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"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 endeavoring 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 the
particulars from the mouth of Barbicane himself. If he is
killed, then our scheme is at an end. We must prevent his duel;
and one man alone has enough influence over Barbicane to stop
him, and that man is Michel Ardan."

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 plains still wet with
dew, and had taken the shortest route over creeks and ricefields,
they could not reach Skersnaw in under five hours and a half.

Barbicane must have passed the border half an hour ago.

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

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

The worthy secretary of the Gun Club thought that his president
must be 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 gunshots?" asked Ardan.

"No!"

"Not one?"

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

"What is to be done?" said Maston.

"We must go into the wood, at the risk of getting a ball which
is 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 maneuver! 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 toward us," answered Maston.

"And it is?"

"Captain Nicholl!"

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

"Nicholl unarmed! He has, then, no longer any fear of 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?"

"Nicholl!" said Michel Ardan, "this is not courteous! we ought
always to treat an adversary with respect; rest assureed 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
already been 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 toward his friend; but in the act of
seizing his arms, he stopped short and uttered a cry of surprise.

Barbicane, pencil in hand, was tracing geometrical figures in a
memorandum book, while 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 countering 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.

"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 a tour of the United States in his show.
As for his photographs, they were sold of all size, 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
as well. 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 upward, 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 smug party
of four. So one day he determined to be admitted as one of the
travelers. 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 counseled 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 of 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 pounds 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 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-traveler!

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.
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 honor 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 centered
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 2nd of 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 water-tight wooden
disc, which worked easily within the walls of the projectile.
It was upon this kind of raft that the travelers 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 travelers 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 parts 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.

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 aluminum, fastened internally by powerful
screw-pressure. The travelers 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 outward 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 degrees it is transformed into
chlorure of potassium, and the oxygen which it contains is
entirely liberated. Now twenty-eight pounds of chlorate of
potassium produces seven pounds of oxygen, or 2,400 litres-- the
quantity necessary for the travelers 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 bicarbonate of potassium. 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 honor 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 of 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 afterward the secretary of the Gun Club appeared at
the top of the cone in a triumphant attitude. He had grown fat!

CHAPTER XXIV

THE TELESCOPE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS

On the 20th of October in the preceding year, after the close of
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 6,000.
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 6,400
times, and required an immense erection of brick work and
masonry for the purpose of working it, its weight being twelve
and a half tons.

Still, despite these colossal dimensions, the actual
enlargements scarcely exceeded 6,000 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 Appalachians, the very highest point of
which, in New Hampshire, does not exceed the very moderate
altitude of 5,600 feet.

On the west, however, rise the Rocky Mountains, that immense
range which, commencing at the Straights of Magellan, follows
the western coast of 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.

Neither pen nor language can describe the difficulties of all
kinds which the American engineers had to surmount, of 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 pounds, 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 centers 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, toward 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 toward 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. The first time it was directed toward 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 Ruhmkorff'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 eight hundred 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 neighbors
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 travelers. 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 travelers being desirous of examing the moon carefully
during their voyage, in order to facilitate their studies,
they took with them Boeer and Moeller'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 Doerfel 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 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."

After a prolonged discussion, it was agreed that the travelers
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.

"Nothing would be simpler," replied Ardan; "the Columbiad will
be always there. Well! whenever the moon is in a favorable
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. Matson; "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 travelers on their lunar expedition.

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

The enormous shell was conveyed to the summit of Stones Hill.
There, 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 in the Columbiad.

"I have lost," said the captain, who forthwith paid President
Barbicane the sum of three thousand dollars.

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

CHAPTER XXVI

FIRE!

The first of December had arrived! the fatal day! for, if the
projectile were not discharged that very night at 10h. 48m. 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 afterward 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 fraternized 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 trousers, light-colored 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 equaled 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 victualing 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 marvelous
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 of 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 travelers 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 million 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 center 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 traveler's costume, leathern gaiters on his legs, pouch
by his side, in loose velvet suit, cigar in mouth, was full of
inexhaustible gayety, 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 travelers 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-by!" The scene was a
touching one. Despite his feverish gayety, even Michel Ardan
was touched. J. T. Maston had found in his own dry eyes one
ancient tear, which he had 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-travelers 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 upward 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 travelers 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!!!"

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

CHAPTER XXVII

FOUL WEATHER

At the moment when that pyramid of fire rose to a prodigious
height into the air, the glare of 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 one hundred 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 water-spout 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 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 skillful
and persevering astronomer, all observations had been confided.

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 vapor arising from the combustion of
200,000 pounds 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 travelers
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 toward 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 amid 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 of
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 2,833 miles.

However, two hypotheses come here into our consideration.

1. Either the attraction of the moon will end by drawing them
into itself, and the travelers 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
investigation 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 dispatch 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 travelers? 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

ROUND THE MOON

PRELIMINARY CHAPTER

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

During the year 186-, the whole world was greatly excited by a
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 L1,200,000, 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 powder
to be used. It was decided: First, that the projectile should
be a shell made of aluminum with a diameter of 108 inches and a
thickness of twelve inches to its walls; and should weigh
19,250 pounds. Second, that the gun should be a Columbiad
cast in iron, 900 feet long, and run perpendicularly into
the earth. Third, that the charge should contain 400,000 pounds
of gun-cotton, which, giving out six billions of litres of gas in
rear of the projectile, would easily carry it toward 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 labor, 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 reconnoiter 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 travelers 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 of 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 inter-planetary space with almost a
certainty of reaching their destination. These bold travelers,
Michel Ardan, President Barbicane, and Captain Nicholl, ought to
make the passage in ninety-seven hours, thirteen minutes, and
twenty seconds. Consequently, their arrival on the lunar disc
could not take place until the 5th of December at twelve at night,
at the exact moment when the moon should be full, and not on the
4th, as some badly informed journalists 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
vapor, 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
travelers, 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 the clouds in the atmosphere prevented all
observation 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 3d 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 of 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 2,833 miles.

It ended with the double hypothesis: either the attraction of
the moon would draw it to herself, and the travelers 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 travelers?
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. First, errors of observation,
concerning the distance of the projectile from the surface of
the moon, for on the 11th of 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. Second, 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 of all mechanical laws.

One single hypothesis of the observers of Long's Peak could ever
be realized, that which foresaw the case of the travelers (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 projectile car which is here related in its most
dramatic as well as in its most singular details. This recital
will destroy many illusions and surmises; but it will give a
true idea of the singular changes in store for such an
enterprise; it will bring out the scientific instincts of
Barbicane, the industrious resources of Nicholl, and the
audacious humor of Michel Ardan. Besides this, it will prove
that their worthy friend, Joseph T. Maston, was wasting his
time, while leaning over the gigantic telescope he watched the
course of the moon through the starry space.

CHAPTER I

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

As ten o'clock struck, Michel Ardan, Barbicane, and Nicholl,
took leave of the numerous friends they were leaving on the earth.
The two dogs, destined to propagate the canine race on the lunar
continents, were already shut up in the projectile.

The three travelers approached the orifice of the enormous
cast-iron tube, and a crane let them down to the conical top of
the projectile. There, an opening made for the purpose gave
them access to the aluminum car. The tackle belonging to the
crane being hauled from outside, the mouth of the Columbiad was
instantly disencumbered of its last supports.

Nicholl, once introduced with his companions inside the
projectile, began to close the opening by means of a strong
plate, held in position by powerful screws. Other plates,
closely fitted, covered the lenticular glasses, and the
travelers, hermetically enclosed in their metal prison, were
plunged in profound darkness.

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

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

Michel Ardan examined everything, and declared himself satisfied
with his installation.

"It is a prison," said he, "but a traveling prison; and, with
the right of putting my nose to the window, I could well stand
a lease of a hundred years. You smile, Barbicane. Have you any
_arriere-pensee_? Do you say to yourself, `This prison may be
our tomb?' Tomb, perhaps; still I would not change it for
Mahomet's, which floats in space but never advances an inch!"

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

Nicholl's chronometer marked twenty minutes past ten P.M. when
the three travelers were finally enclosed in their projectile.
This chronometer was set within the tenth of a second by that of
Murchison the engineer. Barbicane consulted it.

"My friends," said he, "it is twenty minutes past ten. At forty-
seven minutes past ten Murchison will launch the electric spark
on the wire which communicates with the charge of the Columbiad.
At that precise moment we shall leave our spheroid. Thus we
still have twenty-seven minutes to remain on the earth."

"Twenty-six minutes thirteen seconds," replied the methodical Nicholl.

"Well!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, in a good-humored tone, "much
may be done in twenty-six minutes. The gravest questions of
morals and politics may be discussed, and even solved.
Twenty-six minutes well employed are worth more than twenty-six
years in which nothing is done. Some seconds of a Pascal or a
Newton are more precious than the whole existence of a crowd of
raw simpletons----"

"And you conclude, then, you everlasting talker?" asked Barbicane.

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

"Twenty-four only," said Nicholl.

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

"Michel," said Barbicane, "during the passage we shall have
plenty of time to investigate the most difficult questions.
For the present we must occupy ourselves with our departure."

"Are we not ready?"

"Doubtless; but there are still some precautions to be taken,
to deaden as much as possible the first shock."

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

"I hope so, Michel," replied Barbicane gently, "but I am not sure."

"Ah, the joker!" exclaimed Michel Ardan. "He hopes!--He is not
sure!-- and he waits for the moment when we are encased to make
this deplorable admission! I beg to be allowed to get out!"

"And how?" asked Barbicane.

"Humph!" said Michel Ardan, "it is not easy; we are in the
train, and the guard's whistle will sound before twenty-four
minutes are over."

"Twenty," said Nicholl.

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

"Everything is in its place," said Barbicane. "We have now to
decide how we can best place ourselves to resist the shock.
Position cannot be an indifferent matter; and we must, as much
as possible, prevent the rush of blood to the head."

"Just so," said Nicholl.

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

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

"If it is only `much the same thing,' I may cheer up," said
Michel Ardan.

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

"Entirely," replied the captain. "We've still thirteen minutes
and a half."

"That Nicholl is not a man," exclaimed Michel; "he is a
chronometer with seconds, an escape, and eight holes."

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

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

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

During this time, Ardan, not being able to keep still, turned in
his narrow prison like a wild beast in a cage, chatting with his
friends, speaking to the dogs Diana and Satellite, to whom, as
may be seen, he had given significant names.

"Ah, Diana! Ah, Satellite!" he exclaimed, teasing them; "so you
are going to show the moon-dogs the good habits of the dogs of
the earth! That will do honor to the canine race! If ever we
do come down again, I will bring a cross type of `moon-dogs,'
which will make a stir!"

"If there _are_ dogs in the moon," said Barbicane.

"There are," said Michel Ardan, "just as there are horses, cows,
donkeys, and chickens. I bet that we shall find chickens."

"A hundred dollars we shall find none!" said Nicholl.

"Done, my captain!" replied Ardan, clasping Nicholl's hand.
"But, by the bye, you have already lost three bets with our
president, as the necessary funds for the enterprise have been
found, as the operation of casting has been successful, and
lastly, as the Columbiad has been loaded without accident, six
thousand dollars."

"Yes," replied Nicholl. "Thirty-seven minutes six seconds past ten."

"It is understood, captain. Well, before another quarter of an
hour you will have to count nine thousand dollars to the
president; four thousand because the Columbiad will not burst,
and five thousand because the projectile will rise more than six
miles in the air."

"I have the dollars," replied Nicholl, slapping the pocket of
this coat. "I only ask to be allowed to pay."

"Come, Nicholl. I see that you are a man of method, which
I could never be; but indeed you have made a series of bets
of very little advantage to yourself, allow me to tell you."

"And why?" asked Nicholl.

"Because, if you gain the first, the Columbiad will have burst,
and the projectile with it; and Barbicane will no longer be
there to reimburse your dollars."

"My stake is deposited at the bank in Baltimore," replied
Barbicane simply; "and if Nicholl is not there, it will go to
his heirs."

"Ah, you practical men!" exclaimed Michel Ardan; "I admire you
the more for not being able to understand you."

"Forty-two minutes past ten!" said Nicholl.

"Only five minutes more!" answered Barbicane.

"Yes, five little minutes!" replied Michel Ardan; "and we are
enclosed in a projectile, at the bottom of a gun 900 feet long!
And under this projectile are rammed 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton,
which is equal to 1,600,000 pounds of ordinary powder! And friend
Murchison, with his chronometer in hand, his eye fixed on the
needle, his finger on the electric apparatus, is counting the
seconds preparatory to launching us into interplanetary space."

"Enough, Michel, enough!" said Barbicane, in a serious voice;
"let us prepare. A few instants alone separate us from an
eventful moment. One clasp of the hand, my friends."

"Yes," exclaimed Michel Ardan, more moved than he wished to
appear; and the three bold companions were united in a last embrace.

"God preserve us!" said the religious Barbicane.

Michel Ardan and Nicholl stretched themselves on the couches
placed in the center of the disc.

"Forty-seven minutes past ten!" murmured the captain.

"Twenty seconds more!" Barbicane quickly put out the gas and
lay down by his companions, and the profound silence was only
broken by the ticking of the chronometer marking the seconds.

Suddenly a dreadful shock was felt, and the projectile, under
the force of six billions of litres of gas, developed by the
combustion of pyroxyle, mounted into space.

CHAPTER II

THE FIRST HALF-HOUR

What had happened? What effect had this frightful shock produced?
Had the ingenuity of the constructors of the projectile obtained
any happy result? Had the shock been deadened, thanks to the
springs, the four plugs, the water-cushions, and the partition-breaks?
Had they been able to subdue the frightful pressure of the initiatory
speed of more than 11,000 yards, which was enough to traverse Paris
or New York in a second? This was evidently the question suggested
to the thousand spectators of this moving scene. They forgot the
aim of the journey, and thought only of the travelers. And if
one of them-- Joseph T. Maston for example-- could have cast one
glimpse into the projectile, what would he have seen?

Nothing then. The darkness was profound. But its cylindro-
conical partitions had resisted wonderfully. Not a rent or a
dent anywhere! The wonderful projectile was not even heated
under the intense deflagration of the powder, nor liquefied,
as they seemed to fear, in a shower of aluminum.

The interior showed but little disorder; indeed, only a few
objects had been violently thrown toward the roof; but the most
important seemed not to have suffered from the shock at all;
their fixtures were intact.

On the movable disc, sunk down to the bottom by the smashing of
the partition-breaks and the escape of the water, three bodies
lay apparently lifeless. Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan--
did they still breathe? or was the projectile nothing now but a
metal coffin, bearing three corpses into space?

Some minutes after the departure of the projectile, one of
the bodies moved, shook its arms, lifted its head, and finally
succeeded in getting on its knees. It was Michel Ardan. He felt
himself all over, gave a sonorous "Hem!" and then said:

"Michel Ardan is whole. How about the others?"

The courageous Frenchman tried to rise, but could not stand.
His head swam, from the rush of blood; he was blind; he was a
drunken man.

"Bur-r!" said he. "It produces the same effect as two bottles
of Corton, though perhaps less agreeable to swallow."
Then, passing his hand several times across his forehead and
rubbing his temples, he called in a firm voice:

"Nicholl! Barbicane!"

He waited anxiously. No answer; not even a sigh to show that
the hearts of his companions were still beating. He called again.
The same silence.

"The devil!" he exclaimed. "They look as if they had fallen
from a fifth story on their heads. Bah!" he added, with that
imperturbable confidence which nothing could check, "if a
Frenchman can get on his knees, two Americans ought to be able
to get on their feet. But first let us light up."

Ardan felt the tide of life return by degrees. His blood became
calm, and returned to its accustomed circulation. Another effort
restored his equilibrium. He succeeded in rising, drew a match
from his pocket, and approaching the burner lighted it.
The receiver had not suffered at all. The gas had not escaped.
Besides, the smell would have betrayed it; and in that case
Michel Ardan could not have carried a lighted match with
impunity through the space filled with hydrogen. The gas mixing
with the air would have produced a detonating mixture, and the
explosion would have finished what the shock had perhaps begun.
When the burner was lit, Ardan leaned over the bodies of his
companions: they were lying one on the other, an inert mass,
Nicholl above, Barbicane underneath.

Ardan lifted the captain, propped him up against the divan, and
began to rub vigorously. This means, used with judgment,
restored Nicholl, who opened his eyes, and instantly recovering
his presence of mind, seized Ardan's hand and looked around him.

"And Barbicane?" said he.

"Each in turn," replied Michel Ardan. "I began with you,
Nicholl, because you were on the top. Now let us look
to Barbicane." Saying which, Ardan and Nicholl raised the
president of the Gun Club and laid him on the divan. He seemed
to have suffered more than either of his companions; he was
bleeding, but Nicholl was reassured by finding that the
hemorrhage came from a slight wound on the shoulder, a mere
graze, which he bound up carefully.

Still, Barbicane was a long time coming to himself, which
frightened his friends, who did not spare friction.

"He breathes though," said Nicholl, putting his ear to the chest
of the wounded man.

"Yes," replied Ardan, "he breathes like a man who has some
notion of that daily operation. Rub, Nicholl; let us rub harder."
And the two improvised practitioners worked so hard and so well
that Barbicane recovered his senses. He opened his eyes, sat up,
took his two friends by the hands, and his first words were--

"Nicholl, are we moving?"

Nicholl and Ardan looked at each other; they had not yet
troubled themselves about the projectile; their first thought
had been for the traveler, not for the car.

"Well, are we really moving?" repeated Michel Ardan.

"Or quietly resting on the soil of Florida?" asked Nicholl.

"Or at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico?" added Michel Ardan.

"What an idea!" exclaimed the president.

And this double hypothesis suggested by his companions had the
effect of recalling him to his senses. In any case they could
not decide on the position of the projectile. Its apparent
immovability, and the want of communication with the outside,
prevented them from solving the question. Perhaps the projectile
was unwinding its course through space. Perhaps after a short
rise it had fallen upon the earth, or even in the Gulf of Mexico--
a fall which the narrowness of the peninsula of Florida would
render not impossible.

The case was serious, the problem interesting, and one that must
be solved as soon as possible. Thus, highly excited, Barbicane's
moral energy triumphed over physical weakness, and he rose to
his feet. He listened. Outside was perfect silence; but the
thick padding was enough to intercept all sounds coming from
the earth. But one circumstance struck Barbicane, viz., that
the temperature inside the projectile was singularly high.
The president drew a thermometer from its case and consulted it.
The instrument showed 81@ Fahr.

"Yes," he exclaimed, "yes, we are moving! This stifling heat,
penetrating through the partitions of the projectile, is
produced by its friction on the atmospheric strata. It will
soon diminish, because we are already floating in space, and
after having nearly stifled, we shall have to suffer intense cold.

"What!" said Michel Ardan. "According to your showing, Barbicane,
we are already beyond the limits of the terrestrial atmosphere?"

"Without a doubt, Michel. Listen to me. It is fifty-five
minutes past ten; we have been gone about eight minutes; and if
our initiatory speed has not been checked by the friction, six
seconds would be enough for us to pass through the forty miles
of atmosphere which surrounds the globe."

"Just so," replied Nicholl; "but in what proportion do you
estimate the diminution of speed by friction?"

"In the proportion of one-third, Nicholl. This diminution is
considerable, but according to my calculations it is nothing less.
If, then, we had an initiatory speed of 12,000 yards, on leaving
the atmosphere this speed would be reduced to 9,165 yards. In any
case we have already passed through this interval, and----"

"And then," said Michel Ardan, "friend Nicholl has lost his two
bets: four thousand dollars because the Columbiad did not burst;
five thousand dollars because the projectile has risen more than
six miles. Now, Nicholl, pay up."

"Let us prove it first," said the captain, "and we will
pay afterward. It is quite possible that Barbicane's reasoning
is correct, and that I have lost my nine thousand dollars. But a
new hypothesis presents itself to my mind, and it annuls the wager."

"What is that?" asked Barbicane quickly.

"The hypothesis that, for some reason or other, fire was never
set to the powder, and we have not started at all."

"My goodness, captain," exclaimed Michel Ardan, "that hypothesis
is not worthy of my brain! It cannot be a serious one. For have
we not been half annihilated by the shock? Did I not recall you
to life? Is not the president's shoulder still bleeding from the
blow it has received?"

"Granted," replied Nicholl; "but one question."

"Well, captain?"

"Did you hear the detonation, which certainly ought to be loud?"

"No," replied Ardan, much surprised; "certainly I did not hear
the detonation."

"And you, Barbicane?"

"Nor I, either."

"Very well," said Nicholl.

"Well now," murmured the president "why did we not hear the detonation?"

The three friends looked at each other with a disconcerted air.
It was quite an inexplicable phenomenon. The projectile had
started, and consequently there must have been a detonation.

"Let us first find out where we are," said Barbicane, "and let
down this panel."

This very simple operation was soon accomplished.

The nuts which held the bolts to the outer plates of the
right-hand scuttle gave way under the pressure of the
English wrench. These bolts were pushed outside, and the
buffers covered with India-rubber stopped up the holes which let
them through. Immediately the outer plate fell back upon its
hinges like a porthole, and the lenticular glass which closed
the scuttle appeared. A similar one was let into the thick
partition on the opposite side of the projectile, another in the
top of the dome, and finally a fourth in the middle of the base.

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