height of
280 feet. It was raised by means of an enormous iron crane; an ingenious
mechanism allowed it to be easily worked towards all the points of the
heavens, and to follow the stars from the one horizon to the other during
their journey through the heavens.

It had cost 400,000 dollars. The first time it was directed towards the
moon the observers evinced both curiosity and anxiety. What were they
about to discover in the field of this telescope which magnified objects
48,000 times? Would they perceive peoples, herds of lunar animals,
towns, lakes, seas? No! there was nothing which science had not already
discovered! and on all the points of its disc the volcanic nature of the
moon became determinable with the utmost precision.

But the telescope of the Rocky Mountains, before doing its duty to the Gun
Club, rendered immense services to astronomy. Thanks to its penetrative
power, the depths of the heavens were sounded to the utmost extent; the
apparent diameter of a great number of stars was accurately measured; and
Mr. Clark, of the Cambridge staff, resolved the Crab nebula in Taurus,
which the reflector of Lord 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.
One operation alone remained to be accomplished to bring all to a happy
termination; an operation delicate and perilous, requiring infinite
precautions, and against the success of which Captain Nicholl had laid
his third bet. It was, in fact, nothing less than the loading of the
Columbiad, and the introduction into it of 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton.
Nicholl had thought, not perhaps without reason, that the handling of
such formidable quantities of pyroxyle would, in all probability, involve
a grave catastrophe; and at any rate, that this immense mass of eminently
inflammable matter would inevitably ignite when submitted to the pressure
of the projectile.

There were indeed dangers accruing as before from the carelessness of
the Americans, but Barbicane had set his heart on success, and took all
possible precautions. In the first place, he was very careful as to the
transportation of 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 to the 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 of the cannon. No steam-engine was
permitted to work, and every fire was extinguished within two miles of
the works.

Even in November they feared to work by day, lest the sun's rays acting
on the gun-cotton might lead to unhappy results. This led to their
working at night, by light produced in a vacuum by means of Rühmkorff's
apparatus, which threw an artificial brightness into the depths of the
Columbiad. There the cartridges were arranged with the utmost regularity,
connected by a metallic thread, destined to communicate to them all
simultaneously the electric spark, by which means this mass of gun-cotton
was eventually to be ignited.

By the 28th of November 800 cartridges had been placed in the bottom
of the Columbiad. So far the operation had been successful! But what
confusion, what anxieties, what struggles were undergone by President
Barbicane! In vain had he refused admission to Stones Hill; every day
the inquisitive neighbours scaled the palisades, some even carrying
their imprudence to the point of smoking while surrounded by bales of
gun-cotton. Barbicane was in a perpetual state of alarm. J. T. Maston
seconded him to the best of his ability, by giving vigorous chase to the
intruders, and carefully picking up the still lighted cigar ends which
the Yankees threw about. A somewhat difficult task! seeing that more
than 300,000 persons were gathered round the enclosure. Michel Ardan
had volunteered to superintend the transport of the cartridges to the
mouth of the Columbiad; but the president, having surprised him with an
enormous cigar in his mouth, while he was hunting out the rash spectators
to whom he himself offered so dangerous an example, saw that he could not
trust this fearless smoker, and was therefore obliged to mount a special
guard over him.

At last, Providence being propitious, this wonderful loading came to
a happy termination, Captain Nicholl's third bet being thus lost. It
remained now to introduce the projectile into the Columbiad, and to place
it on its soft bed of gun-cotton.

But before doing this, all those things necessary for the journey had to
be carefully arranged in the projectile-vehicle. These necessaries were
numerous; and had Ardan been allowed to follow his own wishes, there
would have been no space remaining for the travellers. It is impossible
to conceive of half the things this charming Frenchman wished to convey to
the moon. A veritable stock of useless trifles! But Barbicane interfered
and refused admission to anything not absolutely needed. Several
thermometers, barometers, and telescopes were packed in the instrument
case.

The travellers being desirous of examining the moon carefully during
their voyage, in order to facilitate their studies, they took with them
Bœer and Moedler's excellent _Mappa Selenographica_, a masterpiece of
patience and observation, which they hoped would enable them to identify
those physical features in the moon, with which they were acquainted.
This map reproduced with scrupulous fidelity the smallest details of the
lunar surface which faces the earth; the mountains, valleys, craters,
peaks, and ridges were all represented, with their exact dimensions,
relative positions, and names; from the mountains Doërfel and Leibnitz
on the eastern side of the disc, to the _Mare frigoris_ of the North
Pole.

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

"We cannot tell whom we shall have to deal with," said Michel Ardan. "Men
or beasts may possibly object to our visit. It is only wise to take all
precautions."

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

Ardan wished to convey a number of animals of different sorts (not
indeed a pair of every known species), as he could not see the necessity
of acclimatizing serpents, tigers, alligators, or any other noxious
beasts in the moon. "Nevertheless," he said to Barbicane, "some valuable
and useful beasts, bullocks, cows, horses, and donkeys, would bear the
journey very well, and would also be very useful to us."

"I dare say, my dear Ardan," replied the president, "but our
projectile-vehicle is no Noah's ark, from which it differs both in
dimensions and object. Let us confine ourselves to possibilities."

Illustration: THE INTERIOR OF THE PROJECTILE.

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

The important question of provisions still remained; it being necessary
to provide against the possibility of their finding the moon absolutely
barren. Barbicane managed so successfully, that he supplied them with
sufficient rations for a year. These consisted of preserved meats and
vegetables, reduced by strong hydraulic pressure to the smallest possible
dimensions. They were also supplied with brandy, and took water enough
for two months, being confident, from astronomical observations, that
there was no lack of water on the moon's surface. As to provisions,
doubtless the inhabitants of the _earth_ would find nourishment somewhere
in the _moon_. Ardan never questioned this; indeed, had he done so, he
would never have undertaken the journey.

"Besides," he said one day to his friends, "we shall not be completely
abandoned by our terrestrial friends; they will take care not to forget
us."

"No, indeed!" replied J. T. Maston.

"What do you mean?" asked Nicholl.

"Nothing would be simpler," replied Ardan; "the Columbiad will be always
there. Well! whenever the moon is in a favourable condition as to the
zenith, if not to the perigee, that is to say about once a year, could
you not send us a shell packed with provisions, which we might expect on
some appointed day?"

"Hurrah! hurrah!" cried J. T. Maston; "what an ingenious fellow! what a
splendid idea! Indeed, my good friends, we shall not forget you!"

"I shall reckon upon you! Then, you see, we shall receive news regularly
from the earth, and we shall indeed be stupid if we hit upon no plan for
communicating with our good friends here!"

These words inspired such confidence, that Michel Ardan carried all the
Gun Club with him in his enthusiasm. What he said seemed so simple and
so easy, so sure of success, that none could be so sordidly attached to
this earth as to hesitate to follow the three travellers 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,
powerful cranes 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
enormous weight? The sudden fall of such a body would inevitably cause
the gun-cotton to explode!

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

"I have lost," said the Captain, who forthwith paid President Barbicane
the sum of 3000 dollars.

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

"Now," said Michel Ardan, "I have only one thing more to wish for you,
my brave Captain."

"What is that?" asked Nicholl.

"It is that you may lose your two other bets! Then we shall be sure not
to be stopped on our journey!"

Illustration: AN INNUMERABLE MULTITUDE COVERED THE PRAIRIE ROUND STONE'S
HILL.

   CHAPTER XXVI.

   FIRE!

The first of December had arrived! the fatal day! for, if the projectile
were not discharged that very night at 10h. 46m. 40s. p.m., more than
eighteen years must roll by before the moon would again present herself
under the same conditions of zenith and perigee.

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

How many persons lost their rest on the night which preceded this
long-expected day! 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 far as the eye can reach, round Stones Hill. Every quarter of an hour
the railway brought fresh accessions of sightseers; and, according to
the statement of the _Tampa Town Observer_, not less than five millions
of spectators thronged the soil of Florida.

For a whole month previously, the mass of these persons had bivouacked
round the enclosure, and laid the foundations for a town which was
afterwards called "Ardan's Town." The whole plain was covered with huts,
cottages, and tents. Every nation under the sun was represented there;
and every language might be heard spoken at the same time. It was a
perfect Babel re-enacted. All the various classes of American society were
mingled together in terms of absolute equality. Bankers, farmers, sailors,
cotton-planters, brokers, merchants, watermen, magistrates, elbowed
each other in the most free-and-easy way. Louisiana Creoles fraternised
with farmers from Indiana; Kentucky and Tennessee gentlemen and haughty
Virginians conversed with trappers and the half-savages of the lakes
and butchers from Cincinnati. Broad-brimmed white hats and Panamas, blue
cotton trowsers, light coloured stockings, cambric frills, were all here
displayed; while upon shirt-fronts, wristbands, and neckties, upon every
finger, even upon the very _ears_, they wore an assortment of rings,
shirt-pins, brooches, and trinkets, of which the value only equalled
the execrable taste. Women, children, and servants, in equally expensive
dress, surrounded their husbands, fathers, or masters, who resembled the
patriarchs of tribes 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 the victualling powers of Florida, fricasseed frogs, stuffed monkey,
fish chowder, underdone 'possum, and raccoon steaks. And as for the
liquors which accompanied this indigestible repast! The shouts, the
vociferations that resounded through the bars and taverns decorated with
glasses, tankards, and bottles of marvellous shape, mortars for pounding
sugar, and bundles of straws! "Mint-julep!" roars one of the barmen;
"Claret sangaree!" shouts another; "Cocktail!" "Brandy-smash!" "Real
mint-julep in the new style!" All these cries intermingled produced a
bewildering and deafening hubbub.

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

Up till nightfall, a dull, noiseless agitation, such as precedes great
catastrophes, ran through the anxious multitude. An indescribable
uneasiness pervaded all minds, an indefinable sensation which oppressed
the heart. Every one wished it was over.

However, about seven o'clock, the heavy silence was dissipated. The moon
rose above the horizon. Millions of hurrahs hailed her appearance. She
was punctual to the rendezvous, and shouts of welcome greeted her on all
sides, as her pale beams shone gracefully in the clear heavens. At this
moment the three intrepid travellers appeared. This was the signal for
renewed cries of still greater intensity. Instantly the vast assemblage,
as with one accord, struck up the national hymn of the United States,
and "Yankee Doodle," sung by five millions of hearty throats, rose like a
roaring tempest to the farthest limits of the atmosphere. Then a profound
silence reigned throughout the crowd.

The Frenchman and the two Americans had by this time entered the enclosure
reserved in the centre of the multitude. They were accompanied by the
members of the Gun Club, and by deputations sent from all the European
Observatories. Barbicane, cool and collected, was giving his final
directions. Nicholl, with compressed lips, his arms crossed behind his
back, walked with a firm and measured step. Michel Ardan, always easy,
dressed in thorough traveller's costume, leathern gaiters on his legs,
pouch by his side, in loose velvet suit, cigar in mouth, was full of
inexhaustible gaiety, laughing, joking, playing pranks with J. T. Maston.
In one word, he was the thorough "Frenchman" (and worse, a "Parisian")
to the last moment.

Ten o'clock struck! The moment had arrived for taking their places in the
projectile! The necessary operations for the descent, and the subsequent
removal of the cranes and scaffolding that inclined over the mouth of
the Columbiad, required a certain period of time.

Barbicane had regulated his chronometer to the tenth part of a second by
that of Murchison the engineer, who was charged with the duty of firing
the gun by means of an electric spark. Thus the travellers enclosed
within the projectile were enabled to follow with their eyes the impassive
needle which marked the precise moment of their departure.

The moment had arrived for saying "Good-bye!" The scene was a touching
one. Despite his feverish gaiety, even Michel Ardan was touched. J. T.
Maston had found in his own dry eyes one ancient tear, which he had
doubtless reserved 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-travellers had ensconced themselves in the projectile, and
screwed down the plate which covered the entrance-aperture. The mouth of
the Columbiad, now completely disencumbered, was open entirely to the
sky.

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

Murchison followed with his eye the hand of his chronometer. It wanted
scarce forty seconds to the moment of departure, but each second seemed
to last an age! At the twentieth there was a general shudder, as it
occurred to the minds of that vast assemblage that the bold travellers
shut up within the projectile were also counting those terrible seconds.
Some few cries here and there escaped the crowd.

"Thirty-five!—thirty-six!—thirty-seven!—thirty-eight!—thirty-nine!
—forty! Fire!!!"

Illustration: 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 breach of the Columbiad.

An appalling unearthly report followed instantly, such as can be compared
to nothing whatever known, not even to the roar of thunder, or the blast
of volcanic explosions! No words can convey the slightest idea of the
terrific sound! An immense spout of fire shot up from the bowels of the
earth as from a crater. The earth heaved up, and with great difficulty
some few spectators obtained a momentary glimpse of the projectile
victoriously cleaving the air in the midst of the fiery vapours!

   CHAPTER XXVII.

   FOUL WEATHER.

At the moment when that pyramid of fire rose to a prodigious height into
the air, the glare of the flame lit up the whole of Florida; and for a
moment day superseded night over a considerable extent of the country.
This immense canopy of fire was perceived at a distance of 100 miles
out at sea, and more than one ship's captain entered in his log the
appearance of this gigantic meteor.

The discharge of the Columbiad was accompanied by a perfect earthquake.
Florida was shaken to its very depths. The gases of the powder, expanded
by heat, forced back the atmospheric strata with tremendous violence,
and this artificial hurricane rushed like a waterspout through the air.

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

As soon as the first effects were over, the injured, the deaf, and lastly,
the crowd in general, woke up with frenzied cries. "Hurrah for Ardan!
Hurrah for Barbicane! Hurrah for Nicholl!" rose to the skies. Thousands
of persons, noses in air, armed with telescopes and race-glasses, were
questioning space, forgetting all contusions and emotions in the one idea
of watching for the projectile. They looked in vain! It was no longer to
be seen, and they were obliged to wait for telegrams from Long's Peak.
The Director of the Cambridge Observatory was at his post on the Rocky
Mountains; and to him, as a skilful and persevering astronomer, all
observations had been confided.

Illustration: EFFECT OF THE EXPLOSION.

Illustration: THE DIRECTOR AT HIS POST.

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

The weather, hitherto so fine, suddenly changed; the sky became heavy with
clouds. It could not have been otherwise after the terrible derangement
of the atmospheric strata, and the dispersion of the enormous quantity
of vapour arising from the combustion of 200,000 lbs. of
pyroxyle!

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

Supposing, now, that the experiment had succeeded, the travellers having
started on 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 difficult after all to have observed, under such
conditions, a body so small as the shell. Therefore they waited with what
patience they might.

From the 4th to the 6th of December inclusive, the weather remaining much
the same in America, the great European instruments of Herschel, Rosse,
and Foucault, were constantly directed towards the moon, for the weather
was then magnificent; but the comparative weakness of their glasses
prevented any trustworthy observations being made.

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

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

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

But on the 11th one of those inexplicable tempests peculiar to those
intertropical regions was let loose in the atmosphere. A terrific east
wind swept away the groups of clouds which had been so long gathering,
and at night the semi-disc of the orb of night rode majestically amidst
the soft constellations of the sky.

   CHAPTER XXVIII.

   A NEW STAR.

That very night, the startling news so impatiently awaited, burst like
a thunderbolt over the United States of the Union, and thence, darting
across the ocean, ran through all the telegraphic wires of the globe.
The projectile had been detected, thanks to the gigantic reflector of
Long's Peak! Here is the note received by the Director of the Observatory
of Cambridge. It contains the scientific conclusion regarding this great
experiment of the Gun Club.

"Long's Peak December 12.

"To the Officers of the Observatory of Cambridge.

"The projectile discharged by the Columbiad at Stones Hill has been
detected by Messrs. Belfast and J. T. Maston, 12th December, at 8.47
p.m., the moon having entered her last quarter. This projectile has not
arrived at its destination. It has passed by the side; but sufficiently
near to be retained by the lunar attraction.

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

"The elements of this new star we have as yet been unable to determine;
we do not yet know the velocity of its passage. The distance which
separates it from the surface of the moon may be estimated at about 2833
miles.

"However, two hypothesis come here into our consideration.

"1. Either the attraction of the moon will end by drawing them into
itself, and the travellers will attain their destination; or,—

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

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

"J. Belfast."

To how many questions did this unexpected denouement give rise? What
mysterious results was the future reserving for the investigations of
science? At all events, the names of Nicholl, Barbicane, and Michel Ardan
were certain to be immortalized in the annals of astronomy!

When the despatch from Long's Peak had once become known, there was but
one universal feeling of surprise and alarm. Was it possible to go to the
aid of these bold travellers? No! for they had placed themselves beyond
the pale of humanity, by crossing the limits imposed by the Creator on
his earthly creatures. They had air enough for _two_ months; they had
victuals enough for _twelve;—but after that?_ There was only one man
who would not admit that the situation was desperate,—he alone had
confidence; and that was their devoted friend J. T. Maston.

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

"Those three men," said he, "have carried into space all the resources
of art, science, and industry. With that, one can do anything; and you
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.

   RECAPITULATING 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 scientific
experiment unprecedented in the annals of science. The members of the
Gun Club, a circle of artillerymen formed at Baltimore after the American
war, conceived the idea of putting themselves in communication with the
moon!—yes, with the moon,—by sending to her a projectile. Their
president, Barbicane, the promoter of the enterprise, having consulted
the astronomers of the Cambridge Observatory upon the subject, took all
necessary means to ensure the success of this extraordinary enterprise,
which had been declared practicable by the majority of competent judges.
After setting on foot a public subscription, which realized nearly
1,200,000_l._ they began the gigantic work.

According to the advice forwarded from the members of the Observatory,
the gun destined to launch the projectile had to be fixed in a country
situated between the 0 and 28th degrees of north or south latitude, in
order to aim at the moon when at the zenith; and its initiatory velocity
was fixed at twelve thousand yards 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 of December, 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 the position and nature of the gun, and the quality
and quantity of the powder to be used. It was decided: 1st, that the
projectile should be a shell made of aluminium with a diameter of 108
inches and a thickness of twelve inches to its walls; and should weigh
19,250 lbs. 2ndly, that the gun should be a Columbiad cast in iron,
900 feet long, and run perpendicularly into the earth. 3rdly, 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, would easily
carry it towards the orb of night.

These questions determined President Barbicane, assisted by Murchison
the engineer, to choose a spot situated in Florida, in 27° 7' North
latitude, and 77° 3' West (Greenwich) longitude. It was on this spot,
after stupendous labour, that the Columbiad was cast with full success.
Things stood thus, when an incident took place which increased the
interest attached to this great enterprise a hundredfold.

A Frenchman, an enthusiastic Parisian, as witty as he was bold, asked
to be enclosed in the projectile, in order that he might reach the moon,
and reconnoitre this terrestrial satellite. The name of this intrepid
adventurer was Michel Ardan. He landed in America, was received with
enthusiasm, held meetings, saw himself carried in triumph, reconciled
President Barbicane to his mortal enemy, Captain Nicholl, and, as a
token of reconciliation, persuaded them both to start with him in the
projectile. The proposition being accepted, the shape of the projectile
was slightly altered. It was made of a cylindro-conical form. This species
of aerial car was lined with strong springs and partitions to deaden the
shock of departure. It was provided with food for a year, water for some
months, and gas for some days. A self-acting apparatus supplied the three
travellers with air to breathe. At the same time, on one of the highest
points of the Rocky Mountains, the Gun Club had a gigantic telescope
erected, in order that they might be able to follow the course of the
projectile through space. All was then ready.

On the 30th November, at the hour fixed upon, from the midst of an
extraordinary crowd of spectators, the departure took place; and for the
first time, three human beings quitted the terrestrial globe, and launched
into interplanetary space with almost a certainty of reaching their
destination. These bold travellers, Michel Ardan, President Barbicane,
and Captain Nicholl, ought to make the passage in ninety-seven hours,
thirteen minutes, and twenty seconds. Consequently, their arrival on
the lunar disc could not take place until the 5th December at twelve at
night, at the exact moment when the moon should be full, and not on the
4th, as some badly-informed journals had announced.

But an unforeseen circumstance, viz., the detonation produced by
the Columbiad, had the immediate effect of troubling the terrestrial
atmosphere, by accumulating a large quantity of vapour, a phenomenon
which excited universal indignation, for the moon was hidden from the
eyes of the watchers for several nights.

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

The accumulation of clouds in the atmosphere prevented all observations
on the 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th of December. Indeed it was
thought that all observations would have to be put off to the 3rd of
January in the following year; for the moon entering its last quarter on
the 11th, would then only present an ever-decreasing portion of her disc,
insufficient to allow of their following the course of the projectile.

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

That very night a telegram was sent from the station of Long's Peak
by Joseph T. Maston and Belfast to the gentlemen of the Cambridge
Observatory, announcing that on the 11th of December at 8h. 47m. p.m.,
the projectile launched by the Columbiad of Stones Hill had been detected
by Messrs. Belfast and 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 be retained by the lunar attraction; that
its rectilinear movement had been changed to a circular one, and that
following an elliptical orbit round the star of night it had become its
_satellite._ The telegram added that the elements of this new star had
not yet been calculated; and indeed three observations made upon a star
in three different positions are necessary to determine these elements.
Then it showed that the distance separating the projectile from the lunar
surface "might" be reckoned at about 2833 miles.

It ended with this double hypothesis; either the attraction of the moon
would draw it to herself, and the travellers thus attain their end; or
that the projectile, held in one immutable orbit, would gravitate around
the lunar disc to all eternity.

With such alternatives, what would be the fate of the travellers?
Certainly they had food for some time. But supposing they did succeed
in their rash enterprise, how would they return? Could they ever return?
Should they hear from 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
by hasty observers. When a purely speculative discovery is announced to
the public, it cannot be done with too much prudence. No one is obliged
to discover either a planet, a comet, or a satellite; and whoever makes
a mistake in such a case exposes himself justly to the derision of the
mass. Far better is it to wait; and that is what the impatient Joseph T.
Maston should have done before sending this telegram forth to the world,
which, according to his idea, told the whole result of the enterprise.
Indeed this telegram contained two sorts of errors, as was proved
eventually. 1st, errors of observation, concerning the distance of the
projectile from the surface of the moon, for on the 11th December it was
impossible to see it; and what Joseph T. Maston had seen, or thought he
saw, could not have been the projectile of the Columbiad. 2ndly, errors
of theory on the fate in store for the said projectile; for in making it
a satellite of the moon, it was putting it in direct contradiction to
all mechanical laws.

One single hypothesis of the observers of Long's Peak could ever be
realized, that which foresaw the case of the travellers (if still alive)
uniting their 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
shock consequent on their departure, and it is their journey in the