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\title{From the Earth to the Moon \\
{\normalsize and}\\
Round the Moon}


\author{Jules Verne}

\maketitle
\vspace*{\stretch{1}}

\noindent The public-domain (U.S.) text was typed in by Rich Schroeppel,
and proofed by an unknown Project Gutenberg volunteer. The Project
Gutenberg edition ({}``moon10'') was converted to \LaTeX{} using
\textbf{GutenMark} software, and modified (principally to correct
formatting problems) by Ron Burkey. The translator\mbox{---}from
French to English\mbox{---}is unknown. (If you happen to know, please
tell us!) Report problems to info@sandroid.org. Revision B1 differs
from B in that {}``----'' and {}``-----'' were everywhere replaced
by {}``---''.

\noindent \begin{center}Revision: B1\\
Date: 02/02/2008\end{center}

\vspace{\stretch{1}}

\frontmatter


\pagestyle{myheadings} {\small \tableofcontents{}}\newpage


\mainmatter



\part*{FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON}

\addcontentsline{toc}{part}{FROM THE EARTH\\
TO THE MOON}


\chapter*{\raggedright THE GUN CLUB}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Gun Club}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{The Gun Club}

During the War of the Rebellion, a new and influential club was established
in the city of Baltimore in the State of Maryland. It is well known
with what energy the taste for military matters became developed among
that nation of ship-owners, shopkeepers, and mechanics. Simple tradesmen
jumped their counters to become extemporized captains, colonels, and
generals, without having ever passed the School of Instruction at
West Point; nevertheless; they quickly rivaled their compeers of the
old continent, and, like them, carried off victories by dint of lavish
expenditure in ammunition, money, and men.

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

This fact need surprise no one. The Yankees, the first mechanicians
in the world, are engineers\mbox{---}just as the Italians are musicians
and the Germans metaphysicians\mbox{---}by right of birth. Nothing
is more natural, therefore, than to perceive them applying their audacious
ingenuity to the science of gunnery. Witness the marvels of Parrott,
Dahlgren, and Rodman. The Armstrong, Palliser, and Beaulieu guns were
compelled to bow before their transatlantic rivals.

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

One condition was imposed as a \textit{sine qua non}\ upon every
candidate for admission into the association, and that was the condition
of having designed, or (more or less)\ perfected a cannon; or, in
default of a cannon, at least a firearm of some description. It may,
however, be mentioned that mere inventors of revolvers, fire-shooting
carbines, and similar small arms, met with little consideration. Artillerists
always commanded the chief place of favor.

The estimation in which these gentlemen were held, according to one
of the most scientific exponents of the Gun Club, was {}``proportional
to the masses of their guns, and in the direct ratio of the square
of the distances attained by their projectiles.''

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

It is but fair to add that these Yankees, brave as they have ever
proved themselves to be, did not confine themselves to theories and
formulae, but that they paid heavily, \textit{in propria persona},
for their inventions. Among them were to be counted officers of all
ranks, from lieutenants to generals; military men of every age, from
those who were just making their \textit{d\'{e}but} in the profession
of arms up to those who had grown old in the gun-carriage. Many had
found their rest on the field of battle whose names figured in the
{}``Book of Honor''\ of the Gun Club; and of those who made good
their return the greater proportion bore the marks of their indisputable
valor. Crutches, wooden legs, artificial arms, steel hooks, caoutchouc
jaws, silver craniums, platinum noses, were all to be found in the
collection; and it was calculated by the great statistician Pitcairn
that throughout the Gun Club there was not quite one arm between four
persons and two legs between six.

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

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

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

{}``This is horrible!''\ said Tom Hunter one evening, while rapidly
carbonizing his wooden legs in the fireplace of the smoking-room;
{}``nothing to do!\ nothing to look forward to!\ what a loathsome
existence! When again shall the guns arouse us in the morning with
their delightful reports?''

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

{}``Ay!\ and no war in prospect!''\ continued the famous James
T. Maston, scratching with his steel hook his gutta-percha cranium.
{}``Not a cloud on the horizon!\ and that too at such a critical
period in the progress of the science of artillery! Yes, gentlemen!
I who address you have myself this very morning perfected a model
(plan, section, elevation, \textit{etc}.)\ of a mortar destined to
change all the conditions of warfare!''

{}``No!\ is it possible?''\ replied Tom Hunter, his thoughts reverting
involuntarily to a former invention of the Hon.\ J.\ T.\ Maston,
by which, at its first trial, he had succeeded in killing three hundred
and thirty-seven people.

{}``Fact!''\ replied he. {}``Still, what is the use of so many
studies worked out, so many difficulties vanquished? It's mere waste
of time! The New World seems to have made up its mind to live in peace;
and our bellicose \textit{Tribune}\ predicts some approaching catastrophes
arising out of this scandalous increase of population.''

{}``Nevertheless,''\ replied Colonel Blomsberry, {}``they are
always struggling in Europe to maintain the principle of nationalities.''

{}``Well?''

{}``Well, there might be some field for enterprise down there; and
if they would accept our services\mbox{---}''

{}``What are you dreaming of?''\ screamed Bilsby; {}``work at
gunnery for the benefit of foreigners?''

{}``That would be better than doing nothing here,''\ returned the
colonel.

{}``Quite so,''\ said J.\ T.\ Matson; {}``but still we need
not dream of that expedient.''

{}``And why not?''\ demanded the colonel.

{}``Because their ideas of progress in the Old World are contrary
to our American habits of thought. Those fellows believe that one
can't become a general without having served first as an ensign; which
is as much as to say that one can't point a gun without having first
cast it oneself!''

{}``Ridiculous!''\ replied Tom Hunter, whittling with his bowie-knife
the arms of his easy chair; {}``but if that be the case there, all
that is left for us is to plant tobacco and distill whale-oil.''

{}``What!''\ roared J.\ T.\ Maston, {}``shall we not employ
these remaining years of our life in perfecting firearms? Shall there
never be a fresh opportunity of trying the ranges of projectiles?
Shall the air never again be lighted with the glare of our guns? No
international difficulty ever arise to enable us to declare war against
some transatlantic power? Shall not the French sink one of our steamers,
or the English, in defiance of the rights of nations, hang a few of
our countrymen?''

{}``No such luck,''\ replied Colonel Blomsberry; {}``nothing of
the kind is likely to happen; and even if it did, we should not profit
by it. American susceptibility is fast declining, and we are all going
to the dogs.''

{}``It is too true,''\ replied J.\ T.\ Maston, with fresh violence;
{}``there are a thousand grounds for fighting, and yet we don't fight.
We save up our arms and legs for the benefit of nations who don't
know what to do with them! But stop\mbox{---}without going out of
one's way to find a cause for war\mbox{---}did not North America
once belong to the English?''

{}``Undoubtedly,''\ replied Tom Hunter, stamping his crutch with
fury.

{}``Well, then,''\ replied J.\ T.\ Maston, {}``why should not
England in her turn belong to the Americans?''

{}``It would be but just and fair,''\ returned Colonel Blomsberry.

{}``Go and propose it to the President of the United States,''\ cried
J.\ T.\ Maston, {}``and see how he will receive you.''

{}``Bah!''\ growled Bilsby between the four teeth which the war
had left him; {}``that will never do!''

{}``By Jove!''\ cried J.\ T.\ Maston, {}``he mustn't count on
my vote at the next election!''

{}``Nor on ours,''\ replied unanimously all the bellicose invalids.

{}``Meanwhile,''\ replied J.\ T.\ Maston, {}``allow me to say
that, if I cannot get an opportunity to try my new mortars on a real
field of battle, I shall say good-by to the members of the Gun Club,
and go and bury myself in the prairies of Arkansas!''

{}``In that case we will accompany you,''\ cried the others.

Matters were in this unfortunate condition, and the club was threatened
with approaching dissolution, when an unexpected circumstance occurred
to prevent so deplorable a catastrophe.

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

\begin{quotation}
\noindent \noun{Baltimore, October 3}.

The president of the Gun Club has the honor to inform his colleagues
that, at the meeting of the 5th instant, he will bring before them
a communication of an extremely interesting nature. He requests, therefore,
that they will make it convenient to attend in accordance with the
present invitation. Very cordially,

\noun{\hspace{\stretch{1}}Impey Barbicane, P.G.C}.
\end{quotation}

\chapter*{\raggedright PRESIDENT BARBICANE'S COMMUNICATION}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{President Barbicane's Communication}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{President Barbicane's Communication}

On the 5th of October, at eight p.m., a dense crowd pressed toward
the saloons of the Gun Club at No.\ 21 Union Square. All the members
of the association resident in Baltimore attended the invitation of
their president. As regards the corresponding members, notices were
delivered by hundreds throughout the streets of the city, and, large
as was the great hall, it was quite inadequate to accommodate the
crowd of \textit{savants}. They overflowed into the adjoining rooms,
down the narrow passages, into the outer courtyards. There they ran
against the vulgar herd who pressed up to the doors, each struggling
to reach the front ranks, all eager to learn the nature of the important
communication of President Barbicane; all pushing, squeezing, crushing
with that perfect freedom of action which is so peculiar to the masses
when educated in ideas of {}``self-government.''

On that evening a stranger who might have chanced to be in Baltimore
could not have gained admission for love or money into the great hall.
That was reserved exclusively for resident or corresponding members;
no one else could possibly have obtained a place; and the city magnates,
municipal councilors, and {}``select men''\ were compelled to mingle
with the mere townspeople in order to catch stray bits of news from
the interior.

Nevertheless the vast hall presented a curious spectacle. Its immense
area was singularly adapted to the purpose. Lofty pillars formed of
cannon, superposed upon huge mortars as a base, supported the fine
ironwork of the arches, a perfect piece of cast-iron lacework. Trophies
of blunderbuses, matchlocks, arquebuses, carbines, all kinds of firearms,
ancient and modern, were picturesquely interlaced against the walls.
The gas lit up in full glare myriads of revolvers grouped in the form
of lustres, while groups of pistols, and candelabra formed of muskets
bound together, completed this magnificent display of brilliance.
Models of cannon, bronze castings, sights covered with dents, plates
battered by the shots of the Gun Club, assortments of rammers and
sponges, chaplets of shells, wreaths of projectiles, garlands of howitzers\mbox{---}in
short, all the apparatus of the artillerist, enchanted the eye by
this wonderful arrangement and induced a kind of belief that their
real purpose was ornamental rather than deadly.

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

In front of the table benches arranged in zigzag form, like the circumvallations
of a retrenchment, formed a succession of bastions and curtains set
apart for the use of the members of the club; and on this especial
evening one might say, {}``All the world was on the ramparts.''
The president was sufficiently well known, however, for all to be
assured that he would not put his colleagues to discomfort without
some very strong motive.

Impey Barbicane was a man of forty years of age, calm, cold, austere;
of a singularly serious and self-contained demeanor, punctual as a
chronometer, of imperturbable temper and immovable character; by no
means chivalrous, yet adventurous withal, and always bringing practical
ideas to bear upon the very rashest enterprises; an essentially New
Englander, a Northern colonist, a descendant of the old anti-Stuart
Roundheads, and the implacable enemy of the gentlemen of the South,
those ancient cavaliers of the mother country. In a word, he was a
Yankee to the backbone.

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

He was personage of the middle height, having, by a rare exception
in the Gun Club, all his limbs complete. His strongly marked features
seemed drawn by square and rule; and if it be true that, in order
to judge a man's character one must look at his profile, Barbicane,
so examined, exhibited the most certain indications of energy, audacity,
and \textit{sang-froid}.

At this moment he was sitting in his armchair, silent, absorbed, lost
in reflection, sheltered under his high-crowned hat\mbox{---}a kind
of black cylinder which always seems firmly screwed upon the head
of an American.

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

{}``My brave colleagues, too long already a paralyzing peace has
plunged the members of the Gun Club in deplorable inactivity. After
a period of years full of incidents we have been compelled to abandon
our labors, and to stop short on the road of progress. I do not hesitate
to state, baldly, that any war which would recall us to arms would
be welcome!''\  (Tremendous applause!) {}``But war, gentlemen,
is impossible under existing circumstances; and, however we may desire
it, many years may elapse before our cannon shall again thunder in
the field of battle. We must make up our minds, then, to seek in another
train of ideas some field for the activity which we all pine for.''

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

{}``For some months past, my brave colleagues,''\ continued Barbicane,
{}``I have been asking myself whether, while confining ourselves
to our own particular objects, we could not enter upon some grand
experiment worthy of the nineteenth century; and whether the progress
of artillery science would not enable us to carry it out to a successful
issue. I have been considering, working, calculating; and the result
of my studies is the conviction that we are safe to succeed in an
enterprise which to any other country would appear wholly impracticable.
This project, the result of long elaboration, is the object of my
present communication. It is worthy of yourselves, worthy of the antecedents
of the Gun Club; and it cannot fail to make some noise in the world.''

A thrill of excitement ran through the meeting.

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

{}``There is no one among you, my brave colleagues, who has not seen
the Moon, or, at least, heard speak of it. Don't be surprised if I
am about to discourse to you regarding the Queen of the Night. It
is perhaps reserved for us to become the Columbuses of this unknown
world. Only enter into my plans, and second me with all your power,
and I will lead you to its conquest, and its name shall be added to
those of the thirty-six states which compose this Great Union.''

{}``Three cheers for the Moon!''\ roared the Gun Club, with one
voice.

{}``The moon, gentlemen, has been carefully studied,''\ continued
Barbicane; {}``her mass, density, and weight; her constitution, motions,
distance, as well as her place in the solar system, have all been
exactly determined. Selenographic charts have been constructed with
a perfection which equals, if it does not even surpass, that of our
terrestrial maps. Photography has given us proofs of the incomparable
beauty of our satellite; all is known regarding the moon which mathematical
science, astronomy, geology, and optics can learn about her. But up
to the present moment no direct communication has been established
with her.''

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

{}``Permit me,''\ he continued, {}``to recount to you briefly
how certain ardent spirits, starting on imaginary journeys, have penetrated
the secrets of our satellite. In the seventeenth century a certain
David Fabricius boasted of having seen with his own eyes the inhabitants
of the moon. In 1649 a Frenchman, one Jean Baudoin, published a `Journey
performed from the Earth to the Moon by Domingo Gonzalez,'\ a Spanish
adventurer. At the same period Cyrano de Bergerac published that celebrated
`Journeys in the Moon'\ which met with such success in France. Somewhat
later another Frenchman, named Fontenelle, wrote `The Plurality of
Worlds,'\ a \textit{chef-d'oeuvre}\ of its time. About 1835 a small
treatise, translated from the New York \textit{American}, related
how Sir John Herschel, having been despatched to the Cape of Good
Hope for the purpose of making there some astronomical calculations,
had, by means of a telescope brought to perfection by means of internal
lighting, reduced the apparent distance of the moon to eighty yards!
He then distinctly perceived caverns frequented by hippopotami, green
mountains bordered by golden lace-work, sheep with horns of ivory,
a white species of deer and inhabitants with membranous wings, like
bats. This \textit{brochure}, the work of an American named Locke,
had a great sale. But, to bring this rapid sketch to a close, I will
only add that a certain Hans Pfaal, of Rotterdam, launching himself
in a balloon filled with a gas extracted from nitrogen, thirty-seven
times lighter than hydrogen, reached the moon after a passage of nineteen
hours. This journey, like all previous ones, was purely imaginary;
still, it was the work of a popular American author\mbox{---}I mean
Edgar Poe!''

{}``Cheers for Edgar Poe!''\ roared the assemblage, electrified
by their president's words.

{}``I have now enumerated,''\ said Barbicane, {}``the experiments
which I call purely paper ones, and wholly insufficient to establish
serious relations with the Queen of the Night. Nevertheless, I am
bound to add that some practical geniuses have attempted to establish
actual communication with her. Thus, a few days ago, a German geometrician
proposed to send a scientific expedition to the steppes of Siberia.
There, on those vast plains, they were to describe enormous geometric
figures, drawn in characters of reflecting luminosity, among which
was the proposition regarding the `square of the hypothenuse,'\ commonly
called the `Ass's Bridge'\ by the French.\  `Every intelligent being,'\ said
the geometrician, `must understand the scientific meaning of that
figure. The Selenites, do they exist, will respond by a similar figure;
and, a communication being thus once established, it will be easy
to form an alphabet which shall enable us to converse with the inhabitants
of the moon.' So spoke the German geometrician; but his project was
never put into practice, and up to the present day there is no bond
in existence between the Earth and her satellite. It is reserved for
the practical genius of Americans to establish a communication with
the sidereal world. The means of arriving thither are simple, easy,
certain, infallible\mbox{---}and that is the purpose of my present
proposal.''

A storm of acclamations greeted these words. There was not a single
person in the whole audience who was not overcome, carried away, lifted
out of himself by the speaker's words!

Long-continued applause resounded from all sides.

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

{}``You know,''\ said he, {}``what progress artillery science
has made during the last few years, and what a degree of perfection
firearms of every kind have reached. Moreover, you are well aware
that, in general terms, the resisting power of cannon and the expansive
force of gunpowder are practically unlimited. Well!\ starting from
this principle, I ask myself whether, supposing sufficient apparatus
could be obtained constructed upon the conditions of ascertained resistance,
it might not be possible to project a shot up to the moon?''

At these words a murmur of amazement escaped from a thousand panting
chests; then succeeded a moment of perfect silence, resembling that
profound stillness which precedes the bursting of a thunderstorm.
In point of fact, a thunderstorm did peal forth, but it was the thunder
of applause, or cries, and of uproar which made the very hall tremble.
The president attempted to speak, but could not. It was fully ten
minutes before he could make himself heard.

{}``Suffer me to finish,''\ he calmly continued. {}``I have looked
at the question in all its bearings, I have resolutely attacked it,
and by incontrovertible calculations I find that a projectile endowed
with an initial velocity of 12,000 yards per second, and aimed at
the moon, must necessarily reach it. I have the honor, my brave colleagues,
to propose a trial of this little experiment.''


\chapter*{\raggedright EFFECT OF THE PRESIDENT'S COMMUNICATION}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Effect of the President's Communication}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{Effect of the President's Communication}

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

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

Nothing can astound an American. It has often been asserted that the
word {}``impossible''\ in not a French one. People have evidently
been deceived by the dictionary. In America, all is easy, all is simple;
and as for mechanical difficulties, they are overcome before they
arise. Between Barbicane's proposition and its realization no true
Yankee would have allowed even the semblance of a difficulty to be
possible. A thing with them is no sooner said than done.

The triumphal progress of the president continued throughout the evening.
It was a regular torchlight procession. Irish, Germans, French, Scotch,
all the heterogeneous units which make up the population of Maryland
shouted in their respective vernaculars; and the {}``vivas,''\ {}``hurrahs,''\ and
{}``bravos''\ were intermingled in inexpressible enthusiasm.

Just at this crisis, as though she comprehended all this agitation
regarding herself, the moon shone forth with serene splendor, eclipsing
by her intense illumination all the surrounding lights. The Yankees
all turned their gaze toward her resplendent orb, kissed their hands,
called her by all kinds of endearing names. Between eight o'clock
and midnight one optician in Jones'-Fall Street made his fortune by
the sale of opera-glasses.

Midnight arrived, and the enthusiasm showed no signs of diminution.
It spread equally among all classes of citizens\mbox{---}men of
science, shopkeepers, merchants, porters, chair-men, as well as {}``greenhorns,''
were stirred in their innermost fibres. A national enterprise was
at stake. The whole city, high and low, the quays bordering the Patapsco,
the ships lying in the basins, disgorged a crowd drunk with joy, gin,
and whisky. Every one chattered, argued, discussed, disputed, applauded,
from the gentleman lounging upon the barroom settee with his tumbler
of sherry-cobbler before him down to the waterman who got drunk upon
his {}``knock-me-down''\ in the dingy taverns of Fell Point.

About two A.M., however, the excitement began to subside. President
Barbicane reached his house, bruised, crushed, and squeezed almost
to a mummy. Hercules could not have resisted a similar outbreak of
enthusiasm. The crowd gradually deserted the squares and streets.
The four railways from Philadelphia and Washington, Harrisburg and
Wheeling, which converge at Baltimore, whirled away the heterogeneous
population to the four corners of the United States, and the city
subsided into comparative tranquility.

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

The project once under discussion, not a single paragraph suggested
a doubt of its realization. All the papers, pamphlets, reports\mbox{---}all
the journals published by the scientific, literary, and religious
societies enlarged upon its advantages; and the Society of Natural
History of Boston, the Society of Science and Art of Albany, the Geographical
and Statistical Society of New York, the Philosophical Society of
Philadelphia, and the Smithsonian of Washington sent innumerable letters
of congratulation to the Gun Club, together with offers of immediate
assistance and money.

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

Some few days after this memorable meeting of the Gun Club, the manager
of an English company announced, at the Baltimore theatre, the production
of {}``Much ado about Nothing.'' But the populace, seeing in that
title an allusion damaging to Barbicane's project, broke into the
auditorium, smashed the benches, and compelled the unlucky director
to alter his playbill. Being a sensible man, he bowed to the public
will and replaced the offending comedy by {}``As you like it'';
and for many weeks he realized fabulous profits.


\chapter*{\raggedright REPLY FROM THE OBSERVATORY OF CAMBRIDGE}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Reply from the Observatory\\
of Cambridge}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{Reply from the Observatory
of Cambridge}

Barbicane, however, lost not one moment amid all the enthusiasm of
which he had become the object. His first care was to reassemble his
colleagues in the board-room of the Gun Club. There, after some discussion,
it was agreed to consult the astronomers regarding the astronomical
part of the enterprise. Their reply once ascertained, they could then
discuss the mechanical means, and nothing should be wanting to ensure
the success of this great experiment.

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

It was couched in the following terms:\ 

\begin{quotation}
\noindent \begin{center}\textit{The Director of the Cambridge Observatory
to the President of the Gun Club at Baltimore.}\end{center}

\noindent \noun{Cambridge, October 7.}

On the receipt of your favor of the 6th instant, addressed to the
Observatory of Cambridge in the name of the members of the Baltimore
Gun Club, our staff was immediately called together, and it was judged
expedient to reply as follows:\ 

The questions which have been proposed to it are these\mbox{---}

{}``1. Is it possible to transmit a projectile up to the moon?

{}``2. What is the exact distance which separates the earth from
its satellite?

{}``3. What will be the period of transit of the projectile when
endowed with sufficient initial velocity?\ and, consequently, at
what moment ought it to be discharged in order that it may touch the
moon at a particular point?

{}``4. At what precise moment will the moon present herself in the
most favorable position to be reached by the projectile?

{}``5. What point in the heavens ought the cannon to be aimed at
which is intended to discharge the projectile?

{}``6. What place will the moon occupy in the heavens at the moment
of the projectile's departure?''

Regarding the \textit{first}\ question, {}``Is it possible to transmit
a projectile up to the moon?''

\textit{Answer.}\mbox{---}Yes; provided it possess an initial velocity
of 12,000 yards per second; calculations prove that to be sufficient.
In proportion as we recede from the earth the action of gravitation
diminishes in the inverse ratio of the square of the distance; that
is to say, \textit{at three times a given distance the action is nine
times less.}\  Consequently, the weight of a shot will decrease,
and will become reduced to \textit{zero}\ at the instant that the
attraction of the moon exactly counterpoises that of the earth; that
is to say at 47/52 of its passage. At that instant the projectile
will have no weight whatever; and, if it passes that point, it will
fall into the moon by the sole effect of the lunar attraction. The
\textit{theoretical possibility}\ of the experiment is therefore
absolutely demonstrated; its \textit{success}\ must depend upon the
power of the engine employed.

As to the \textit{second}\ question, {}``What is the exact distance
which separates the earth from its satellite?''

\textit{Answer.}\mbox{---}The moon does not describe a \textit{circle}\ round
the earth, but rather an \textit{ellipse}, of which our earth occupies
one of the \textit{foci}; the consequence, therefore, is, that at
certain times it approaches nearer to, and at others it recedes farther
from, the earth; in astronomical language, it is at one time in \textit{apogee},
at another in \textit{perigee}. Now the difference between its greatest
and its least distance is too considerable to be left out of consideration.
In point of fact, in its apogee the moon is 247,552 miles, and in
its perigee, 218,657 miles only distant; a fact which makes a difference
of 28,895 miles, or more than one-ninth of the entire distance. The
perigee distance, therefore, is that which ought to serve as the basis
of all calculations.

To the \textit{third}\ question.

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

Regarding question \textit{four}, {}``At what precise moment will
the moon present herself in the most favorable position, \textit{etc}.?''

\textit{Answer.}\mbox{---}After what has been said above, it will
be necessary, first of all, to choose the period when the moon will
be in perigee, and \textit{also}\ the moment when she will be crossing
the zenith, which latter event will further diminish the entire distance
by a length equal to the radius of the earth, \textit{i.e.} 3,919
miles; the result of which will be that the final passage remaining
to be accomplished will be 214,976 miles. But although the moon passes
her perigee every month, she does not reach the zenith always \textit{at
exactly the same moment}. She does not appear under these two conditions
simultaneously, except at long intervals of time. It will be necessary,
therefore, to wait for the moment when her passage in perigee shall
coincide with that in the zenith. Now, by a fortunate circumstance,
on the 4th of December in the ensuing year the moon \textit{will}\ present
these two conditions. At midnight she will be in perigee, that is,
at her shortest distance from the earth, and at the same moment she
will be crossing the zenith.

On the \textit{fifth}\ question, {}``At what point in the heavens
ought the cannon to be aimed?''

\textit{Answer.}\mbox{---}The preceding remarks being admitted,
the cannon ought to be pointed to the zenith of the place. Its fire,
therefore, will be perpendicular to the plane of the horizon; and
the projectile will soonest pass beyond the range of the terrestrial
attraction. But, in order that the moon should reach the zenith of
a given place, it is necessary that the place should not exceed in
latitude the declination of the luminary; in other words, it must
be comprised within the degrees 0$^\circ$\ and 28$^\circ$\ \textbackslash{}of
lat.\ N.\ or S. In every other spot the fire must necessarily be
oblique, which would seriously militate against the success of the
experiment.

As to the \textit{sixth}\ question, {}``What place will the moon
occupy in the heavens at the moment of the projectile's departure?''

\textit{Answer.}\mbox{---}At the moment when the projectile shall
be discharged into space, the moon, which travels daily forward 13$^\circ$\ 10'\ 35'',
will be distant from the zenith point by four times that quantity,
\textit{i.e.}\ by 52$^\circ$\ 41'\ 20'', a space which corresponds
to the path which she will describe during the entire journey of the
projectile. But, inasmuch as it is equally necessary to take into
account the deviation which the rotary motion of the earth will impart
to the shot, and as the shot cannot reach the moon until after a deviation
equal to 16 radii of the earth, which, calculated upon the moon's
orbit, are equal to about eleven degrees, it becomes necessary to
add these eleven degrees to those which express the retardation of
the moon just mentioned: that is to say, in round numbers, about sixty-four
degrees. Consequently, at the moment of firing the visual radius applied
to the moon will describe, with the vertical line of the place, an
angle of sixty-four degrees.

These are our answers to the questions proposed to the Observatory
of Cambridge by the members of the Gun Club:\ 

To sum up\mbox{---}

1st. The cannon ought to be planted in a country situated between
0$^\circ$\ and 28$^\circ$\ of N.\ or S.\ lat.

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

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

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

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

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

The staff of the Cambridge Observatory place themselves entirely at
their disposal in respect of all questions of theoretical astronomy;
and herewith add their congratulations to those of all the rest of
America.

\noun{\hspace{\stretch{1}}}For the Astronomical Staff,\noun{\hspace{\stretch{1}}}

\noun{\hspace{\stretch{1}}J.\ M.\ Belfast} 

\noindent \begin{center}\textit{Director of the Observatory of Cambridge.}\end{center}
\end{quotation}

\chapter*{\raggedright THE ROMANCE OF THE MOON}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Romance of the Moon}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{The Romance of the Moon}

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

By attentively watching, the observer would then have perceived the
other molecules of the mass, following the example of this central
star, become likewise condensed by gradually accelerated rotation,
and gravitating round it in the shape of innumerable stars. Thus was
formed the \textit{Nebulae}, of which astronomers have reckoned up
nearly 5,000.

Among these 5,000 nebulae there is one which has received the name
of the Milky Way, and which contains eighteen millions of stars, each
of which has become the center of a solar world.

If the observer had then specially directed his attention to one of
the more humble and less brilliant of these stellar bodies, a star
of the fourth class, that which is arrogantly called the Sun, all
the phenomena to which the formation of the Universe is to be ascribed
would have been successively fulfilled before his eyes. In fact, he
would have perceived this sun, as yet in the gaseous state, and composed
of moving molecules, revolving round its axis in order to accomplish
its work of concentration. This motion, faithful to the laws of mechanics,
would have been accelerated with the diminution of its volume; and
a moment would have arrived when the centrifugal force would have
overpowered the centripetal, which causes the molecules all to tend
toward the center.

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

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

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

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

From the time of Thales of Miletus, in the fifth century B.C., down
to that of Copernicus in the fifteenth and Tycho Brahe in the sixteenth
century A.D., observations have been from time to time carried on
with more or less correctness, until in the present day the altitudes
of the lunar mountains have been determined with exactitude. Galileo
explained the phenomena of the lunar light produced during certain
of her phases by the existence of mountains, to which he assigned
a mean altitude of 27,000 feet. After him Hevelius, an astronomer
of Dantzic, reduced the highest elevations to 15,000 feet; but the
calculations of Riccioli brought them up again to 21,000 feet.

At the close of the eighteenth century Herschel, armed with a powerful
telescope, considerably reduced the preceding measurements. He assigned
a height of 11,400 feet to the maximum elevations, and reduced the
mean of the different altitudes to little more than 2,400 feet. But
Herschel's calculations were in their turn corrected by the observations
of Halley, Nasmyth, Bianchini, Gruithuysen, and others; but it was
reserved for the labors of Boeer and Maedler finally to solve the
question. They succeeded in measuring 1,905 different elevations,
of which six exceed 15,000 feet, and twenty-two exceed 14,400 feet.
The highest summit of all towers to a height of 22,606 feet above
the surface of the lunar disc. At the same period the examination
of the moon was completed. She appeared completely riddled with craters,
and her essentially volcanic character was apparent at each observation.
By the absence of refraction in the rays of the planets occulted by
her we conclude that she is absolutely devoid of an atmosphere. The
absence of air entails the absence of water. It became, therefore,
manifest that the Selenites, to support life under such conditions,
must possess a special organization of their own, must differ remarkably
from the inhabitants of the earth.

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

Thus they remarked that, during full moon, the disc appeared scored
in certain parts with white lines; and, during the phases, with black.
On prosecuting the study of these with still greater precision, they
succeeded in obtaining an exact account of the nature of these lines.
They were long and narrow furrows sunk between parallel ridges, bordering
generally upon the edges of the craters. Their length varied between
ten and 100 miles, and their width was about 1,600 yards. Astronomers
called them chasms, but they could not get any further. Whether these
chasms were the dried-up beds of ancient rivers or not they were unable
thoroughly to ascertain.

The Americans, among others, hoped one day or other to determine this
geological question. They also undertook to examine the true nature
of that system of parallel ramparts discovered on the moon's surface
by Gruithuysen, a learned professor of Munich, who considered them
to be {}``a system of fortifications thrown up by the Selenitic engineers.''
These two points, yet obscure, as well as others, no doubt, could
not be definitely settled except by direct communication with the
moon.

Regarding the degree of intensity of its light, there was nothing
more to learn on this point. It was known that it is 300,000 times
weaker than that of the sun, and that its heat has no appreciable
effect upon the thermometer. As to the phenomenon known as the {}``ashy
light,''\ it is explained naturally by the effect of the transmission
of the solar rays from the earth to the moon, which give the appearance
of completeness to the lunar disc, while it presents itself under
the crescent form during its first and last phases.

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


\chapter*{\raggedright PERMISSIVE LIMITS OF IGNORANCE AND BELIEF IN THE UNITED
STATES}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Permissive Limits of Ignorance and\\
Belief in the United States}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{Permissive Limits of Ignorance}

The immediate result of Barbicane's proposition was to place upon
the orders of the day all the astronomical facts relative to the Queen
of the Night. Everybody set to work to study assiduously. One would
have thought that the moon had just appeared for the first time, and
that no one had ever before caught a glimpse of her in the heavens.
The papers revived all the old anecdotes in which the {}``sun of
the wolves''\ played a part; they recalled the influences which
the ignorance of past ages ascribed to her; in short, all America
was seized with selenomania, or had become moon-mad.

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

Until that time most people had been ignorant of the mode in which
the distance which separates the moon from the earth is calculated.
They took advantage of this fact to explain to them that this distance
was obtained by measuring the parallax of the moon. The term parallax
proving {}``caviare to the general,''\ they further explained that
it meant the angle formed by the inclination of two straight lines
drawn from either extremity of the earth's radius to the moon. On
doubts being expressed as to the correctness of this method, they
immediately proved that not only was the mean distance 234,347 miles,
but that astronomers could not possibly be in error in their estimate
by more than seventy miles either way.

To those who were not familiar with the motions of the moon, they
demonstrated that she possesses two distinct motions, the first being
that of rotation upon her axis, the second being that of revolution
round the earth, accomplishing both together in an equal period of
time, that is to say, in twenty-seven and one-third days.

The motion of rotation is that which produces day and night on the
surface of the moon; save that there is only one day and one night
in the lunar month, each lasting three hundred and fifty-four and
one-third hours. But, happily for her, the face turned toward the
terrestrial globe is illuminated by it with an intensity equal to
that of fourteen moons. As to the other face, always invisible to
us, it has of necessity three hundred and fifty-four hours of absolute
night, tempered only by that {}``pale glimmer which falls upon it
from the stars.''

Some well-intentioned, but rather obstinate persons, could not at
first comprehend how, if the moon displays invariably the same face
to the earth during her revolution, she can describe one turn round
herself. To such they answered, {}``Go into your dining-room, and
walk round the table in such a way as to always keep your face turned
toward the center; by the time you will have achieved one complete
round you will have completed one turn around yourself, since your
eye will have traversed successively every point of the room. Well,
then, the room is the heavens, the table is the earth, and the moon
is yourself.'' And they would go away delighted.

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

As soon as the ignoramuses came to understand as much as the director
of the observatory himself knew, they began to worry themselves regarding
her revolution round the earth, whereupon twenty scientific reviews
immediately came to the rescue. They pointed out to them that the
firmament, with its infinitude of stars, may be considered as one
vast dial-plate, upon which the moon travels, indicating the true
time to all the inhabitants of the earth; that it is during this movement
that the Queen of Night exhibits her different phases; that the moon
is \textit{full} when she is in \textit{opposition}\ with the sun,
that is when the three bodies are on the same straight line, the earth
occupying the center; that she is \textit{new}\ when she is in \textit{conjunction}\ with
the sun, that is, when she is between it and the earth; and, lastly
that she is in her \textit{first}\ or \textit{last}\ quarter, when
she makes with the sun and the earth an angle of which she herself
occupies the apex.

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

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

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

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

Others again, belonging to the doubting class, expressed certain fears
as to the position of the moon. They had heard it said that, according
to observations made in the time of the Caliphs, her revolution had
become accelerated in a certain degree. Hence they concluded, logically
enough, that an acceleration of motion ought to be accompanied by
a corresponding diminution in the distance separating the two bodies;
and that, supposing the double effect to be continued to infinity,
the moon would end by one day falling into the earth. However, they
became reassured as to the fate of future generations on being apprised
that, according to the calculations of Laplace, this acceleration
of motion is confined within very restricted limits, and that a proportional
diminution of speed will be certain to succeed it. So, then, the stability
of the solar system would not be deranged in ages to come.

There remains but the third class, the superstitious. These worthies
were not content merely to rest in ignorance; they must know all about
things which had no existence whatever, and as to the moon, they had
long known all about her. One set regarded her disc as a polished
mirror, by means of which people could see each other from different
points of the earth and interchange their thoughts. Another set pretended
that out of one thousand new moons that had been observed, nine hundred
and fifty had been attended with remarkable disturbances, such as
cataclysms, revolutions, earthquakes, the deluge, \textit{etc}. Then
they believed in some mysterious influence exercised by her over human
destinies\mbox{---}that every Selenite was attached to some inhabitant
of the earth by a tie of sympathy; they maintained that the entire
vital system is subject to her control, \textit{etc}. But in time
the majority renounced these vulgar errors, and espoused the true
side of the question. As for the Yankees, they had no other ambition
than to take possession of this new continent of the sky, and to plant
upon the summit of its highest elevation the star-spangled banner
of the United States of America.


\chapter*{\raggedright THE HYMN OF THE CANNON-BALL}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Hymn of the Cannon-Ball}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{The Hymn of the Cannon-Ball}

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

President Barbicane had, without loss of time, nominated a working
committee of the Gun Club. The duty of this committee was to resolve
the three grand questions of the cannon, the projectile, and the powder.
It was composed of four members of great technical knowledge, Barbicane
(with a casting vote in case of equality), General Morgan, Major Elphinstone,
and J.\ T. Maston, to whom were confided the functions of secretary.
On the 8th of October the committee met at the house of President
Barbicane, 3 Republican Street. The meeting was opened by the president
himself.

{}``Gentlemen,''\ said he, {}``we have to resolve one of the most
important problems in the whole of the noble science of gunnery. It
might appear, perhaps, the most logical course to devote our first
meeting to the discussion of the engine to be employed. Nevertheless,
after mature consideration, it has appeared to me that the question
of the projectile must take precedence of that of the cannon, and
that the dimensions of the latter must necessarily depend on those
of the former.''

{}``Suffer me to say a word,''\ here broke in J.\ T.\ Maston.
Permission having been granted, {}``Gentlemen,''\ said he with
an inspired accent, {}``our president is right in placing the question
of the projectile above all others. The ball we are about to discharge
at the moon is our ambassador to her, and I wish to consider it from
a moral point of view. The cannon-ball, gentlemen, to my mind, is
the most magnificent manifestation of human power. If Providence has
created the stars and the planets, man has called the cannon-ball
into existence. Let Providence claim the swiftness of electricity
and of light, of the stars, the comets, and the planets, of wind and
sound\mbox{---}we claim to have invented the swiftness of the cannon-ball,
a hundred times superior to that of the swiftest horses or railway
train. How glorious will be the moment when, infinitely exceeding
all hitherto attained velocities, we shall launch our new projectile
with the rapidity of seven miles a second! Shall it not, gentlemen\mbox{---}shall
it not be received up there with the honors due to a terrestrial ambassador?''

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

{}``And now,''\ said Barbicane, {}``let us quit the domain of
poetry and come direct to the question.''

{}``By all means,''\ replied the members, each with his mouth full
of sandwich.

{}``The problem before us,''\ continued the president, {}``is
how to communicate to a projectile a velocity of 12,000 yards per
second. Let us at present examine the velocities hitherto attained.
General Morgan will be able to enlighten us on this point.''

{}``And the more easily,''\ replied the general, {}``that during
the war I was a member of the committee of experiments. I may say,
then, that the 100-pounder Dahlgrens, which carried a distance of
5,000 yards, impressed upon their projectile an initial velocity of
500 yards a second. The Rodman Columbiad threw a shot weighing half
a ton a distance of six miles, with a velocity of 800 yards per second\mbox{---}a
result which Armstrong and Palisser have never obtained in England.''

{}``This,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``is, I believe, the maximum
velocity ever attained?''

{}``It is so,''\ replied the general.

{}``Ah!''\ groaned J.\ T.\ Maston, {}``if my mortar had not
burst\mbox{---}''

{}``Yes,''\ quietly replied Barbicane, {}``but it did burst. We
must take, then, for our starting point, this velocity of 800 yards.
We must increase it twenty-fold. Now, reserving for another discussion
the means of producing this velocity, I will call your attention to
the dimensions which it will be proper to assign to the shot. You
understand that we have nothing to do here with projectiles weighing
at most but half a ton.''

{}``Why not?''\ demanded the major.

{}``Because the shot,''\ quickly replied J.\ T.\ Maston, {}``must
be big enough to attract the attention of the inhabitants of the moon,
if there are any?''

{}``Yes,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``and for another reason more
important still.''

{}``What mean you?''\ asked the major.

{}``I mean that it is not enough to discharge a projectile, and then
take no further notice of it; we must follow it throughout its course,
up to the moment when it shall reach its goal.''

{}``What?''\ shouted the general and the major in great surprise.

{}``Undoubtedly,''\ replied Barbicane composedly, {}``or our experiment
would produce no result.''

{}``But then,''\ replied the major, {}``you will have to give
this projectile enormous dimensions.''

{}``No! Be so good as to listen. You know that optical instruments
have acquired great perfection; with certain instruments we have succeeded
in obtaining enlargements of 6,000 times and reducing the moon to
within forty miles'\ distance. Now, at this distance, any objects
sixty feet square would be perfectly visible.

{}``If, then, the penetrative power of telescopes has not been further
increased, it is because that power detracts from their light; and
the moon, which is but a reflecting mirror, does not give back sufficient
light to enable us to perceive objects of lesser magnitude.''

{}``Well, then, what do you propose to do?''\ asked the general.
{}``Would you give your projectile a diameter of sixty feet?''

{}``Not so.''

{}``Do you intend, then, to increase the luminous power of the moon?''

{}``Exactly so. If I can succeed in diminishing the density of the
atmosphere through which the moon's light has to travel I shall have
rendered her light more intense. To effect that object it will be
enough to establish a telescope on some elevated mountain. That is
what we will do.''

{}``I give it up,''\ answered the major. {}``You have such a way
of simplifying things. And what enlargement do you expect to obtain
in this way?''

{}``One of 48,000 times, which should bring the moon within an apparent
distance of five miles; and, in order to be visible, objects need
not have a diameter of more than nine feet.''

{}``So, then,''\ cried J.\ T.\ Maston, {}``our projectile need
not be more than nine feet in diameter.''

{}``Let me observe, however,''\ interrupted Major Elphinstone,
{}``this will involve a weight such as\mbox{---}''

{}``My dear major,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``before discussing
its weight permit me to enumerate some of the marvels which our ancestors
have achieved in this respect. I don't mean to pretend that the science
of gunnery has not advanced, but it is as well to bear in mind that
during the middle ages they obtained results more surprising, I will
venture to say, than ours. For instance, during the siege of Constantinople
by Mahomet II., in 1453, stone shot of 1,900 pounds weight were employed.
At Malta, in the time of the knights, there was a gun of the fortress
of St. Elmo which threw a projectile weighing 2,500 pounds. And, now,
what is the extent of what we have seen ourselves? Armstrong guns
discharging shot of 500 pounds, and the Rodman guns projectiles of
half a ton! It seems, then, that if projectiles have gained in range,
they have lost far more in weight. Now, if we turn our efforts in
that direction, we ought to arrive, with the progress on science,
at ten times the weight of the shot of Mahomet II. and the Knights
of Malta.''

{}``Clearly,''\ replied the major; {}``but what metal do you calculate
upon employing?''

{}``Simply cast iron,''\ said General Morgan.

{}``But,''\ interrupted the major, {}``since the weight of a shot
is proportionate to its volume, an iron ball of nine feet in diameter
would be of tremendous weight.''

{}``Yes, if it were solid, not if it were hollow.''

{}``Hollow?\ then it would be a shell?''

{}``Yes, a shell,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``decidely it must be.
A solid shot of 108 inches would weigh more than 200,000 pounds, a
weight evidently far too great. Still, as we must reserve a certain
stability for our projectile, I propose to give it a weight of 20,000
pounds.''

{}``What, then, will be the thickness of the sides?''\ asked the
major.

{}``If we follow the usual proportion,''\ replied Morgan, {}``a
diameter of 108 inches would require sides of two feet thickness,
or less.''

{}``That would be too much,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``for you
will observe that the question is not that of a shot intended to pierce
an iron plate; it will suffice to give it sides strong enough to resist
the pressure of the gas. The problem, therefore, is this\mbox{---}What
thickness ought a cast-iron shell to have in order not to weight more
than 20,000 pounds? Our clever secretary will soon enlighten us upon
this point.''

{}``Nothing easier,''\ replied the worthy secretary of the committee;
and, rapidly tracing a few algebraical formulae upon paper, among
which $n^{2}$ and $x^{2}$ frequently appeared, he presently said:\ 

{}``The sides will require a thickness of less than two inches.''

{}``Will that be enough?''\ asked the major doubtfully.

{}``Clearly not!''\ replied the president.

{}``What is to be done, then?''\ said Elphinstone, with a puzzled
air.

{}``Employ another metal instead of iron.''

{}``Copper?''\ said Morgan.

{}``No!\ that would be too heavy. I have better than that to offer.''

{}``What then?''\ asked the major.

{}``Aluminum!''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``Aluminum?''\ cried his three colleagues in chorus.

{}``Unquestionably, my friends. This valuable metal possesses the
whiteness of silver, the indestructibility of gold, the tenacity of
iron, the fusibility of copper, the lightness of glass. It is easily
wrought, is very widely distributed, forming the base of most of the
rocks, is three times lighter than iron, and seems to have been created
for the express purpose of furnishing us with the material for our
projectile.''

{}``But, my dear president,''\ said the major, {}``is not the
cost price of aluminum extremely high?''

{}``It was so at its first discovery, but it has fallen now to nine
dollars a pound.''

{}``But still, nine dollars a pound!''\ replied the major, who
was not willing readily to give in; {}``even that is an enormous
price.''

{}``Undoubtedly, my dear major; but not beyond our reach.''

{}``What will the projectile weigh then?''\ asked Morgan.

{}``Here is the result of my calculations,''\ replied Barbicane.
{}``A shot of 108 inches in diameter, and twelve inches in thickness,
would weigh, in cast-iron, 67,440 pounds; cast in aluminum, its weight
will be reduced to 19,250 pounds.''

{}``Capital!''\ cried the major; {}``but do you know that, at
nine dollars a pound, this projectile will cost\mbox{---}''

{}``One hundred and seventy-three thousand and fifty dollars (\$173,050).
I know it quite well. But fear not, my friends; the money will not
be wanting for our enterprise. I will answer for it. Now what say
you to aluminum, gentlemen?''

{}``Adopted!''\ replied the three members of the committee. So
ended the first meeting. The question of the projectile was definitely
settled.


\chapter*{\raggedright HISTORY OF THE CANNON}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{History of the Cannon}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{History of the Cannon}

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

{}``My dear colleagues,''\ said Barbicane, without further preamble,
{}``the subject now before us is the construction of the engine,
its length, its composition, and its weight. It is probable that we
shall end by giving it gigantic dimensions; but however great may
be the difficulties in the way, our mechanical genius will readily
surmount them. Be good enough, then, to give me your attention, and
do not hesitate to make objections at the close. I have no fear of
them. The problem before us is how to communicate an initial force
of 12,000 yards per second to a shell of 108 inches in diameter, weighing
20,000 pounds. Now when a projectile is launched into space, what
happens to it? It is acted upon by three independent forces: the resistance
of the air, the attraction of the earth, and the force of impulsion
with which it is endowed. Let us examine these three forces. The resistance
of the air is of little importance. The atmosphere of the earth does
not exceed forty miles. Now, with the given rapidity, the projectile
will have traversed this in five seconds, and the period is too brief
for the resistance of the medium to be regarded otherwise than as
insignificant. Proceding, then, to the attraction of the earth, that
is, the weight of the shell, we know that this weight will diminish
in the inverse ratio of the square of the distance. When a body left
to itself falls to the surface of the earth, it falls five feet in
the first second; and if the same body were removed 257,542 miles
further off, in other words, to the distance of the moon, its fall
would be reduced to about half a line in the first second. That is
almost equivalent to a state of perfect rest. Our business, then,
is to overcome progressively this action of gravitation. The mode
of accomplishing that is by the force of impulsion.''

{}``There's the difficulty,''\ broke in the major.

{}``True,''\ replied the president; {}``but we will overcome that,
for the force of impulsion will depend on the length of the engine
and the powder employed, the latter being limited only by the resisting
power of the former. Our business, then, to-day is with the dimensions
of the cannon.''

{}``Now, up to the present time,''\ said Barbicane, {}``our longest
guns have not exceeded twenty-five feet in length. We shall therefore
astonish the world by the dimensions we shall be obliged to adopt.
It must evidently be, then, a gun of great range, since the length
of the piece will increase the detention of the gas accumulated behind
the projectile; but there is no advantage in passing certain limits.''

{}``Quite so,''\ said the major. {}``What is the rule in such
a case?''

{}``Ordinarily the length of a gun is twenty to twenty-five times
the diameter of the shot, and its weight two hundred and thirty-five
to two hundred and forty times that of the shot.''

{}``That is not enough,''\ cried J.\ T.\ Maston impetuously.

{}``I agree with you, my good friend; and, in fact, following this
proportion for a projectile nine feet in diameter, weighing 30,000
pounds, the gun would only have a length of two hundred and twenty-five
feet, and a weight of 7,200,000 pounds.''

{}``Ridiculous!''\ rejoined Maston. {}``As well take a pistol.''

{}``I think so too,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``that is why I propose
to quadruple that length, and to construct a gun of nine hundred feet.''

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

{}``But,''\ said Elphinstone, {}``what thickness must we give
it?''

{}``A thickness of six feet,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``You surely don't think of mounting a mass like that upon a carriage?''\ asked
the major.

{}``It would be a superb idea, though,''\ said Maston.

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

{}``One simple question,''\ said Elphinstone: {}``is our gun to
be rifled?''

{}``No, certainly not,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``we require an
enormous initial velocity; and you are well aware that a shot quits
a rifled gun less rapidly than it does a smooth-bore.''

{}``True,''\ rejoined the major.

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

On the discussion being renewed, {}``Gentlemen,''\ said Barbicane,
{}``we must now take into consideration the metal to be employed.
Our cannon must be possessed of great tenacity, great hardness, be
infusible by heat, indissoluble, and inoxidable by the corrosive action
of acids.''

{}``There is no doubt about that,''\ replied the major; {}``and
as we shall have to employ an immense quantity of metal, we shall
not be at a loss for choice.''

{}``Well, then,''\ said Morgan, {}``I propose the best alloy hitherto
known, which consists of one hundred parts of copper, twelve of tin,
and six of brass.''

{}``I admit,''\ replied the president, {}``that this composition
has yielded excellent results, but in the present case it would be
too expensive, and very difficult to work. I think, then, that we
ought to adopt a material excellent in its way and of low price, such
as cast iron. What is your advice, major?''

{}``I quite agree with you,''\ replied Elphinstone.

{}``In fact,''\ continued Barbicane, {}``cast iron costs ten times
less than bronze; it is easy to cast, it runs readily from the moulds
of sand, it is easy of manipulation, it is at once economical of money
and of time. In addition, it is excellent as a material, and I well
remember that during the war, at the siege of Atlanta, some iron guns
fired one thousand rounds at intervals of twenty minutes without injury.''

{}``Cast iron is very brittle, though,''\ replied Morgan.

{}``Yes, but it possesses great resistance. I will now ask our worthy
secretary to calculate the weight of a cast-iron gun with a bore of
nine feet and a thickness of six feet of metal.''

{}``In a moment,''\ replied Maston. Then, dashing off some algebraical
formulae with marvelous facility, in a minute or two he declared the
following result:\ 

{}``The cannon will weigh 68,040 tons. And, at two cents a pound,
it will cost\mbox{---}''

{}``Two million five hundred and ten thousand seven hundred and one
dollars.''

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

{}``Well, gentlemen,''\ replied the president, {}``I repeat what
I said yesterday. Make yourselves easy; the millions will not be wanting.''

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


\chapter*{\raggedright THE QUESTION OF THE POWDERS}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Question of the Powders}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{The Question of the Powders}

There remained for consideration merely the question of powders. The
public awaited with interest its final decision. The size of the projectile
and the length of the cannon being settled, what would be the quantity
of powder necessary to produce impulsion?

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

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

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

{}``Gentlemen,''\ said this distinguished chemist, {}``I begin
with some figures which will serve as the basis of our calculation.
The old 24-pounder shot required for its discharge sixteen pounds
of powder.''

{}``You are certain of this amount?''\ broke in Barbicane.

{}``Quite certain,''\ replied the major. {}``The Armstrong cannon
employs only seventy-five pounds of powder for a projectile of eight
hundred pounds, and the Rodman Columbiad uses only one hundred and
sixty pounds of powder to send its half ton shot a distance of six
miles. These facts cannot be called in question, for I myself raised
the point during the depositions taken before the committee of artillery.''

{}``Quite true,''\ said the general.

{}``Well,''\ replied the major, {}``these figures go to prove
that the quantity of powder is not increased with the weight of the
shot; that is to say, if a 24-pounder shot requires sixteen pounds
of powder;\mbox{---}in other words, if in ordinary guns we employ
a quantity of powder equal to two-thirds of the weight of the projectile,
this proportion is not constant. Calculate, and you will see that
in place of three hundred and thirty-three pounds of powder, the quantity
is reduced to no more than one hundred and sixty pounds.''

{}``What are you aiming at?''\ asked the president.

{}``If you push your theory to extremes, my dear major,''\ said
J.\ T. Maston, {}``you will get to this, that as soon as your shot
becomes sufficiently heavy you will not require any powder at all.''

{}``Our friend Maston is always at his jokes, even in serious matters,''\ cried
the major; {}``but let him make his mind easy, I am going presently
to propose gunpowder enough to satisfy his artillerist's propensities.
I only keep to statistical facts when I say that, during the war,
and for the very largest guns, the weight of the powder was reduced,
as the result of experience, to a tenth part of the weight of the
shot.''

{}``Perfectly correct,''\ said Morgan; {}``but before deciding
the quantity of powder necessary to give the impulse, I think it would
be as well\mbox{---}''

{}``We shall have to employ a large-grained powder,''\ continued
the major; {}``its combustion is more rapid than that of the small.''

{}``No doubt about that,''\ replied Morgan; {}``but it is very
destructive, and ends by enlarging the bore of the pieces.''

{}``Granted; but that which is injurious to a gun destined to perform
long service is not so to our Columbiad. We shall run no danger of
an explosion; and it is necessary that our powder should take fire
instantaneously in order that its mechanical effect may be complete.''

{}``We must have,''\ said Maston, {}``several touch-holes, so
as to fire it at different points at the same time.''

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

Up to this point Barbicane had kept aloof from the discussion; he
left the others to speak while he himself listened; he had evidently
got an idea. He now simply said, {}``Well, my friends, what quantity
of powder do you propose?''

The three members looked at one another.

{}``Two hundred thousand pounds.''\ at last said Morgan.

{}``Five hundred thousand,''\ added the major.

{}``Eight hundred thousand,''\ screamed Maston.

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

{}``Gentlemen,''\ he quietly said, {}``I start from this principle,
that the resistance of a gun, constructed under the given conditions,
is unlimited. I shall surprise our friend Maston, then, by stigmatizing
his calculations as timid; and I propose to double his 800,000 pounds
of powder.''

{}``Sixteen hundred thousand pounds?''\ shouted Maston, leaping
from his seat.

{}``Just so.''

{}``We shall have to come then to my ideal of a cannon half a mile
long; for you see 1,600,000 pounds will occupy a space of about 20,000
cubic feet; and since the contents of your cannon do not exceed 54,000
cubic feet, it would be half full; and the bore will not be more than
long enough for the gas to communicate to the projectile sufficient
impulse.''

{}``Nevertheless,''\ said the president, {}``I hold to that quantity
of powder. Now, 1,600,000 pounds of powder will create 6,000,000,000
litres of gas. Six thousand millions! You quite understand?''

{}``What is to be done then?''\ said the general.

{}``The thing is very simple; we must reduce this enormous quantity
of powder, while preserving to it its mechanical power.''

{}``Good; but by what means?''

{}``I am going to tell you,''\ replied Barbicane quietly.

{}``Nothing is more easy than to reduce this mass to one quarter
of its bulk. You know that curious cellular matter which constitutes
the elementary tissues of vegetable? This substance is found quite
pure in many bodies, especially in cotton, which is nothing more than
the down of the seeds of the cotton plant. Now cotton, combined with
cold nitric acid, become transformed into a substance eminently insoluble,
combustible, and explosive. It was first discovered in 1832, by Braconnot,
a French chemist, who called it xyloidine. In 1838 another Frenchman,
Pelouze, investigated its different properties, and finally, in 1846,
Schonbein, professor of chemistry at Bale, proposed its employment
for purposes of war. This powder, now called pyroxyle, or fulminating
cotton, is prepared with great facility by simply plunging cotton
for fifteen minutes in nitric acid, then washing it in water, then
drying it, and it is ready for use.''

{}``Nothing could be more simple,''\ said Morgan.

{}``Moreover, pyroxyle is unaltered by moisture\mbox{---}a valuable
property to us, inasmuch as it would take several days to charge the
cannon. It ignites at 170 degrees in place of 240, and its combustion
is so rapid that one may set light to it on the top of the ordinary
powder, without the latter having time to ignite.''

{}``Perfect!''\ exclaimed the major.

{}``Only it is more expensive.''

{}``What matter?''\ cried J.\ T.\ Maston.

{}``Finally, it imparts to projectiles a velocity four times superior
to that of gunpowder. I will even add, that if we mix it with one-eighth
of its own weight of nitrate of potassium, its expansive force is
again considerably augmented.''

{}``Will that be necessary?''\ asked the major.

{}``I think not,''\ replied Barbicane. {}``So, then, in place
of 1,600,000 pounds of powder, we shall have but 400,000 pounds of
fulminating cotton; and since we can, without danger, compress 500
pounds of cotton into twenty-seven cubic feet, the whole quantity
will not occupy a height of more than 180 feet within the bore of
the Columbiad. In this way the shot will have more than 700 feet of
bore to traverse under a force of 6,000,000,000 litres of gas before
taking its flight toward the moon.''

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

This incident terminated the third meeting of the committee.

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

{}``A mere matter of detail, a bagatelle,''\ said J.\ T.\ Maston.


\chapter*{\raggedright ONE ENEMY \textit{V.}\ TWENTY-FIVE MILLIONS OF FRIENDS}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{One Enemy \emph{v.}\ Twenty-Five\\
Millions of Friends}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{One Enemy \emph{v.}\ 25 Millions
of Friends}

The American public took a lively interest in the smallest details
of the enterprise of the Gun Club. It followed day by day the discussion
of the committee. The most simple preparations for the great experiment,
the questions of figures which it involved, the mechanical difficulties
to be resolved\mbox{---}in one word, the entire plan of work\mbox{---}roused
the popular excitement to the highest pitch.

The purely scientific attraction was suddenly intensified by the following
incident:\ 

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

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

Most people are aware of the curious struggle which arose during the
Federal war between the guns and armor of iron-plated ships. The result
was the entire reconstruction of the navy of both the contestants;
as the one grew heavier, the other became thicker in proportion. The
\emph{Merrimac}, the \emph{Monitor}, the \emph{Tennessee}, the \emph{Weehawken}
discharged enormous projectiles themselves, after having been armor-clad
against the projectiles of others. In fact they did to others that
which they would not they should do to them\mbox{---}that grand
principle of immortality upon which rests the whole art of war.

Now if Barbicane was a great founder of shot, Nicholl was a great
forger of plates; the one cast night and day at Baltimore, the other
forged day and night at Philadelphia. As soon as ever Barbicane invented
a new shot, Nicholl invented a new plate; each followed a current
of ideas essentially opposed to the other. Happily for these citizens,
so useful to their country, a distance of from fifty to sixty miles
separated them from one another, and they had never yet met. Which
of these two inventors had the advantage over the other it was difficult
to decide from the results obtained. By last accounts, however, it
would seem that the armor-plate would in the end have to give way
to the shot; nevertheless, there were competent judges who had their
doubts on the point.

At the last experiment the cylindro-conical projectiles of Barbicane
stuck like so many pins in the Nicholl plates. On that day the Philadelphia
iron-forger then believed himself victorious, and could not evince
contempt enough for his rival; but when the other afterward substituted
for conical shot simple 600-pound shells, at very moderate velocity,
the captain was obliged to give in. In fact, these projectiles knocked
his best metal plate to shivers.

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

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

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

{}``At fifty then!''\ roared the captain through the newspapers.
{}``At twenty-five yards!\ and I'll stand behind!''

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

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

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

When his famous communication was made to the Gun Club, the captain's
wrath passed all bounds; with his intense jealousy was mingled a feeling
of absolute impotence. How was he to invent anything to beat this
900-feet Columbiad? What armor-plate could ever resist a projectile
of 30,000 pounds weight? Overwhelmed at first under this violent shock,
he by and by recovered himself, and resolved to crush the proposal
by weight of his arguments.

He then violently attacked the labors of the Gun Club, published a
number of letters in the newspapers, endeavored to prove Barbicane
ignorant of the first principles of gunnery. He maintained that it
was absolutely impossible to impress upon any body whatever a velocity
of 12,000 yards per second; that even with such a velocity a projectile
of such a weight could not transcend the limits of the earth's atmosphere.
Further still, even regarding the velocity to be acquired, and granting
it to be sufficient, the shell could not resist the pressure of the
gas developed by the ignition of 1,600,000 pounds of powder; and supposing
it to resist that pressure, it would be less able to support that
temperature; it would melt on quitting the Columbiad, and fall back
in a red-hot shower upon the heads of the imprudent spectators.

Barbicane continued his work without regarding these attacks.

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

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

Nicholl, driven into his last entrenchments, and not able to fight
personally in the cause, resolved to fight with money. He published,
therefore, in the Richmond \textit{Inquirer}\ a series of wagers,
conceived in these terms, and on an increasing scale:\ 

No.\ 1 (\$1,000).\mbox{---}That the necessary funds for the experiment
of the Gun Club will not be forthcoming.

No.\ 2 (\$2,000).\mbox{---}That the operation of casting a cannon
of 900 feet is impracticable, and cannot possibly succeed.

No.\ 3 (\$3,000).\mbox{---}That is it impossible to load the Columbiad,
and that the pyroxyle will take fire spontaneously under the pressure
of the projectile.

No.\ 4 (\$4,000).\mbox{---}That the Columbiad will burst at the
first fire.

No.\ 5 (\$5,000).\mbox{---}That the shot will not travel farther
than six miles, and that it will fall back again a few seconds after
its discharge.

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

Notwithstanding the importance of the challenge, on the 19th of May
he received a sealed packet containing the following superbly laconic
reply:

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {}``\noun{Baltimore, October 19}.

\noindent \hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``Done.\hspace{\stretch{1}}

\hspace{\stretch{1}}{}``\noun{Barbicane}.''
\end{quotation}

\chapter*{\raggedright FLORIDA AND TEXAS}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Florida and Texas}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{Florida and Texas}

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

On the 20th of October, at a general meeting of the Gun Club, Barbicane
produced a magnificent map of the United States. {}``Gentlemen,''\ said
he, in opening the discussion, {}``I presume that we are all agreed
that this experiment cannot and ought not to be tried anywhere but
within the limits of the soil of the Union. Now, by good fortune,
certain frontiers of the United States extend downward as far as the
28th parallel of the north latitude. If you will cast your eye over
this map, you will see that we have at our disposal the whole of the
southern portion of Texas and Florida.''

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

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

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

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

The rival parties promenaded the streets with arms in their hands;
and at every occasion of their meeting a collision was to be apprehended
which might have been attended with disastrous results. Happily the
prudence and address of President Barbicane averted the danger. These
personal demonstrations found a division in the newspapers of the
different States. The New York \textit{Herald} and the \textit{Tribune}
supported Texas, while the \textit{Times} and the \textit{American
Review} espoused the cause of the Floridan deputies. The members of
the Gun Club could not decide to which to give the preference.

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

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

The Texans, through the columns of the \textit{Herald} claimed that
some regard should be had to a State which grew the best cotton in
all America, produced the best green oak for the service of the navy,
and contained the finest oil, besides iron mines, in which the yield
was fifty per cent.\ of pure metal.

To this the \textit{American Review} replied that the soil of Florida,
although not equally rich, afforded the best conditions for the moulding
and casting of the Columbiad, consisting as it did of sand and argillaceous
earth.

{}``That may be all very well,''\ replied the Texans; {}``but
you must first get to this country. Now the communications with Florida
are difficult, while the coast of Texas offers the bay of Galveston,
which possesses a circumference of fourteen leagues, and is capable
of containing the navies of the entire world!''

{}``A pretty notion truly,''\ replied the papers in the interest
of Florida, {}``that of Galveston bay \textit{below the 29th parallel!}
Have we not got the bay of Espiritu Santo, opening precisely upon
\textit{the 28th degree}, and by which ships can reach Tampa Town
by direct route?''

{}``A fine bay; half choked with sand!''

{}``Choked yourselves!''\ returned the others.

Thus the war went on for several days, when Florida endeavored to
draw her adversary away on to fresh ground; and one morning the \textit{Times}\ hinted
that, the enterprise being essentially American, it ought not to be
attempted upon other than purely American territory.

To these words Texas retorted, {}``American!\ are we not as much
so as you? Were not Texas and Florida both incorporated into the Union
in 1845?''

{}``Undoubtedly,''\ replied the \textit{Times}; {}``but we have
belonged to the Americans ever since 1820.''

{}``Yes!''\ returned the \textit{Tribune}; {}``after having been
Spaniards or English for two hundred years, you were sold to the United
States for five million dollars!''

{}``Well!\ and why need we blush for that? Was not Louisiana bought
from Napoleon in 1803 at the price of sixteen million dollars?''

{}``Scandalous!''\ roared the Texas deputies. {}``A wretched little
strip of country like Florida to dare to compare itself to Texas,
who, in place of selling herself, asserted her own independence, drove
out the Mexicans in March 2, 1846, and declared herself a federal
republic after the victory gained by Samuel Houston, on the banks
of the San Jacinto, over the troops of Santa Anna!\mbox{---}a country,
in fine, which voluntarily annexed itself to the United States of
America!''

{}``Yes; because it was afraid of the Mexicans!''\ replied Florida.

{}``Afraid!''\  From this moment the state of things became intolerable.
A sanguinary encounter seemed daily imminent between the two parties
in the streets of Baltimore. It became necessary to keep an eye upon
the deputies.

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

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

{}``On carefully considering,''\ he said, {}``what is going on
now between Florida and Texas, it is clear that the same difficulties
will recur with all the towns of the favored State. The rivalry will
descend from State to city, and so on downward. Now Texas possesses
eleven towns within the prescribed conditions, which will further
dispute the honor and create us new enemies, while Florida has only
one. I go in, therefore, for Florida and Tampa Town.''

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

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

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

{}``Very well, let it bust up!''\ replied the Floridans, with a
brevity of the days of ancient Sparta.


\chapter*{\raggedright \emph{URBI ET ORBI}}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{\emph{Urbi et Orbi}}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{\emph{Urbi et Orbi}}

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

President Barbicane undertook, despite of the matter being a purely
American affair, to render it one of universal interest, and to request
the financial co-operation of all peoples. It was, he maintained,
the right and duty of the whole earth to interfere in the affairs
of its satellite. The subscription opened at Baltimore extended properly
to the whole world\mbox{---}\textit{Urbi et orbi}.

This subscription was successful beyond all expectation; notwithstanding
that it was a question not of lending but of giving the money. It
was a purely disinterested operation in the strictest sense of the
term, and offered not the slightest chance of profit.

The effect, however, of Barbicane's communication was not confined
to the frontiers of the United States; it crossed the Atlantic and
Pacific, invading simultaneously Asia and Europe, Africa and Oceanica.
The observatories of the Union placed themselves in immediate communication
with those of foreign countries. Some, such as those of Paris, Petersburg,
Berlin, Stockholm, Hamburg, Malta, Lisbon, Benares, Madras, and others,
transmitted their good wishes; the rest maintained a prudent silence,
quietly awaiting the result. As for the observatory at Greenwich,
seconded as it was by the twenty-two astronomical establishments of
Great Britain, it spoke plainly enough. It boldly denied the possibility
of success, and pronounced in favor of the theories of Captain Nicholl.
But this was nothing more than mere English jealousy.

On the 8th of October President Barbicane published a manifesto full
of enthusiasm, in which he made an appeal to {}``all persons of good
will upon the face of the earth.'' This document, translated into
all languages, met with immense success.

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

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

\begin{quotation}
\noindent {\footnotesize At Vienna, with S.\ M.\ de Rothschild. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Petersburg, Stieglitz and Co. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Paris, The Credit Mobilier. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Stockholm, Tottie and Arfuredson. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At London, N.\ M.\ Rothschild and Son. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Turin, Ardouin and Co. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Berlin, Mendelssohn. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Geneva, Lombard, Odier and Co. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Constantinople, The Ottoman Bank. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Brussels, J.\ Lambert. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Madrid, Daniel Weisweller. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Amsterdam, Netherlands Credit Co. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Rome, Torlonia and Co. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Lisbon, Lecesne. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Copenhagen, Private Bank. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Rio de Janeiro, Private Bank. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Montevideo, Private Bank. }{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize \mbox{At Valparaiso \& Lima, Thomas la Chambre
\& Co.}}{\footnotesize \par}

\noindent {\footnotesize At Mexico, Martin Daran and Co.}{\footnotesize \par}
\end{quotation}
Three days after the manifesto of President Barbicane \$4,000,000
were paid into the different towns of the Union. With such a balance
the Gun Club might begin operations at once. But some days later advices
were received to the effect that foreign subscriptions were being
eagerly taken up. Certain countries distinguished themselves by their
liberality; others untied their purse-strings with less facility\mbox{---}a
matter of temperament. Figures are, however, more eloquent than words,
and here is the official statement of the sums which were paid in
to the credit of the Gun Club at the close of the subscription.

Russia paid in as her contingent the enormous sum of 368,733 roubles.
No one need be surprised at this, who bears in mind the scientific
taste of the Russians, and the impetus which they have given to astronomical
studies\mbox{---}thanks to their numerous observatories.

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

Austria showed herself generous in the midst of her financial crisis.
Her public contributions amounted to the sum of 216,000 florins\mbox{---}a
perfect godsend.

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

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

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

Belgium distinguished herself among the second-rate states by a grant
of 513,000 francs\mbox{---}about two centimes per head of her population.

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

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

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

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

The States of the Church thought that they could not send less than
7,040 Roman crowns; and Portugal carried her devotion to science as
far as 30,000 cruzados. It was the widow's mite\mbox{---}eighty-six
piastres; but self-constituted empires are always rather short of
money.

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

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

There remained but England; and we know the contemptuous antipathy
with which she received Barbicane's proposition. The English have
but one soul for the whole twenty-six millions of inhabitants which
Great Britain contains. They hinted that the enterprise of the Gun
Club was contrary to the {}``principle of non-intervention.'' And
they did not subscribe a single farthing.

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

\begin{center} \begin{tabular}{@{}lr}

United States subscriptions & \$4,000,000 \\

Foreign subscriptions & \$1,446,675 \\

\hline 

Total & \$5,446,675 \end{tabular} \end{center}

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

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

On the 20th of October a contract was entered into with the manufactory
at Coldspring, near New York, which during the war had furnished the
largest Parrott, cast-iron guns. It was stipulated between the contracting
parties that the manufactory of Coldspring should engage to transport
to Tampa Town, in southern Florida, the necessary materials for casting
the Columbiad. The work was bound to be completed at latest by the
15th of October following, and the cannon delivered in good condition
under penalty of a forfeit of one hundred dollars a day to the moment
when the moon should again present herself under the same conditions\mbox{---}that
is to say, in eighteen years and eleven days.

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

This contract, executed in duplicate, was signed by Barbicane, president
of the Gun Club, of the one part, and T.\ Murchison director of the
Coldspring manufactory, of the other, who thus executed the deed on
behalf of their respective principals.


\chapter*{\raggedright STONES HILL}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Stones Hill}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{Stones Hill}

When the decision was arrived at by the Gun Club, to the disparagement
of Texas, every one in America, where reading is a universal acquirement,
set to work to study the geography of Florida. Never before had there
been such a sale for works like {}``Bertram's Travels in Florida,''\ {}``Roman's
Natural History of East and West Florida,''\ {}``William's Territory
of Florida,''\ and {}``Cleland on the Cultivation of the Sugar-Cane
in Florida.'' It became necessary to issue fresh editions of these
works.

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

On the following day, the four fellow-travelers arrived at New Orleans.
There they immediately embarked on board the \textit{Tampico}, a despatch-boat
belonging to the Federal navy, which the government had placed at
their disposal; and, getting up steam, the banks of Louisiana speedily
disappeared from sight.

The passage was not long. Two days after starting, the \textit{Tampico},
having made four hundred and eighty miles, came in sight of the coast
of Florida. On a nearer approach Barbicane found himself in view of
a low, flat country of somewhat barren aspect. After coasting along
a series of creeks abounding in lobsters and oysters, the \textit{Tampico}\ entered
the bay of Espiritu Santo, where she finally anchored in a small natural
harbor, formed by the \textit{embouchure}\ of the River Hillisborough,
at seven P.M., on the 22d of October.

Our four passengers disembarked at once. {}``Gentlemen,''\ said
Barbicane, {}``we have no time to lose; tomorrow we must obtain horses,
and proceed to reconnoiter the country.''

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

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

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

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

{}``Sir, there are Seminoles there.''

{}``What do you mean by Seminoles?''

{}``Savages who scour the prairies. We thought it best, therefore,
to escort you on your road.''

{}``Pooh!''\ cried J.\ T.\ Maston, mounting his steed.

{}``All right,''\ said the Floridan; {}``but it is true enough,
nevertheless.''

{}``Gentlemen,''\ answered Barbicane, {}``I thank you for your
kind attention; but it is time to be off.''

It was five A.M.\ when Barbicane and his party, quitting Tampa Town,
made their way along the coast in the direction of Alifia Creek. This
little river falls into Hillisborough Bay twelve miles above Tampa
Town. Barbicane and his escort coasted along its right bank to the
eastward. Soon the waves of the bay disappeared behind a bend of rising
ground, and the Floridan {}``champagne''\ alone offered itself
to view.

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

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

{}``My worthy friend, we cannot do better than sink our Columbiad
in these high grounds.''

{}``To get nearer the moon, perhaps?''\ said the secretary of the
Gun Club.

{}``Not exactly,''\ replied Barbicane, smiling; {}``do you not
see that among these elevated plateaus we shall have a much easier
work of it? No struggles with the water-springs, which will save us
long expensive tubings; and we shall be working in daylight instead
of down a deep and narrow well. Our business, then, is to open our
trenches upon ground some hundreds of yards above the level of the
sea.''

{}``You are right, sir,''\ struck in Murchison, the engineer; {}``and,
if I mistake not, we shall ere long find a suitable spot for our purpose.''

{}``I wish we were at the first stroke of the pickaxe,''\ said
the president.

{}``And I wish we were at the \textit{last},''\ cried J.\ T.\ Maston.

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

J.\ T.\ Maston and the major could not repress their admiration
on finding themselves in the presence of the glorious beauties of
this wealth of nature. President Barbicane, however, less sensitive
to these wonders, was in haste to press forward; the very luxuriance
of the country was displeasing to him. They hastened onward, therefore,
and were compelled to ford several rivers, not without danger, for
they were infested with huge alligators from fifteen to eighteen feet
long. Maston courageously menaced them with his steel hook, but he
only succeeded in frightening some pelicans and teal, while tall flamingos
stared stupidly at the party.

At length these denizens of the swamps disappeared in their turn;
smaller trees became thinly scattered among less dense thickets\mbox{---}a
few isolated groups detached in the midst of endless plains over which
ranged herds of startled deer.

{}``At last,''\ cried Barbicane, rising in his stirrups, {}``here
we are at the region of pines!''

{}``Yes!\ and of savages too,''\ replied the major.

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

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

{}``Halt!''\ said Barbicane, reining up. {}``Has this place any
local appellation?''

{}``It is called Stones Hill,''\ replied one of the Floridans.

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

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

{}``This spot is situated eighteen hundred feet above the level of
the sea, in 27$^\circ$\ 7'\ N.\ lat.\ and 5$^\circ$\ 7'\ W.\ long.\ of
the meridian of Washington. It appears to me by its rocky and barren
character to offer all the conditions requisite for our experiment.
On that plain will be raised our magazines, workshops, furnaces, and
workmen's huts; and here, from this very spot,''\ said he, stamping
his foot on the summit of Stones Hill, {}``hence shall our projectile
take its flight into the regions of the Solar World.''


\chapter*{\raggedright PICKAXE AND TROWEL}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Pickaxe and Trowel}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{Pickaxe and Trowel}

The same evening Barbicane and his companions returned to Tampa Town;
and Murchison, the engineer, re-embarked on board the \emph{Tampico}
for New Orleans. His object was to enlist an army of workmen, and
to collect together the greater part of the materials. The members
of the Gun Club remained at Tampa Town, for the purpose of setting
on foot the preliminary works by the aid of the people of the country.

Eight days after its departure, the \emph{Tampico} returned into the
bay of Espiritu Santo, with a whole flotilla of steamboats. Murchison
had succeeded in assembling together fifteen hundred artisans. Attracted
by the high pay and considerable bounties offered by the Gun Club,
he had enlisted a choice legion of stokers, iron-founders, lime-burners,
miners, brickmakers, and artisans of every trade, without distinction
of color. As many of these people brought their families with them,
their departure resembled a perfect emigration.

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

During the first few days they were busy discharging the cargo brought
by the flotilla, the machines, and the rations, as well as a large
number of huts constructed of iron plates, separately pieced and numbered.
At the same period Barbicane laid the first sleepers of a railway
fifteen miles in length, intended to unite Stones Hill with Tampa
Town. On the first of November Barbicane quitted Tampa Town with a
detachment of workmen; and on the following day the whole town of
huts was erected round Stones Hill. This they enclosed with palisades;
and in respect of energy and activity, it might have been mistaken
for one of the great cities of the Union. Everything was placed under
a complete system of discipline, and the works were commenced in most
perfect order.

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

On that day Barbicane called together his foremen and addressed them
as follows: {}``You are well aware, my friends, of the object with
which I have assembled you together in this wild part of Florida.
Our business is to construct a cannon measuring nine feet in its interior
diameter, six feet thick, and with a stone revetment of nineteen and
a half feet in thickness. We have, therefore, a well of sixty feet
in diameter to dig down to a depth of nine hundred feet. This great
work must be completed within eight months, so that you have 2,543,400
cubic feet of earth to excavate in 255 days; that is to say, in round
numbers, 2,000 cubic feet per day. That which would present no difficulty
to a thousand navvies working in open country will be of course more
troublesome in a comparatively confined space. However, the thing
must be done, and I reckon for its accomplishment upon your courage
as much as upon your skill.''

At eight o'clock the next morning the first stroke of the pickaxe
was struck upon the soil of Florida; and from that moment that prince
of tools was never inactive for one moment in the hands of the excavators.
The gangs relieved each other every three hours.

On the 4th of November fifty workmen commenced digging, in the very
center of the enclosed space on the summit of Stones Hill, a circular
hole sixty feet in diameter. The pickaxe first struck upon a kind
of black earth, six inches in thickness, which was speedily disposed
of. To this earth succeeded two feet of fine sand, which was carefully
laid aside as being valuable for serving the casting of the inner
mould. After the sand appeared some compact white clay, resembling
the chalk of Great Britain, which extended down to a depth of 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 and a half feet and the work of
the masonry was begun.

At the bottom of the excavation they constructed a wheel of oak, a
kind of circle strongly bolted together, and of immense strength.
The center 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 center, 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 labored incessantly,
always reserving some vent holes to permit the escape of gas during
the operation of the 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 ardor
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.

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

During the month of February the workmen had to contend with a sheet
of water which made its way right across the outer soil. It became
necessary to employ very powerful pumps and compressed-air 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 tenth 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, while
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 labors; but these mishaps are impossible to be
avoided, and they are classed among the 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\mbox{---}France,
for instance, among others, where they reckon about one accident for
every two hundred thousand francs of work.


\chapter*{\raggedright THE F\^{E}TE OF THE CASTING}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The F\^{e}te of the Casting}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{The F\^{e}te 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 1,200 reverberating ovens, each six feet in diameter,
and separated from each other by an interval of three feet. The circumference
occupied by these 1,200 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
long 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 pounds
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
1,000 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 easily be understood that 1,200 furnaces were not too many
to melt simultaneously these 60,000 tons of iron. Each of these furnaces
contained nearly 140,000 pounds 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 degrees, allowed
the metal to flow into the receiving troughs; and the 1,200 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 center of the well, and with
a coincident axis, a cylinder 900 feet high, and nine 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.

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

{}``This \textit{f\'{e}te} 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
\textit{f\'{e}te}.''

{}``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 \textit{f\'{e}te} if you like\mbox{---}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 1,200 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 twelve o'clock precisely. The previous
evening each furnace had been charged with 114,000 pounds 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 1,200 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 neighboring 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 toward 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 upward through the vent-holes
of the stone lining in the form of dense vapor-clouds. These artificial
clouds unrolled their thick spirals to a height of 1,000 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 vapors, these gigantic flames worthy
of a volcano itself, these tremendous vibrations resembling the shock
of an earthquake, these reverberations rivaling 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*{\raggedright THE COLUMBIAD}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Columbiad}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{The Columbiad}

Had the casting succeeded? They were reduced to mere conjecture. There
was indeed every reason to expect success, since the mould has 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 burned the
soles of the feet within a radius of two hundred 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 of 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 of August the vapors ejected
had sensibly diminished in intensity and thickness. Some days afterward
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 22nd of 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 wagons; and such
was the ardor 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 22d 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 ecstasy 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 two thousand 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 \textit{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 great 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 five
hundred thousand dollars!

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 of September.
A basket of honor 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
backward and forward. They drank to the earth and to her satellite,
to the Gun Club, the Union, the Moon, Diana, Phoebe, Selene, the {}``peaceful
courier of the night!''\  All the hurrahs, carried upward 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 revelers 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\mbox{---}loaded, primed,
and fired at that very moment\mbox{---}were to blow him in pieces
into the planetary world.''


\chapter*{\raggedright A TELEGRAPHIC DISPATCH}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{A Telegraphic Dispatch}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{A Telegraphic Dispatch}

The great works undertaken by the Gun Club had now virtually come
to an end; and two months still remained before the day for the discharge
of the shot 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 of 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 dispatch, 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 dispatch, which figures now in the archives
of the Gun Club:

\begin{quotation}
\noindent \noun{France, Paris},

\noindent 30 September, 4 A.M.\  

\noindent Barbicane, 

\noindent Tampa Town, Florida, 

\noindent United States.

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

\hspace{\stretch{1}}\noun{Michel Ardan}.
\end{quotation}

\chapter*{\raggedright THE PASSENGER OF THE \emph{ATLANTA}}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Passenger of the \emph{Atlanta}}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{The Passenger of the \emph{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 dispatch, 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 motives 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\mbox{---}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.

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 dispatched
to the secretary of the underwriters at Liverpool, requesting answers
to the following queries:\ 

{}``About the ship \emph{Atlanta}\mbox{---}when did she leave Europe?
Had she on board a Frenchman named Michel Ardan?''

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

\begin{quote}
{}``The steamer \emph{Atlanta} from Liverpool put to sea on the 2nd
of October, bound for Tampa Town, having on board a Frenchman borne
on the list of passengers by the name of Michel Ardan.''
\end{quote}
{}

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 10th of October, at nine A.M., the semaphores
of the Bahama Canal signaled a thick smoke on the horizon. Two hours
later a large steamer exchanged signals with them.\  The name of
the \emph{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
five hundred boats surrounded the \emph{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
\emph{Atlanta}.

He was a man of about forty-two 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 whiskers 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-plowed 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
shirtcollar, disclosing a robust neck; his cuffs were invariably unbuttoned,
through which appeared a pair of red hands.

On the bridge of the steamer, in the midst of the crowd, he bustled
to and fro, never still for a moment, {}``dragging his anchors,''\ as
the 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.

Among 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 hare-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 figures which they sell for
children's toys. In a few words, his motto was {}``I have my opinions,''\ and
the love of the impossible constituted his ruling passion.

Such was the passenger of the \emph{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 Gun Club.

{}``All right!\ how d'ye do, Barbicane?\ how are you getting on\mbox{---}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 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 \emph{Atlanta}. They passed the night on board. Among
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*{\raggedright A MONSTER MEETING}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{A Monster Meeting}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{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 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 three hundred
thousand 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 hands to
request silence, he spoke in perfectly correct English as follows:\ 

{}``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 six
hundred thousand ears, and please 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 favor of the French
hero, were slightly staggered at this bold theory. Michel Ardan perceived
the fact.

{}``Gentlemen,''\ he continued with a pleasant smile, {}``you
do 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 travelers, 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 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.

{}``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
honor 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 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 argument in favor 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 \textit{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, in spite of what Voltaire
has said. She has but \textit{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 marvelous 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 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*{\raggedright ATTACK AND RIPOSTE}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Attack and Riposte}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{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 favored 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 toward 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 toward 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 \textit{moon}\ and not about the \textit{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\mbox{---}I warn you for
your own sake\mbox{---}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.

{}``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, \textit{a 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 \textit{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 furnish 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 of 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 Baeer and Maedler, 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 skillful French astronomer, M. Laussedat,
in watching the eclipse of July 18, 1860, probed that the horns of
the lunar 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 facts.''

{}``But is this established as a fact?''

{}``Absolutely certain!''

A counter-movement here took place in favor 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 \textit{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 center 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\mbox{---}''

{}``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 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 a chemical process.''

{}``But your fall on the moon, supposing you ever reach it?''

{}``It will be six times less dangerous than a sudden fall upon the
earth, because the weight will be only one-sixth as great on the surface
of 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 favor 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 honors. 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 weatherbeaten ship. But the two heros
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 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.

{}``Captain Nicholl!''

{}``So I suspected. Hitherto chance has never thrown you in my way.''

{}``I am come for that purpose.''

{}``You have insulted me.''

{}``Publicly!''

{}``And you will answer to me for this insult?''

{}``At this very moment.''

{}``No! I desire that all that passes between us shall be secret.
Their is 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 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*{\raggedright HOW A FRENCHMAN MANAGES AN AFFAIR}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{How a Frenchman Manages an Affair}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{How a Frenchman Manages an
Affair}

While the contract of this duel was being discussed by the president
and the captain\mbox{---}this dreadful, savage duel, in which each
adversary became a man-hunter\mbox{---}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, \textit{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\mbox{---}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 \textit{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\mbox{---}''

{}``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 \textit{alter ego}, his second
self; if you really must kill some one, \textit{shoot me!}\ it will
do just as well!''

{}``Sir,''\ Nicholl replied, seizing his rifle convulsively, {}``these
jokes\mbox{---}''

{}``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\mbox{---}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\mbox{---}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*{\raggedright THE NEW CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The New Citizen of the United States}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{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 \textit{d\'{e}nouement}.
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
\textit{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
\textit{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 \textit{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\mbox{---}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*{\raggedright THE PROJECTILE-VEHICLE}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Projectile Vehicle}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{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\mbox{---}a gas fatal to life. There were two things
to be done then\mbox{---}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\mbox{---}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 \textit{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*{\raggedright THE TELESCOPE OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Telescope of the\\
Rocky Mountains}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{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*{\raggedright FINAL DETAILS}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Final Details}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{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 \textit{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 \textit{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 \textit{earth}\ would find nourishment
somewhere in the \textit{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*{\raggedright FIRE!}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Fire!}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{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 \textit{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!\ \mbox{---} thirty-six!\ \mbox{---} thirty-seven!\ \mbox{---}
thirty-eight!\ \mbox{---} thirty-nine!\ \mbox{---} 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*{\raggedright FOUL WEATHER}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Foul Weather}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{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\mbox{---}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*{\raggedright A NEW STAR}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{A New Star}

\markboth{From the Earth to the Moon}{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.

\begin{quotation}
\noindent \noun{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.

\hspace{\stretch{1}}\noun{J.\ Belfast}.
\end{quotation}
{}

To how many questions did this unexpected \textit{d\'{e}nouement}
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 \textit{two}\ months;
they had victuals enough for \textit{twelve;\mbox{---}but after
that?}\  There was only one man who would not admit that the situation
was desperate\mbox{---}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.''


\part*{ROUND THE MOON}

\addcontentsline{toc}{part}{ROUND THE MOON}


\chapter*{\raggedright THE FIRST PART OF THIS WORK, AND SERVING AS A PREFACE
TO THE SECOND}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The First Part of this Work,\\
and Serving as a Preface\\
to the Second}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Preface}

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!\mbox{---}yes, with the moon\mbox{---}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 \pounds{}1,200,000, 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$^\circ$\ 7'\ North
latitude, and 77$^\circ$\ 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, \textit{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\mbox{---}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*{\raggedright TWENTY MINUTES PAST TEN TO FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES PAST
TEN P.\ M.}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Twenty Minutes Past Ten to\\
Forty-Seven Minutes Past Ten P.M.}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{10:20 to 10:47 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 \textit{arri\`{e}re-pens\'{e}e}?
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\mbox{---}''

{}``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\mbox{---}''

{}``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!\mbox{---}He
is not sure!\mbox{---}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 \textit{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*{\raggedright THE FIRST HALF-HOUR}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The First Half-Hour}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{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\mbox{---}Joseph
T.\ Maston for example\mbox{---}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\mbox{---}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\mbox{---}

{}``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\mbox{---}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, \textit{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$^\circ$\ 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\mbox{---}''

{}``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. They
could, therefore, make observations in four different directions;
the firmament by the side and most direct windows, the earth or the
moon by the upper and under openings in the projectile.

Barbicane and his two companions immediately rushed to the uncovered
window. But it was lit by no ray of light. Profound darkness surrounded
them, which, however, did not prevent the president from exclaiming:\ 

{}``No, my friends, we have not fallen back upon the earth; no, nor
are we submerged in the Gulf of Mexico. Yes!\ we are mounting into
space. See those stars shining in the night, and that impenetrable
darkness heaped up between the earth and us!''

{}``Hurrah!\ hurrah!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan and Nicholl in
one voice.

Indeed, this thick darkness proved that the projectile had left the
earth, for the soil, brilliantly lit by the moon-beams would have
been visible to the travelers, if they had been lying on its surface.
This darkness also showed that the projectile had passed the atmospheric
strata, for the diffused light spread in the air would have been reflected
on the metal walls, which reflection was wanting. This light would
have lit the window, and the window was dark. Doubt was no longer
possible; the travelers had left the earth.

{}``I have lost,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``I congratulate you,''\ replied Ardan.

{}``Here are the nine thousand dollars,''\ said the captain, drawing
a roll of paper dollars from his pocket.

{}``Will you have a receipt for it?''\ asked Barbicane, taking
the sum.

{}``If you do not mind,''\ answered Nicholl; {}``it is more business-like.''

And coolly and seriously, as if he had been at his strong-box, the
president drew forth his notebook, tore out a blank leaf, wrote a
proper receipt in pencil, dated and signed it with the usual flourish,%
\footnote{This is a purely French habit.%
} and gave it to the captain, who carefully placed it in his pocketbook.
Michel Ardan, taking off his hat, bowed to his two companions without
speaking. So much formality under such circumstances left him speechless.
He had never before seen anything so {}``American.''

This affair settled, Barbicane and Nicholl had returned to the window,
and were watching the constellations. The stars looked like bright
points on the black sky. But from that side they could not see the
orb of night, which, traveling from east to west, would rise by degrees
toward the zenith. Its absence drew the following remark from Ardan:\ 

{}``And the moon; will she perchance fail at our rendezvous?''

{}``Do not alarm yourself,''\ said Barbicane; {}``our future globe
is at its post, but we cannot see her from this side; let us open
the other.''

As Barbicane was about leaving the window to open the opposite scuttle,
his attention was attracted by the approach of a brilliant object.
It was an enormous disc, whose colossal dimension could not be estimated.
Its face, which was turned to the earth, was very bright. One might
have thought it a small moon reflecting the light of the large one.
She advanced with great speed, and seemed to describe an orbit round
the earth, which would intersect the passage of the projectile. This
body revolved upon its axis, and exhibited the phenomena of all celestial
bodies abandoned in space.

{}``Ah!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, {}``What is that?\ another
projectile?''

Barbicane did not answer. The appearance of this enormous body surprised
and troubled him. A collision was possible, and might be attended
with deplorable results; either the projectile would deviate from
its path, or a shock, breaking its impetus, might precipitate it to
earth; or, lastly, it might be irresistibly drawn away by the powerful
asteroid. The president caught at a glance the consequences of these
three hypotheses, either of which would, one way or the other, bring
their experiment to an unsuccessful and fatal termination. His companions
stood silently looking into space. The object grew rapidly as it approached
them, and by an optical illusion the projectile seemed to be throwing
itself before it.

{}``By Jove!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, {}``we shall run into
one another!''

Instinctively the travelers drew back. Their dread was great, but
it did not last many seconds. The asteroid passed several hundred
yards from the projectile and disappeared, not so much from the rapidity
of its course, as that its face being opposite the moon, it was suddenly
merged into the perfect darkness of space.

{}``A happy journey to you,''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, with a sigh
of relief. {}``Surely infinity of space is large enough for a poor
little projectile to walk through without fear. Now, what is this
portentous globe which nearly struck us?''

{}``I know,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``Oh, indeed!\ you know everything.''

{}``It is,''\ said Barbicane, {}``a simple meteorite, but an enormous
one, which the attraction of the earth has retained as a satellite.''

{}``Is it possible!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan; {}``the earth then
has two moons like Neptune?''

{}``Yes, my friends, two moons, though it passes generally for having
only one; but this second moon is so small, and its speed so great,
that the inhabitants of the earth cannot see it. It was by noticing
disturbances that a French astronomer, M.\ Petit, was able to determine
the existence of this second satellite and calculate its elements.
According to his observations, this meteorite will accomplish its
revolution around the earth in three hours and twenty minutes, which
implies a wonderful rate of speed.''

{}``Do all astronomers admit the existence of this satellite?''
asked Nicholl.

{}``No,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``but if, like us, they had met
it, they could no longer doubt it. Indeed, I think that this meteorite,
which, had it struck the projectile, would have much embarrassed us,
will give us the means of deciding what our position in space is.''

{}``How?''\ said Ardan.

{}``Because its distance is known, and when we met it, we were exactly
four thousand six hundred and fifty miles from the surface of the
terrestrial globe.''

{}``More than two thousand French leagues,''\ exclaimed Michel
Ardan. {}``That beats the express trains of the pitiful globe called
the earth.''

{}``I should think so,''\ replied Nicholl, consulting his chronometer;
{}``it is eleven o'clock, and it is only thirteen minutes since we
left the American continent.''

{}``Only thirteen minutes?''\ said Barbicane.

{}``Yes,''\ said Nicholl; {}``and if our initiatory speed of twelve
thousand yards has been kept up, we shall have made about twenty thousand
miles in the hour.''

{}``That is all very well, my friends,''\ said the president, {}``but
the insoluble question still remains. Why did we not hear the detonation
of the Columbiad?''

For want of an answer the conversation dropped, and Barbicane began
thoughtfully to let down the shutter of the second side. He succeeded;
and through the uncovered glass the moon filled the projectile with
a brilliant light. Nicholl, as an economical man, put out the gas,
now useless, and whose brilliancy prevented any observation of the
inter-planetary space.

The lunar disc shone with wonderful purity. Her rays, no longer filtered
through the vapory atmosphere of the terrestrial globe, shone through
the glass, filling the air in the interior of the projectile with
silvery reflections. The black curtain of the firmament in reality
heightened the moon's brilliancy, which in this void of ether unfavorable
to diffusion did not eclipse the neighboring stars. The heavens, thus
seen, presented quite a new aspect, and one which the human eye could
never dream of. One may conceive the interest with which these bold
men watched the orb of night, the great aim of their journey.

In its motion the earth's satellite was insensibly nearing the zenith,
the mathematical point which it ought to attain ninety-six hours later.
Her mountains, her plains, every projection was as clearly discernible
to their eyes as if they were observing it from some spot upon the
earth; but its light was developed through space with wonderful intensity.
The disc shone like a platinum mirror. Of the earth flying from under
their feet, the travelers had lost all recollection.

It was Captain Nicholl who first recalled their attention to the vanishing
globe.

{}``Yes,''\ said Michel Ardan, {}``do not let us be ungrateful
to it. Since we are leaving our country, let our last looks be directed
to it. I wish to see the earth once more before it is quite hidden
from my eyes.''

To satisfy his companions, Barbicane began to uncover the window at
the bottom of the projectile, which would allow them to observe the
earth direct. The disc, which the force of the projection had beaten
down to the base, was removed, not without difficulty. Its fragments,
placed carefully against a wall, might serve again upon occasion.
Then a circular gap appeared, nineteen inches in diameter, hollowed
out of the lower part of the projectile. A glass cover, six inches
thick and strengthened with upper fastenings, closed it tightly. Beneath
was fixed an aluminum plate, held in place by bolts. The screws being
undone, and the bolts let go, the plate fell down, and visible communication
was established between the interior and the exterior.

Michel Ardan knelt by the glass. It was cloudy, seemingly opaque.

{}``Well!''\ he exclaimed, {}``and the earth?''

{}``The earth?''\ said Barbicane. {}``There it is.''

{}``What!\ that little thread; that silver crescent?''

{}``Doubtless, Michel. In four days, when the moon will be full,
at the very time we shall reach it, the earth will be new, and will
only appear to us as a slender crescent which will soon disappear,
and for some days will be enveloped in utter darkness.''

{}``That the earth?''\ repeated Michel Ardan, looking with all
his eyes at the thin slip of his native planet.

The explanation given by President Barbicane was correct. The earth,
with respect to the projectile, was entering its last phase. It was
in its octant, and showed a crescent finely traced on the dark background
of the sky. Its light, rendered bluish by the thick strata of the
atmosphere was less intense than that of the crescent moon, but it
was of considerable dimensions, and looked like an enormous arch stretched
across the firmament. Some parts brilliantly lighted, especially on
its concave part, showed the presence of high mountains, often disappearing
behind thick spots, which are never seen on the lunar disc. They were
rings of clouds placed concentrically round the terrestrial globe.

While the travelers were trying to pierce the profound darkness, a
brilliant cluster of shooting stars burst upon their eyes. Hundreds
of meteorites, ignited by the friction of the atmosphere, irradiated
the shadow of the luminous train, and lined the cloudy parts of the
disc with their fire. At this period the earth was in its perihelion,
and the month of December is so propitious to these shooting stars,
that astronomers have counted as many as twenty-four thousand in an
hour. But Michel Ardan, disdaining scientific reasonings, preferred
thinking that the earth was thus saluting the departure of her three
children with her most brilliant fireworks.

Indeed this was all they saw of the globe lost in the solar world,
rising and setting to the great planets like a simple morning or evening
star! This globe, where they had left all their affections, was nothing
more than a fugitive crescent!

Long did the three friends look without speaking, though united in
heart, while the projectile sped onward with an ever-decreasing speed.
Then an irresistible drowsiness crept over their brain. Was it weariness
of body and mind? No doubt; for after the over-excitement of those
last hours passed upon earth, reaction was inevitable.

{}``Well,''\ said Nicholl, {}``since we must sleep, let us sleep.''

And stretching themselves on their couches, they were all three soon
in a profound slumber.

But they had not forgotten themselves more than a quarter of an hour,
when Barbicane sat up suddenly, and rousing his companions with a
loud voice, exclaimed\mbox{---}

{}``I have found it!''

{}``What have you found?''\ asked Michel Ardan, jumping from his
bed.

{}``The reason why we did not hear the detonation of the Columbiad.''

{}``And it is\mbox{---}?''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Because our projectile traveled faster than the sound!''


\chapter*{\raggedright THEIR PLACE OF SHELTER}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Their Place of Shelter}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Their Place of Shelter}

This curious but certainly correct explanation once given, the three
friends returned to their slumbers. Could they have found a calmer
or more peaceful spot to sleep in? On the earth, houses, towns, cottages,
and country feel every shock given to the exterior of the globe. On
sea, the vessels rocked by the waves are still in motion; in the air,
the balloon oscillates incessantly on the fluid strata of divers densities.
This projectile alone, floating in perfect space, in the midst of
perfect silence, offered perfect repose.

Thus the sleep of our adventurous travelers might have been indefinitely
prolonged, if an unexpected noise had not awakened them at about seven
o'clock in the morning of the 2nd of December, eight hours after their
departure.

This noise was a very natural barking.

{}``The dogs!\ it is the dogs!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, rising
at once.

{}``They are hungry,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``By Jove!''\ replied Michel, {}``we have forgotten them.''

{}``Where are they?''\ asked Barbicane.

They looked and found one of the animals crouched under the divan.
Terrified and shaken by the initiatory shock, it had remained in the
corner till its voice returned with the pangs of hunger. It was the
amiable Diana, still very confused, who crept out of her retreat,
though not without much persuasion, Michel Ardan encouraging her with
most gracious words.

{}``Come, Diana,''\ said he: {}``come, my girl!\ thou whose destiny
will be marked in the cynegetic annals; thou whom the pagans would
have given as companion to the god Anubis, and Christians as friend
to St.\ Roch; thou who art rushing into interplanetary space, and
wilt perhaps be the Eve of all Selenite dogs!\ come, Diana, come
here.''

Diana, flattered or not, advanced by degrees, uttering plaintive cries.

{}``Good,''\ said Barbicane: {}``I see Eve, but where is Adam?''

{}``Adam?''\ replied Michel; {}``Adam cannot be far off; he is
there somewhere; we must call him. Satellite!\ here, Satellite!''

But Satellite did not appear. Diana would not leave off howling. They
found, however, that she was not bruised, and they gave her a pie,
which silenced her complaints. As to Satellite, he seemed quite lost.
They had to hunt a long time before finding him in one of the upper
compartments of the projectile, whither some unaccountable shock must
have violently hurled him. The poor beast, much hurt, was in a piteous
state.

{}``The devil!''\ said Michel.

They brought the unfortunate dog down with great care. Its skull had
been broken against the roof, and it seemed unlikely that he could
recover from such a shock. Meanwhile, he was stretched comfortably
on a cushion. Once there, he heaved a sigh.

{}``We will take care of you,''\ said Michel; {}``we are responsible
for your existence. I would rather lose an arm than a paw of my poor
Satellite.''

Saying which, he offered some water to the wounded dog, who swallowed
it with avidity.

This attention paid, the travelers watched the earth and the moon
attentively. The earth was now only discernible by a cloudy disc ending
in a crescent, rather more contracted than that of the previous evening;
but its expanse was still enormous, compared with that of the moon,
which was approaching nearer and nearer to a perfect circle.

{}``By Jove!''\ said Michel Ardan, {}``I am really sorry that
we did not start when the earth was full, that is to say, when our
globe was in opposition to the sun.''

{}``Why?''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Because we should have seen our continents and seas in a new
light\mbox{---}the first resplendent under the solar rays, the latter
cloudy as represented on some maps of the world. I should like to
have seen those poles of the earth on which the eye of man has never
yet rested.

{}``I dare say,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``but if the earth had
been \textit{full}, the moon would have been \textit{new}; that is
to say, invisible, because of the rays of the sun. It is better for
us to see the destination we wish to reach, than the point of departure.''

{}``You are right, Barbicane,''\ replied Captain Nicholl; {}``and,
besides, when we have reached the moon, we shall have time during
the long lunar nights to consider at our leisure the globe on which
our likenesses swarm.''

{}``Our likenesses!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan; {}``They are no
more our likenesses than the Selenites are! We inhabit a new world,
peopled by ourselves\mbox{---}the projectile! I am Barbicane's likeness,
and Barbicane is Nicholl's. Beyond us, around us, human nature is
at an end, and we are the only population of this microcosm until
we become pure Selenites.''

{}``In about eighty-eight hours,''\ replied the captain.

{}``Which means to say?''\ asked Michel Ardan.

{}``That it is half-past eight,''\ replied Nicholl.

{}``Very well,''\ retorted Michel; {}``then it is impossible for
me to find even the shadow of a reason why we should not go to breakfast.''

Indeed the inhabitants of the new star could not live without eating,
and their stomachs were suffering from the imperious laws of hunger.
Michel Ardan, as a Frenchman, was declared chief cook, an important
function, which raised no rival. The gas gave sufficient heat for
the culinary apparatus, and the provision box furnished the elements
of this first feast.

The breakfast began with three bowls of excellent soup, thanks to
the liquefaction in hot water of those precious cakes of Liebig, prepared
from the best parts of the ruminants of the Pampas. To the soup succeeded
some beefsteaks, compressed by an hydraulic press, as tender and succulent
as if brought straight from the kitchen of an English eating-house.
Michel, who was imaginative, maintained that they were even {}``red.''

Preserved vegetables (\char`\"{}fresher than nature,''\ said the
amiable Michel)\ succeeded the dish of meat; and was followed by
some cups of tea with bread and butter, after the American fashion.

The beverage was declared exquisite, and was due to the infusion of
the choicest leaves, of which the emperor of Russia had given some
chests for the benefit of the travelers.

And lastly, to crown the repast, Ardan had brought out a fine bottle
of Nuits, which was found {}``by chance''\ in the provision-box.
The three friends drank to the union of the earth and her satellite.

And, as if he had not already done enough for the generous wine which
he had distilled on the slopes of Burgundy, the sun chose to be part
of the party. At this moment the projectile emerged from the conical
shadow cast by the terrestrial globe, and the rays of the radiant
orb struck the lower disc of the projectile direct occasioned by the
angle which the moon's orbit makes with that of the earth.

{}``The sun!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan.

{}``No doubt,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``I expected it.''

{}``But,''\ said Michel, {}``the conical shadow which the earth
leaves in space extends beyond the moon?''

{}``Far beyond it, if the atmospheric refraction is not taken into
consideration,''\ said Barbicane. {}``But when the moon is enveloped
in this shadow, it is because the centers of the three stars, the
sun, the earth, and the moon, are all in one and the same straight
line. Then the \textit{nodes}\ coincide with the \textit{phases}\ of
the moon, and there is an eclipse. If we had started when there was
an eclipse of the moon, all our passage would have been in the shadow,
which would have been a pity.''

{}``Why?''

{}``Because, though we are floating in space, our projectile, bathed
in the solar rays, will receive light and heat. It economizes the
gas, which is in every respect a good economy.''

Indeed, under these rays which no atmosphere can temper, either in
temperature or brilliancy, the projectile grew warm and bright, as
if it had passed suddenly from winter to summer. The moon above, the
sun beneath, were inundating it with their fire.

{}``It is pleasant here,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``I should think so,''\ said Michel Ardan. {}``With a little
earth spread on our aluminum planet we should have green peas in twenty-four
hours. I have but one fear, which is that the walls of the projectile
might melt.''

{}``Calm yourself, my worthy friend,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``the
projectile withstood a very much higher temperature than this as it
slid through the strata of the atmosphere. I should not be surprised
if it did not look like a meteor on fire to the eyes of the spectators
in Florida.''

{}``But then J.\ T.\ Maston will think we are roasted!''

{}``What astonishes me,''\ said Barbicane, {}``is that we have
not been. That was a danger we had not provided for.''

{}``I feared it,''\ said Nicholl simply.

{}``And you never mentioned it, my sublime captain,''\ exclaimed
Michel Ardan, clasping his friend's hand.

Barbicane now began to settle himself in the projectile as if he was
never to leave it. One must remember that this aerial car had a base
with a \textit{superficies}\ of fifty-four square feet. Its height
to the roof was twelve feet. Carefully laid out in the inside, and
little encumbered by instruments and traveling utensils, which each
had their particular place, it left the three travelers a certain
freedom of movement. The thick window inserted in the bottom could
bear any amount of weight, and Barbicane and his companions walked
upon it as if it were solid plank; but the sun striking it directly
with its rays lit the interior of the projectile from beneath, thus
producing singular effects of light.

They began by investigating the state of their store of water and
provisions, neither of which had suffered, thanks to the care taken
to deaden the shock. Their provisions were abundant, and plentiful
enough to last the three travelers for more than a year. Barbicane
wished to be cautious, in case the projectile should land on a part
of the moon which was utterly barren. As to water and the reserve
of brandy, which consisted of fifty gallons, there was only enough
for two months; but according to the last observations of astronomers,
the moon had a low, dense, and thick atmosphere, at least in the deep
valleys, and there springs and streams could not fail. Thus, during
their passage, and for the first year of their settlement on the lunar
continent, these adventurous explorers would suffer neither hunger
nor thirst.

Now about the air in the projectile. There, too, they were secure.
Reiset and Regnaut's apparatus, intended for the production of oxygen,
was supplied with chlorate of potassium for two months. They necessarily
consumed a certain quantity of gas, for they were obliged to keep
the producing substance at a temperature of above 400$^\circ$. But
there again they were all safe. The apparatus only wanted a little
care. But it was not enough to renew the oxygen; they must absorb
the carbonic acid produced by expiration. During the last twelve hours
the atmosphere of the projectile had become charged with this deleterious
gas. Nicholl discovered the state of the air by observing Diana panting
painfully. The carbonic acid, by a phenomenon similar to that produced
in the famous Grotto del Cane, had collected at the bottom of the
projectile owing to its weight. Poor Diana, with her head low, would
suffer before her masters from the presence of this gas. But Captain
Nicholl hastened to remedy this state of things, by placing on the
floor several receivers containing caustic potash, which he shook
about for a time, and this substance, greedy of carbonic acid, soon
completely absorbed it, thus purifying the air.

An inventory of instruments was then begun. The thermometers and barometers
had resisted, all but one minimum thermometer, the glass of which
was broken. An excellent aneroid was drawn from the wadded box which
contained it and hung on the wall. Of course it was only affected
by and marked the pressure of the air inside the projectile, but it
also showed the quantity of moisture which it contained. At that moment
its needle oscillated between 25.24 and 25.08.

It was fine weather.

Barbicane had also brought several compasses, which he found intact.
One must understand that under present conditions their needles were
acting \textit{wildly}, that is without any \textit{constant}\ direction.
Indeed, at the distance they were from the earth, the magnetic pole
could have no perceptible action upon the apparatus; but the box placed
on the lunar disc might perhaps exhibit some strange phenomena. In
any case it would be interesting to see whether the earth's satellite
submitted like herself to its magnetic influence.

A hypsometer to measure the height of the lunar mountains, a sextant
to take the height of the sun, glasses which would be useful as they
neared the moon, all these instruments were carefully looked over,
and pronounced good in spite of the violent shock.

As to the pickaxes and different tools which were Nicholl's especial
choice; as to the sacks of different kinds of grain and shrubs which
Michel Ardan hoped to transplant into Selenite ground, they were stowed
away in the upper part of the projectile. There was a sort of granary
there, loaded with things which the extravagant Frenchman had heaped
up. What they were no one knew, and the good-tempered fellow did not
explain. Now and then he climbed up by cramp-irons riveted to the
walls, but kept the inspection to himself. He arranged and rearranged,
he plunged his hand rapidly into certain mysterious boxes, singing
in one of the falsest of voices an old French refrain to enliven the
situation.

Barbicane observed with some interest that his guns and other arms
had not been damaged. These were important, because, heavily loaded,
they were to help lessen the fall of the projectile, when drawn by
the lunar attraction (after having passed the point of neutral attraction)\ on
to the moon's surface; a fall which ought to be six times less rapid
than it would have been on the earth's surface, thanks to the difference
of bulk. The inspection ended with general satisfaction, when each
returned to watch space through the side windows and the lower glass
coverlid.

There was the same view. The whole extent of the celestial sphere
swarmed with stars and constellations of wonderful purity, enough
to drive an astronomer out of his mind! On one side the sun, like
the mouth of a lighted oven, a dazzling disc without a halo, standing
out on the dark background of the sky! On the other, the moon returning
its fire by reflection, and apparently motionless in the midst of
the starry world. Then, a large spot seemingly nailed to the firmament,
bordered by a silvery cord; it was the earth! Here and there nebulous
masses like large flakes of starry snow; and from the zenith to the
nadir, an immense ring formed by an impalpable dust of stars, the
{}``Milky Way,''\ in the midst of which the sun ranks only as a
star of the fourth magnitude. The observers could not take their eyes
from this novel spectacle, of which no description could give an adequate
idea. What reflections it suggested! What emotions hitherto unknown
awoke in their souls! Barbicane wished to begin the relation of his
journey while under its first impressions, and hour after hour took
notes of all facts happening in the beginning of the enterprise. He
wrote quietly, with his large square writing, in a business-like style.

During this time Nicholl, the calculator, looked over the minutes
of their passage, and worked out figures with unparalleled dexterity.
Michel Ardan chatted first with Barbicane, who did not answer him,
and then with Nicholl, who did not hear him, with Diana, who understood
none of his theories, and lastly with himself, questioning and answering,
going and coming, busy with a thousand details; at one time bent over
the lower glass, at another roosting in the heights of the projectile,
and always singing. In this microcosm he represented French loquacity
and excitability, and we beg you to believe that they were well represented.
The day, or rather (for the expression is not correct)\ the lapse
of twelve hours, which forms a day upon the earth, closed with a plentiful
supper carefully prepared. No accident of any nature had yet happened
to shake the travelers'\ confidence; so, full of hope, already sure
of success, they slept peacefully, while the projectile under an uniformly
decreasing speed was crossing the sky.


\chapter*{\raggedright A LITTLE ALGEBRA}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{A Little Algebra}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{A Little Algebra}

The night passed without incident. The word {}``night,''\ however,
is scarcely applicable.

The position of the projectile with regard to the sun did not change.
Astronomically, it was daylight on the lower part, and night on the
upper; so when during this narrative these words are used, they represent
the lapse of time between rising and setting of the sun upon the earth.

The travelers'\ sleep was rendered more peaceful by the projectile's
excessive speed, for it seemed absolutely motionless. Not a motion
betrayed its onward course through space. The rate of progress, however
rapid it might be, cannot produce any sensible effect on the human
frame when it takes place in a vacuum, or when the mass of air circulates
with the body which is carried with it. What inhabitant of the earth
perceives its speed, which, however, is at the rate of 68,000 miles
per hour? Motion under such conditions is {}``felt''\ no more than
repose; and when a body is in repose it will remain so as long as
no strange force displaces it; if moving, it will not stop unless
an obstacle comes in its way. This indifference to motion or repose
is called inertia.

Barbicane and his companions might have believed themselves perfectly
stationary, being shut up in the projectile; indeed, the effect would
have been the same if they had been on the outside of it. Had it not
been for the moon, which was increasing above them, they might have
sworn that they were floating in complete stagnation.

That morning, the 3rd of December, the travelers were awakened by
a joyous but unexpected noise; it was the crowing of a cock which
sounded through the car. Michel Ardan, who was the first on his feet,
climbed to the top of the projectile, and shutting a box, the lid
of which was partly open, said in a low voice, {}``Will you hold
your tongue? That creature will spoil my design!''

But Nicholl and Barbicane were awake.

{}``A cock!''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Why no, my friends,''\ Michel answered quickly; {}``it was
I who wished to awake you by this rural sound.'' So saying, he gave
vent to a splendid cock-a-doodledoo, which would have done honor to
the proudest of poultry-yards.

The two Americans could not help laughing.

{}``Fine talent that,''\ said Nicholl, looking suspiciously at
his companion.

{}``Yes,''\ said Michel; {}``a joke in my country. It is very
Gallic; they play the cock so in the best society.''

Then turning the conversation:\ 

{}``Barbicane, do you know what I have been thinking of all night?''

{}``No,''\ answered the president.

{}``Of our Cambridge friends. You have already remarked that I am
an ignoramus in mathematical subjects; and it is impossible for me
to find out how the savants of the observatory were able to calculate
what initiatory speed the projectile ought to have on leaving the
Columbiad in order to attain the moon.''

{}``You mean to say,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``to attain that
neutral point where the terrestrial and lunar attractions are equal;
for, starting from that point, situated about nine-tenths of the distance
traveled over, the projectile would simply fall upon the moon, on
account of its weight.''

{}``So be it,''\ said Michel; {}``but, once more; how could they
calculate the initiatory speed?''

{}``Nothing can be easier,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``And you knew how to make that calculation?''\ asked Michel
Ardan.

{}``Perfectly. Nicholl and I would have made it, if the observatory
had not saved us the trouble.''

{}``Very well, old Barbicane,''\ replied Michel; {}``they might
have cut off my head, beginning at my feet, before they could have
made me solve that problem.''

{}``Because you do not know algebra,''\ answered Barbicane quietly.

{}``Ah, there you are, you eaters of \textit{$x^{1}$}; you think
you have said all when you have said `Algebra.'''

{}``Michel,''\ said Barbicane, {}``can you use a forge without
a hammer, or a plow without a plowshare?''

{}``Hardly.''

{}``Well, algebra is a tool, like the plow or the hammer, and a good
tool to those who know how to use it.''

{}``Seriously?''

{}``Quite seriously.''

{}``And can you use that tool in my presence?''

{}``If it will interest you.''

{}``And show me how they calculated the initiatory speed of our car?''

{}``Yes, my worthy friend; taking into consideration all the elements
of the problem, the distance from the center of the earth to the center
of the moon, of the radius of the earth, of its bulk, and of the bulk
of the moon, I can tell exactly what ought to be the initiatory speed
of the projectile, and that by a simple formula.''

{}``Let us see.''

{}``You shall see it; only I shall not give you the real course drawn
by the projectile between the moon and the earth in considering their
motion round the sun. No, I shall consider these two orbs as perfectly
motionless, which will answer all our purpose.''

{}``And why?''

{}``Because it will be trying to solve the problem called `the problem
of the three bodies,'\ for which the integral calculus is not yet
far enough advanced.''

{}``Then,''\ said Michel Ardan, in his sly tone, {}``mathematics
have not said their last word?''

{}``Certainly not,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``Well, perhaps the Selenites have carried the integral calculus
farther than you have; and, by the bye, what is this `integral calculus?'''

{}``It is a calculation the converse of the differential,''\ replied
Barbicane seriously.

{}``Much obliged; it is all very clear, no doubt.''

{}``And now,''\ continued Barbicane, {}``a slip of paper and a
bit of pencil, and before a half-hour is over I will have found the
required formula.''

Half an hour had not elapsed before Barbicane, raising his head, showed
Michel Ardan a page covered with algebraical signs, in which the general
formula for the solution was contained.

{}``Well, and does Nicholl understand what that means?''

{}``Of course, Michel,''\ replied the captain. {}``All these signs,
which seem cabalistic to you, form the plainest, the clearest, and
the most logical language to those who know how to read it.''

{}``And you pretend, Nicholl,''\ asked Michel, {}``that by means
of these hieroglyphics, more incomprehensible than the Egyptian Ibis,
you can find what initiatory speed it was necessary to give the projectile?''

{}``Incontestably,''\ replied Nicholl; {}``and even by this same
formula I can always tell you its speed at any point of its transit.''

{}``On your word?''

{}``On my word.''

{}``Then you are as cunning as our president.''

{}``No, Michel; the difficult part is what Barbicane has done; that
is, to get an equation which shall satisfy all the conditions of the
problem. The remainder is only a question of arithmetic, requiring
merely the knowledge of the four rules.''

{}``That is something!''\ replied Michel Ardan, who for his life
could not do addition right, and who defined the rule as a Chinese
puzzle, which allowed one to obtain all sorts of totals.

{}``The expression \textit{$v_{0}$}, which you see in that equation,
is the speed which the projectile will have on leaving the atmosphere.''

{}``Just so,''\ said Nicholl; {}``it is from that point that we
must calculate the velocity, since we know already that the velocity
at departure was exactly one and a half times more than on leaving
the atmosphere.''

{}``I understand no more,''\ said Michel.

{}``It is a very simple calculation,''\ said Barbicane.

{}``Not as simple as I am,''\ retorted Michel.

{}``That means, that when our projectile reached the limits of the
terrestrial atmosphere it had already lost one-third of its initiatory
speed.''

{}``As much as that?''

{}``Yes, my friend; merely by friction against the atmospheric strata.
You understand that the faster it goes the more resistance it meets
with from the air.''

{}``That I admit,''\ answered Michel; {}``and I understand it,
although your \emph{x}'s and zero's, and algebraic formula, are rattling
in my head like nails in a bag.''

{}``First effects of algebra,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``and now,
to finish, we are going to prove the given number of these different
expressions, that is, work out their value.''

{}``Finish me!''\ replied Michel.

Barbicane took the paper, and began to make his calculations with
great rapidity. Nicholl looked over and greedily read the work as
it proceeded.

{}``That's it!\ that's it!''\ at last he cried.

{}``Is it clear?''\ asked Barbicane.

{}``It is written in letters of fire,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Wonderful fellows!''\ muttered Ardan.

{}``Do you understand it at last?''\ asked Barbicane.

{}``Do I understand it?''\ cried Ardan; {}``my head is splitting
with it.''

{}``And now,''\ said Nicholl, {}``to find out the speed of the
projectile when it leaves the atmosphere, we have only to calculate
that.''

The captain, as a practical man equal to all difficulties, began to
write with frightful rapidity. Divisions and multiplications grew
under his fingers; the figures were like hail on the white page. Barbicane
watched him, while Michel Ardan nursed a growing headache with both
hands.

{}``Very well?''\ asked Barbicane, after some minutes'\ silence.

{}``Well!''\ replied Nicholl; every calculation made, \textit{$v_{0}$},
that is to say, the speed necessary for the projectile on leaving
the atmosphere, to enable it to reach the equal point of attraction,
ought to be\mbox{---}''

{}``Yes?''\ said Barbicane.

{}``Twelve thousand yards.''

{}``What!''\ exclaimed Barbicane, starting; {}``you say\mbox{---}''

{}``Twelve thousand yards.''

{}``The devil!''\ cried the president, making a gesture of despair.

{}``What is the matter?''\ asked Michel Ardan, much surprised.

{}``What is the matter!\ why, if at this moment our speed had already
diminished one-third by friction, the initiatory speed ought to have
been\mbox{---}''

{}``Seventeen thousand yards.''

{}``And the Cambridge Observatory declared that twelve thousand yards
was enough at starting; and our projectile, which only started with
that speed\mbox{---}''

{}``Well?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``Well, it will not be enough.''

{}``Good.''

{}``We shall not be able to reach the neutral point.''

{}``The deuce!''

{}``We shall not even get halfway.''

{}``In the name of the projectile!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, jumping
as if it was already on the point of striking the terrestrial globe.

{}``And we shall fall back upon the earth!''


\chapter*{\raggedright THE COLD OF SPACE}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Cold of Space}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{The Cold of Space}

This revelation came like a thunderbolt. Who could have expected such
an error in calculation? Barbicane would not believe it. Nicholl revised
his figures: they were exact. As to the formula which had determined
them, they could not suspect its truth; it was evident that an initiatory
velocity of seventeen thousand yards in the first second was necessary
to enable them to reach the neutral point.

The three friends looked at each other silently. There was no thought
of breakfast. Barbicane, with clenched teeth, knitted brows, and hands
clasped convulsively, was watching through the window. Nicholl had
crossed his arms, and was examining his calculations. Michel Ardan
was muttering:\ 

{}``That is just like these scientific men: they never do anything
else. I would give twenty pistoles if we could fall upon the Cambridge
Observatory and crush it, together with the whole lot of dabblers
in figures which it contains.''

Suddenly a thought struck the captain, which he at once communicated
to Barbicane.

{}``Ah!''\ said he; {}``it is seven o'clock in the morning; we
have already been gone thirty-two hours; more than half our passage
is over, and we are not falling that I am aware of.''

Barbicane did not answer, but after a rapid glance at the captain,
took a pair of compasses wherewith to measure the angular distance
of the terrestrial globe; then from the lower window he took an exact
observation, and noticed that the projectile was apparently stationary.
Then rising and wiping his forehead, on which large drops of perspiration
were standing, he put some figures on paper. Nicholl understood that
the president was deducting from the terrestrial diameter the projectile's
distance from the earth. He watched him anxiously.

{}``No,''\ exclaimed Barbicane, after some moments, {}``no, we
are not falling!\ no, we are already more than 50,000 leagues from
the earth. We have passed the point at which the projectile would
have stopped if its speed had only been 12,000 yards at starting.
We are still going up.''

{}``That is evident,''\ replied Nicholl; {}``and we must conclude
that our initial speed, under the power of the 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton,
must have exceeded the required 12,000 yards. Now I can understand
how, after thirteen minutes only, we met the second satellite, which
gravitates round the earth at more than 2,000 leagues'\ distance.''

{}``And this explanation is the more probable,''\ added Barbicane,
{}``Because, in throwing off the water enclosed between its partition-breaks,
the projectile found itself lightened of a considerable weight.''

{}``Just so,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Ah, my brave Nicholl, we are saved!''

{}``Very well then,''\ said Michel Ardan quietly; {}``as we are
safe, let us have breakfast.''

Nicholl was not mistaken. The initial speed had been, very fortunately,
much above that estimated by the Cambridge Observatory; but the Cambridge
Observatory had nevertheless made a mistake.

The travelers, recovered from this false alarm, breakfasted merrily.
If they ate a good deal, they talked more. Their confidence was greater
after than before {}``the incident of the algebra.''

{}``Why should we not succeed?''\ said Michel Ardan; {}``why should
we not arrive safely? We are launched; we have no obstacle before
us, no stones in the way; the road is open, more so than that of a
ship battling with the sea; more open than that of a balloon battling
with the wind; and if a ship can reach its destination, a balloon
go where it pleases, why cannot our projectile attain its end and
aim?''

{}``It \textit{will}\ attain it,''\ said Barbicane.

{}``If only to do honor to the Americans,''\ added Michel Ardan,
{}``the only people who could bring such an enterprise to a happy
termination, and the only one which could produce a President Barbicane.
Ah, now we are no longer uneasy, I begin to think, What will become
of us? We shall get right royally weary.''

Barbicane and Nicholl made a gesture of denial.

{}``But I have provided for the contingency, my friends,''\ replied
Michel; {}``you have only to speak, and I have chess, draughts, cards,
and dominoes at your disposal; nothing is wanting but a billiard-table.''

{}``What!''\ exclaimed Barbicane; {}``you brought away such trifles?''

{}``Certainly,''\ replied Michel, {}``and not only to distract
ourselves, but also with the laudable intention of endowing the Selenite
smoking divans with them.''

{}``My friend,''\ said Barbicane, {}``if the moon is inhabited,
its inhabitants must have appeared some thousands of years before
those of the earth, for we cannot doubt that their star is much older
than ours. If then these Selenites have existed their hundreds of
thousands of years, and if their brain is of the same organization
of the human brain, they have already invented all that we have invented,
and even what we may invent in future ages. They have nothing to learn
from \textit{us}, and we have everything to learn from \textit{them}.''

{}``What!''\ said Michel; {}``you believe that they have artists
like Phidias, Michael Angelo, or Raphael?''

{}``Yes.''

{}``Poets like Homer, Virgil, Milton, Lamartine, and Hugo?''

{}``I am sure of it.''

{}``Philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Kant?''

{}``I have no doubt of it.''

{}``Scientific men like Archimedes, Euclid, Pascal, Newton?''

{}``I could swear it.''

{}``Comic writers like Arnal, and photographers like\mbox{---}like
Nadar?''

{}``Certain.''

{}``Then, friend Barbicane, if they are as strong as we are, and
even stronger\mbox{---}these Selenites\mbox{---}why have they
not tried to communicate with the earth?\ why have they not launched
a lunar projectile to our terrestrial regions?''

{}``Who told you that they have never done so?''\ said Barbicane
seriously.

{}``Indeed,''\ added Nicholl, {}``it would be easier for them
than for us, for two reasons; first, because the attraction on the
moon's surface is six times less than on that of the earth, which
would allow a projectile to rise more easily; secondly, because it
would be enough to send such a projectile only at 8,000 leagues instead
of 80,000, which would require the force of projection to be ten times
less strong.''

{}``Then,''\ continued Michel, {}``I repeat it, why have they
not done it?''

{}``And I repeat,''\ said Barbicane; {}``who told you that they
have not done it?''

{}``When?''

{}``Thousands of years before man appeared on earth.''

{}``And the projectile\mbox{---}where is the projectile? I demand
to see the projectile.''

{}``My friend,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``the sea covers five-sixths
of our globe. From that we may draw five good reasons for supposing
that the lunar projectile, if ever launched, is now at the bottom
of the Atlantic or the Pacific, unless it sped into some crevasse
at that period when the crust of the earth was not yet hardened.''

{}``Old Barbicane,''\ said Michel, {}``you have an answer for
everything, and I bow before your wisdom. But there is one hypothesis
that would suit me better than all the others, which is, the Selenites,
being older than we, are wiser, and have not invented gunpowder.''

At this moment Diana joined in the conversation by a sonorous barking.
She was asking for her breakfast.

{}``Ah!''\ said Michel Ardan, {}``in our discussion we have forgotten
Diana and Satellite.''

Immediately a good-sized pie was given to the dog, which devoured
it hungrily.

{}``Do you see, Barbicane,''\ said Michel, {}``we should have
made a second Noah's ark of this projectile, and borne with us to
the moon a couple of every kind of domestic animal.''

{}``I dare say; but room would have failed us.''

{}``Oh!''\ said Michel, {}``we might have squeezed a little.''

{}``The fact is,''\ replied Nicholl, {}``that cows, bulls, and
horses, and all ruminants, would have been very useful on the lunar
continent, but unfortunately the car could neither have been made
a stable nor a shed.''

{}``Well, we might have at least brought a donkey, only a little
donkey; that courageous beast which old Silenus loved to mount. I
love those old donkeys; they are the least favored animals in creation;
they are not only beaten while alive, but even after they are dead.''

{}``How do you make that out?''\ asked Barbicane. 

{}``Why,''\ said Michel, {}``they make their skins into drums.''

Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing at this ridiculous remark.
But a cry from their merry companion stopped them. The latter was
leaning over the spot where Satellite lay. He rose, saying:\ 

{}``My good Satellite is no longer ill.''

{}``Ah!''\ said Nicholl.

{}``No,''\ answered Michel, {}``he is dead! There,''\ added
he, in a piteous tone, {}``that is embarrassing. I much fear, my
poor Diana, that you will leave no progeny in the lunar regions!''

Indeed the unfortunate Satellite had not survived its wound. It was
quite dead. Michel Ardan looked at his friends with a rueful countenance.

{}``One question presents itself,''\ said Barbicane. {}``We cannot
keep the dead body of this dog with us for the next forty-eight hours.''

{}``No!\ certainly not,''\ replied Nicholl; {}``but our scuttles
are fixed on hinges; they can be let down. We will open one, and throw
the body out into space.''

The president thought for some moments, and then said:\ 

{}``Yes, we must do so, but at the same time taking very great precautions.''

{}``Why?''\ asked Michel.

{}``For two reasons which you will understand,''\ answered Barbicane.
{}``The first relates to the air shut up in the projectile, and of
which we must lose as little as possible.''

{}``But we manufacture the air?''

{}``Only in part. We make only the oxygen, my worthy Michel; and
with regard to that, we must watch that the apparatus does not furnish
the oxygen in too great a quantity; for an excess would bring us very
serious physiological troubles. But if we make the oxygen, we do not
make the azote, that medium which the lungs do not absorb, and which
ought to remain intact; and that azote will escape rapidly through
the open scuttles.''

{}``Oh!\ the time for throwing out poor Satellite?''\ said Michel.

{}``Agreed; but we must act quickly.''

{}``And the second reason?''\ asked Michel.

{}``The second reason is that we must not let the outer cold, which
is excessive, penetrate the projectile or we shall be frozen to death.''

{}``But the sun?''

{}``The sun warms our projectile, which absorbs its rays; but it
does not warm the vacuum in which we are floating at this moment.
Where there is no air, there is no more heat than diffused light;
and the same with darkness; it is cold where the sun's rays do not
strike direct. This temperature is only the temperature produced by
the radiation of the stars; that is to say, what the terrestrial globe
would undergo if the sun disappeared one day.''

{}``Which is not to be feared,''\ replied Nicholl.

{}``Who knows?''\ said Michel Ardan. {}``But, in admitting that
the sun does not go out, might it not happen that the earth might
move away from it?''

{}``There!''\ said Barbicane, {}``there is Michel with his ideas.''

{}``And,''\ continued Michel, {}``do we not know that in 1861
the earth passed through the tail of a comet? Or let us suppose a
comet whose power of attraction is greater than that of the sun. The
terrestrial orbit will bend toward the wandering star, and the earth,
becoming its satellite, will be drawn such a distance that the rays
of the sun will have no action on its surface.''

{}``That \textit{might}\ happen, indeed,''\ replied Barbicane,
{}``but the consequences of such a displacement need not be so formidable
as you suppose.''

{}``And why not?''

{}``Because the heat and cold would be equalized on our globe. It
has been calculated that, had our earth been carried along in its
course by the comet of 1861, at its perihelion, that is, its nearest
approach to the sun, it would have undergone a heat 28,000 times greater
than that of summer. But this heat, which is sufficient to evaporate
the waters, would have formed a thick ring of cloud, which would have
modified that excessive temperature; hence the compensation between
the cold of the aphelion and the heat of the perihelion.''

{}``At how many degrees,''\ asked Nicholl, {}``is the temperature
of the planetary spaces estimated?''

{}``Formerly,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``it was greatly exaggerated;
but now, after the calculations of Fourier, of the French Academy
of Science, it is not supposed to exceed 60$^\circ$\ Centigrade
below zero.''

{}``Pooh!''\ said Michel, {}``that's nothing!''

{}``It is very much,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``the temperature
which was observed in the polar regions, at Melville Island and Fort
Reliance, that is 76$^\circ$\ Fahrenheit below zero.''

{}``If I mistake not,''\ said Nicholl, {}``M. Pouillet, another
savant, estimates the temperature of space at 250$^\circ$\ Fahrenheit
below zero. We shall, however, be able to verify these calculations
for ourselves.''

{}``Not at present; because the solar rays, beating directly upon
our thermometer, would give, on the contrary, a very high temperature.
But, when we arrive in the moon, during its fifteen days of night
at either face, we shall have leisure to make the experiment, for
our satellite lies in a vacuum.''

{}``What do you mean by a vacuum?''\ asked Michel. {}``Is it perfectly
such?''

{}``It is absolutely void of air.''

{}``And is the air replaced by nothing whatever?''

{}``By the ether only,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``And pray what is the ether?''

{}``The ether, my friend, is an agglomeration of imponderable atoms,
which, relatively to their dimensions, are as far removed from each
other as the celestial bodies are in space. It is these atoms which,
by their vibratory motion, produce both light and heat in the universe.''

They now proceeded to the burial of Satellite. They had merely to
drop him into space, in the same way that sailors drop a body into
the sea; but, as President Barbicane suggested, they must act quickly,
so as to lose as little as possible of that air whose elasticity would
rapidly have spread it into space. The bolts of the right scuttle,
the opening of which measured about twelve inches across, were carefully
drawn, while Michel, quite grieved, prepared to launch his dog into
space. The glass, raised by a powerful lever, which enabled it to
overcome the pressure of the inside air on the walls of the projectile,
turned rapidly on its hinges, and Satellite was thrown out. Scarcely
a particle of air could have escaped, and the operation was so successful
that later on Barbicane did not fear to dispose of the rubbish which
encumbered the car.


\chapter*{\raggedright QUESTION AND ANSWER}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Question and Answer}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Question and Answer}

On the 4th of December, when the travelers awoke after fifty-four
hours'\ journey, the chronometer marked five o'clock of the terrestrial
morning. In time it was just over five hours and forty minutes, half
of that assigned to their sojourn in the projectile; but they had
already accomplished nearly seven-tenths of the way. This peculiarity
was due to their regularly decreasing speed.

Now when they observed the earth through the lower window, it looked
like nothing more than a dark spot, drowned in the solar rays. No
more crescent, no more cloudy light! The next day, at midnight, the
earth would be \textit{new}, at the very moment when the moon would
be full. Above, the orb of night was nearing the line followed by
the projectile, so as to meet it at the given hour. All around the
black vault was studded with brilliant points, which seemed to move
slowly; but, at the great distance they were from them, their relative
size did not seem to change. The sun and stars appeared exactly as
they do to us upon earth. As to the moon, she was considerably larger;
but the travelers' glasses, not very powerful, did not allow them
as yet to make any useful observations upon her surface, or reconnoiter
her topographically or geologically.

Thus the time passed in never-ending conversations all about the moon.
Each one brought forward his own contingent of particular facts; Barbicane
and Nicholl always serious, Michel Ardan always enthusiastic. The
projectile, its situation, its direction, incidents which might happen,
the precautions necessitated by their fall on to the moon, were inexhaustible
matters of conjecture.

As they were breakfasting, a question of Michel's, relating to the
projectile, provoked rather a curious answer from Barbicane, which
is worth repeating. Michel, supposing it to be roughly stopped, while
still under its formidable initial speed, wished to know what the
consequences of the stoppage would have been.

{}``But,''\ said Barbicane, {}``I do not see how it could have
been stopped.''

{}``But let us suppose so,''\ said Michel.

{}``It is an impossible supposition,''\ said the practical Barbicane;
{}``unless that impulsive force had failed; but even then its speed
would diminish by degrees, and it would not have stopped suddenly.''

{}``Admit that it had struck a body in space.''

{}``What body?''

{}``Why that enormous meteor which we met.''

{}``Then,''\ said Nicholl, {}``the projectile would have been
broken into a thousand pieces, and we with it.''

{}``More than that,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``we should have been
burned to death.''

{}``Burned?''\ exclaimed Michel, {}``by Jove! I am sorry it did
not happen, `just to see.'''

{}``And you would have seen,''\ replied Barbicane. {}``It is known
now that heat is only a modification of motion. When water is warmed\mbox{---}that
is to say, when heat is added to it\mbox{---}its particles are set
in motion.''

{}``Well,''\ said Michel, {}``that is an ingenious theory!''

{}``And a true one, my worthy friend; for it explains every phenomenon
of caloric. Heat is but the motion of atoms, a simple oscillation
of the particles of a body. When they apply the brake to a train,
the train comes to a stop; but what becomes of the motion which it
had previously possessed? It is transformed into heat, and the brake
becomes hot. Why do they grease the axles of the wheels? To prevent
their heating, because this heat would be generated by the motion
which is thus lost by transformation.''

{}``Yes, I understand,''\ replied Michel, {}``perfectly. For example,
when I have run a long time, when I am swimming, when I am perspiring
in large drops, why am I obliged to stop? Simply because my motion
is changed into heat.''

Barbicane could not help smiling at Michel's reply; then, returning
to his theory, said:\ 

{}``Thus, in case of a shock, it would have been with our projectile
as with a ball which falls in a burning state after having struck
the metal plate; it is its motion which is turned into heat. Consequently
I affirm that, if our projectile had struck the meteor, its speed
thus suddenly checked would have raised a heat great enough to turn
it into vapor instantaneously.''

{}``Then,''\ asked Nicholl, {}``what would happen if the earth's
motion were to stop suddenly?''

{}``Her temperature would be raised to such a pitch,''\ said Barbicane,
{}``that she would be at once reduced to vapor.''

{}``Well,''\ said Michel, {}``that is a way of ending the earth
which will greatly simplify things.''

{}``And if the earth fell upon the sun?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``According to calculation,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``the fall
would develop a heat equal to that produced by 16,000 globes of coal,
each equal in bulk to our terrestrial globe.''

{}``Good additional heat for the sun,''\ replied Michel Ardan,
{}``of which the inhabitants of Uranus or Neptune would doubtless
not complain; they must be perished with cold on their planets.''

{}``Thus, my friends,''\ said Barbicane, {}``all motion suddenly
stopped produces heat. And this theory allows us to infer that the
heat of the solar disc is fed by a hail of meteors falling incessantly
on its surface. They have even calculated\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh, dear!''\ murmured Michel, {}``the figures are coming.''

{}``They have even calculated,''\ continued the imperturbable Barbicane,
{}``that the shock of each meteor on the sun ought to produce a heat
equal to that of 4,000 masses of coal of an equal bulk.''

{}``And what is the solar heat?''\ asked Michel.

{}``It is equal to that produced by the combustion of a stratum of
coal surrounding the sun to a depth of forty-seven miles.''

{}``And that heat\mbox{---}''

{}``Would be able to boil two billions nine hundred millions of cubic
myriameters%
\footnote{The myriameter is equal to rather more than 10,936 cubic yards English.%
} of water.''

{}``And it does not roast us!''\ exclaimed Michel.

{}``No,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``because the terrestrial atmosphere
absorbs four-tenths of the solar heat; besides, the quantity of heat
intercepted by the earth is but a billionth part of the entire radiation.''

{}``I see that all is for the best,''\ said Michel, {}``and that
this atmosphere is a useful invention; for it not only allows us to
breathe, but it prevents us from roasting.''

{}``Yes!''\ said Nicholl, {}``unfortunately, it will not be the
same in the moon.''

{}``Bah!''\ said Michel, always hopeful. {}``If there are inhabitants,
they must breathe. If there are no longer any, they must have left
enough oxygen for three people, if only at the bottom of ravines,
where its own weight will cause it to accumulate, and we will not
climb the mountains; that is all.'' And Michel, rising, went to look
at the lunar disc, which shone with intolerable brilliancy.

{}``By Jove!''\ said he, {}``it must be hot up there!''

{}``Without considering,''\ replied Nicholl, {}``that the day
lasts 360 hours!''

{}``And to compensate that,''\ said Barbicane, {}``the nights
have the same length; and as heat is restored by radiation, their
temperature can only be that of the planetary space.''

{}``A pretty country, that!''\ exclaimed Michel. {}``Never mind!
I wish I was there! Ah!\ my dear comrades, it will be rather curious
to have the earth for our moon, to see it rise on the horizon, to
recognize the shape of its continents, and to say to oneself, `There
is America, there is Europe;'\ then to follow it when it is about
to lose itself in the sun's rays! By the bye, Barbicane, have the
Selenites eclipses?''

{}``Yes, eclipses of the sun,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``when the
centers of the three orbs are on a line, the earth being in the middle.
But they are only partial, during which the earth, cast like a screen
upon the solar disc, allows the greater portion to be seen.''

{}``And why,''\ asked Nicholl, {}``is there no total eclipse?
Does not the cone of the shadow cast by the earth extend beyond the
moon?''

{}``Yes, if we do not take into consideration the refraction produced
by the terrestrial atmosphere. No, if we take that refraction into
consideration. Thus let $\delta$ be the horizontal parallel, and
\textit{p} the apparent semidiameter\mbox{---}''

{}``Oh!''\ said Michel. {}``Do speak plainly, you man of algebra!''

{}``Very well, replied Barbicane; {}``in popular language the mean
distance from the moon to the earth being sixty terrestrial radii,
the length of the cone of the shadow, on account of refraction, is
reduced to less than forty-two radii. The result is that when there
are eclipses, the moon finds itself beyond the cone of pure shadow,
and that the sun sends her its rays, not only from its edges, but
also from its center.''

{}``Then,''\ said Michel, in a merry tone, {}``why are there eclipses,
when there ought not to be any?''

{}``Simply because the solar rays are weakened by this refraction,
and the atmosphere through which they pass extinguished the greater
part of them!''

{}``That reason satisfies me,''\ replied Michel. {}``Besides we
shall see when we get there. Now, tell me, Barbicane, do you believe
that the moon is an old comet?''

{}``There's an idea!''

{}``Yes,''\ replied Michel, with an amiable swagger, {}``I have
a few ideas of that sort.''

{}``But that idea does not spring from Michel,''\ answered Nicholl.

{}``Well, then, I am a plagiarist.''

{}``No doubt about it. According to the ancients, the Arcadians pretend
that their ancestors inhabited the earth before the moon became her
satellite. Starting from this fact, some scientific men have seen
in the moon a comet whose orbit will one day bring it so near to the
earth that it will be held there by its attraction.''

{}``Is there any truth in this hypothesis?''\ asked Michel.

{}``None whatever,''\ said Barbicane, {}``and the proof is, that
the moon has preserved no trace of the gaseous envelope which always
accompanies comets.''

{}``But,''\ continued Nicholl, {}``Before becoming the earth's
satellite, could not the moon, when in her perihelion, pass so near
the sun as by evaporation to get rid of all those gaseous substances?''

{}``It is possible, friend Nicholl, but not probable.''

{}``Why not?''

{}``Because\mbox{---}Faith I do not know.''

{}``Ah!''\ exclaimed Michel, {}``what hundred of volumes we might
make of all that we do not know!''

{}``Ah!\ indeed. What time is it?''\ asked Barbicane.

{}``Three o'clock,''\ answered Nicholl.

{}``How time goes,''\ said Michel, {}``in the conversation of
scientific men such as we are! Certainly, I feel I know too much!
I feel that I am becoming a well!''

Saying which, Michel hoisted himself to the roof of the projectile,
{}``to observe the moon better,''\ he pretended. During this time
his companions were watching through the lower glass. Nothing new
to note!

When Michel Ardan came down, he went to the side scuttle; and suddenly
they heard an exclamation of surprise!

{}``What is it?''\ asked Barbicane.

The president approached the window, and saw a sort of flattened sack
floating some yards from the projectile. This object seemed as motionless
as the projectile, and was consequently animated with the same ascending
movement.

{}``What is that machine?''\ continued Michel Ardan. {}``Is it
one of the bodies which our projectile keeps within its attraction,
and which will accompany it to the moon?''

{}``What astonishes me,''\ said Nicholl, {}``is that the specific
weight of the body, which is certainly less than that of the projectile,
allows it to keep so perfectly on a level with it.''

{}``Nicholl,''\ replied Barbicane, after a moment's reflection,
{}``I do not know what the object it, but I do know why it maintains
our level.''

{}``And why?''

{}``Because we are floating in space, my dear captain, and in space
bodies fall or move (which is the same thing)\ with equal speed whatever
be their weight or form; it is the air, which by its resistance creates
these differences in weight. When you create a vacuum in a tube, the
objects you send through it, grains of dust or grains of lead, fall
with the same rapidity. Here in space is the same cause and the same
effect.''

{}``Just so,''\ said Nicholl, {}``and everything we throw out
of the projectile will accompany it until it reaches the moon.''

{}``Ah!\ fools that we are!''\ exclaimed Michel.

{}``Why that expletive?''\ asked Barbicane.

{}``Because we might have filled the projectile with useful objects,
books, instruments, tools, \textit{etc}. We could have thrown them
all out, and all would have followed in our train. But happy thought!
Why cannot we walk outside like the meteor? Why cannot we launch into
space through the scuttle? What enjoyment it would be to feel oneself
thus suspended in ether, more favored than the birds who must use
their wings to keep themselves up!''

{}``Granted,''\ said Barbicane, {}``but how to breathe?''

{}``Hang the air, to fail so inopportunely!''

{}``But if it did not fail, Michel, your density being less than
that of the projectile, you would soon be left behind.''

{}``Then we must remain in our car?''

{}``We must!''

{}``Ah!''\ exclaimed Michel, in a load voice.

{}``What is the matter?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``I know, I guess, what this pretended meteor is! It is no asteroid
which is accompanying us! It is not a piece of a planet.''

{}``What is it then?''\ asked Barbicane.

{}``It is our unfortunate dog! It is Diana's husband!''

Indeed, this deformed, unrecognizable object, reduced to nothing,
was the body of Satellite, flattened like a bagpipe without wind,
and ever mounting, mounting!


\chapter*{\raggedright A MOMENT OF INTOXICATION}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{A Moment of Intoxication}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{A Moment of Intoxication}

Thus a phenomenon, curious but explicable, was happening under these
strange conditions.

Every object thrown from the projectile would follow the same course
and never stop until it did. There was a subject for conversation
which the whole evening could not exhaust.

Besides, the excitement of the three travelers increased as they drew
near the end of their journey. They expected unforseen incidents,
and new phenomena; and nothing would have astonished them in the frame
of mind they then were in. Their overexcited imagination went faster
than the projectile, whose speed was evidently diminishing, though
insensibly to themselves. But the moon grew larger to their eyes,
and they fancied if they stretched out their hands they could seize
it.

The next day, the 5th of November, at five in the morning, all three
were on foot. That day was to be the last of their journey, if all
calculations were true. That very night, at twelve o'clock, in eighteen
hours, exactly at the full moon, they would reach its brilliant disc.
The next midnight would see that journey ended, the most extraordinary
of ancient or modern times. Thus from the first of the morning, through
the scuttles silvered by its rays, they saluted the orb of night with
a confident and joyous hurrah.

The moon was advancing majestically along the starry firmament. A
few more degrees, and she would reach the exact point where her meeting
with the projectile was to take place.

According to his own observations, Barbicane reckoned that they would
land on her northern hemisphere, where stretch immense plains, and
where mountains are rare. A favorable circumstance if, as they thought,
the lunar atmosphere was stored only in its depths.

{}``Besides,''\ observed Michel Ardan, {}``a plain is easier to
disembark upon than a mountain. A Selenite, deposited in Europe on
the summit of Mont Blanc, or in Asia on the top of the Himalayas,
would not be quite in the right place.''

{}``And,''\ added Captain Nicholl, {}``on a flat ground, the projectile
will remain motionless when it has once touched; whereas on a declivity
it would roll like an avalanche, and not being squirrels we should
not come out safe and sound. So it is all for the best.''

Indeed, the success of the audacious attempt no longer appeared doubtful.
But Barbicane was preoccupied with one thought; but not wishing to
make his companions uneasy, he kept silence on this subject.

The direction the projectile was taking toward the moon's northern
hemisphere, showed that her course had been slightly altered. The
discharge, mathematically calculated, would carry the projectile to
the very center of the lunar disc. If it did not land there, there
must have been some deviation. What had caused it? Barbicane could
neither imagine nor determine the importance of the deviation, for
there were no points to go by.

He hoped, however, that it would have no other result than that of
bringing them nearer the upper border of the moon, a region more suitable
for landing.

Without imparting his uneasiness to his companions, Barbicane contented
himself with constantly observing the moon, in order to see whether
the course of the projectile would not be altered; for the situation
would have been terrible if it failed in its aim, and being carried
beyond the disc should be launched into interplanetary space. At that
moment, the moon, instead of appearing flat like a disc, showed its
convexity. If the sun's rays had struck it obliquely, the shadow thrown
would have brought out the high mountains, which would have been clearly
detached. The eye might have gazed into the crater's gaping abysses,
and followed the capricious fissures which wound through the immense
plains. But all relief was as yet leveled in intense brilliancy. They
could scarcely distinguish those large spots which give the moon the
appearance of a human face.

{}``Face, indeed!''\ said Michel Ardan; {}``but I am sorry for
the amiable sister of Apollo. A very pitted face!''

But the travelers, now so near the end, were incessantly observing
this new world. They imagined themselves walking through its unknown
countries, climbing its highest peaks, descending into its lowest
depths. Here and there they fancied they saw vast seas, scarcely kept
together under so rarefied an atmosphere, and water-courses emptying
the mountain tributaries. Leaning over the abyss, they hoped to catch
some sounds from that orb forever mute in the solitude of space. That
last day left them.

They took down the most trifling details. A vague uneasiness took
possession of them as they neared the end. This uneasiness would have
been doubled had they felt how their speed had decreased. It would
have seemed to them quite insufficient to carry them to the end. It
was because the projectile then {}``weighed''\ almost nothing.
Its weight was ever decreasing, and would be entirely annihilated
on that line where the lunar and terrestrial attractions would neutralize
each other.

But in spite of his preoccupation, Michel Ardan did not forget to
prepare the morning repast with his accustomed punctuality. They ate
with a good appetite. Nothing was so excellent as the soup liquefied
by the heat of the gas; nothing better than the preserved meat. Some
glasses of good French wine crowned the repast, causing Michel Ardan
to remark that the lunar vines, warmed by that ardent sun, ought to
distill even more generous wines; that is, if they existed. In any
case, the far-seeing Frenchman had taken care not to forget in his
collection some precious cuttings of the Medoc and Cote d'Or, upon
which he founded his hopes.

Reiset and Regnaut's apparatus worked with great regularity. Not an
atom of carbonic acid resisted the potash; and as to the oxygen, Captain
Nicholl said {}``it was of the first quality.'' The little watery
vapor enclosed in the projectile mixing with the air tempered the
dryness; and many apartments in London, Paris, or New York, and many
theaters, were certainly not in such a healthy condition.

But that it might act with regularity, the apparatus must be kept
in perfect order; so each morning Michel visited the escape regulators,
tried the taps, and regulated the heat of the gas by the pyrometer.
Everything had gone well up to that time, and the travelers, imitating
the worthy Joseph T.\ Maston, began to acquire a degree of embonpoint
which would have rendered them unrecognizable if their imprisonment
had been prolonged to some months. In a word, they behaved like chickens
in a coop; they were getting fat.

In looking through the scuttle Barbicane saw the specter of the dog,
and other divers objects which had been thrown from the projectile,
obstinately following them. Diana howled lugubriously on seeing the
remains of Satellite, which seemed as motionless as if they reposed
on solid earth.

{}``Do you know, my friends,''\ said Michel Ardan, {}``that if
one of us had succumbed to the shock consequent on departure, we should
have had a great deal of trouble to bury him? What am I saying?\ to
\textit{etherize} him, as here ether takes the place of earth. You
see the accusing body would have followed us into space like a remorse.''

{}``That would have been sad,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Ah!''\ continued Michel, {}``what I regret is not being able
to take a walk outside. What voluptuousness to float amid this radiant
ether, to bathe oneself in it, to wrap oneself in the sun's pure rays.
If Barbicane had only thought of furnishing us with a diving apparatus
and an air-pump, I could have ventured out and assumed fanciful attitudes
of feigned monsters on the top of the projectile.''

{}``Well, old Michel,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``you would not
have made a feigned monster long, for in spite of your diver's dress,
swollen by the expansion of air within you, you would have burst like
a shell, or rather like a balloon which has risen too high. So do
not regret it, and do not forget this\mbox{---}as long as we float
in space, all sentimental walks beyond the projectile are forbidden.''

Michel Ardan allowed himself to be convinced to a certain extent.
He admitted that the thing was difficult but not impossible, a word
which he never uttered.

The conversation passed from this subject to another, not failing
him for an instant. It seemed to the three friends as though, under
present conditions, ideas shot up in their brains as leaves shoot
at the first warmth of spring. They felt bewildered. In the middle
of the questions and answers which crossed each other, Nicholl put
one question which did not find an immediate solution.

{}``Ah, indeed!''\ said he; {}``it is all very well to go to the
moon, but how to get back again?''

His two interlocutors looked surprised. One would have thought that
this possibility now occurred to them for the first time.

{}``What do you mean by that, Nicholl?''\ asked Barbicane gravely.

{}``To ask for means to leave a country,''\ added Michel, {}``When
we have not yet arrived there, seems to me rather inopportune.''

{}``I do not say that, wishing to draw back,''\ replied Nicholl;
{}``but I repeat my question, and I ask, `How shall we return?'''

{}``I know nothing about it,''\ answered Barbicane.

{}``And I,''\ said Michel, {}``if I had known how to return, I
would never have started.''

{}``There's an answer!''\ cried Nicholl.

{}``I quite approve of Michel's words,''\ said Barbicane; {}``and
add, that the question has no real interest. Later, when we think
it is advisable to return, we will take counsel together. If the Columbiad
is not there, the projectile will be.''

{}``That is a step certainly. A ball without a gun!''

{}``The gun,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``can be manufactured. The
powder can be made. Neither metals, saltpeter, nor coal can fail in
the depths of the moon, and we need only go 8,000 leagues in order
to fall upon the terrestrial globe by virtue of the mere laws of weight.''

{}``Enough,''\ said Michel with animation. {}``Let it be no longer
a question of returning: we have already entertained it too long.
As to communicating with our former earthly colleagues, that will
not be difficult.''

{}``And how?''

{}``By means of meteors launched by lunar volcanoes.''

{}``Well thought of, Michel,''\ said Barbicane in a convinced tone
of voice. {}``Laplace has calculated that a force five times greater
than that of our gun would suffice to send a meteor from the moon
to the earth, and there is not one volcano which has not a greater
power of propulsion than that.''

{}``Hurrah!''\ exclaimed Michel; {}``these meteors are handy postmen,
and cost nothing. And how we shall be able to laugh at the post-office
administration! But now I think of it\mbox{---}''

{}``What do you think of?''

{}``A capital idea. Why did we not fasten a thread to our projectile,
and we could have exchanged telegrams with the earth?''

{}``The deuce!''\ answered Nicholl. {}``Do you consider the weight
of a thread 250,000 miles long nothing?''

{}``As nothing. They could have trebled the Columbiad's charge; they
could have quadrupled or quintupled it!''\ exclaimed Michel, with
whom the verb took a higher intonation each time.

{}``There is but one little objection to make to your proposition,''
replied Barbicane, {}``which is that, during the rotary motion of
the globe, our thread would have wound itself round it like a chain
on a capstan, and that it would inevitably have brought us to the
ground.''

{}``By the thirty-nine stars of the Union!''\ said Michel, {}``I
have nothing but impracticable ideas to-day; ideas worthy of J. T.\ Maston.
But I have a notion that, if we do not return to earth, J.\ T.\ Maston
will be able to come to us.''

{}``Yes, he'll come,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``he is a worthy
and a courageous comrade. Besides, what is easier? Is not the Columbiad
still buried in the soil of Florida? Is cotton and nitric acid wanted
wherewith to manufacture the pyroxyle? Will not the moon pass the
zenith of Florida? In eighteen years'\ time will she not occupy exactly
the same place as to-day?''

{}``Yes,''\ continued Michel, {}``yes, Maston will come, and with
him our friends Elphinstone, Blomsberry, all the members of the Gun
Club, and they will be well received. And by and by they will run
trains of projectiles between the earth and the moon! Hurrah for J.\ T.\ Maston!''

It is probable that, if the Hon.\ J.\ T.\ Maston did not hear the
hurrahs uttered in his honor, his ears at least tingled. What was
he doing then? Doubtless, posted in the Rocky Mountains, at the station
of Long's Peak, he was trying to find the invisible projectile gravitating
in space. If he was thinking of his dear companions, we must allow
that they were not far behind him; and that, under the influence of
a strange excitement, they were devoting to him their best thoughts.

But whence this excitement, which was evidently growing upon the tenants
of the projectile? Their sobriety could not be doubted. This strange
irritation of the brain, must it be attributed to the peculiar circumstances
under which they found themselves, to their proximity to the orb of
night, from which only a few hours separated them, to some secret
influence of the moon acting upon their nervous system? Their faces
were as rosy as if they had been exposed to the roaring flames of
an oven; their voices resounded in loud accents; their words escaped
like a champagne cork driven out by carbonic acid; their gestures
became annoying, they wanted so much room to perform them; and, strange
to say, they none of them noticed this great tension of the mind.

{}``Now,''\ said Nicholl, in a short tone, {}``now that I do not
know whether we shall ever return from the moon, I want to know what
we are going to do there?''

{}``What we are going to do there?''\ replied Barbicane, stamping
with his foot as if he was in a fencing saloon; {}``I do not know.''

{}``You do not know!''\ exclaimed Michel, with a bellow which provoked
a sonorous echo in the projectile.

{}``No, I have not even thought about it,''\ retorted Barbicane,
in the same loud tone.

{}``Well, I know,''\ replied Michel.

{}``Speak, then,''\ cried Nicholl, who could no longer contain
the growling of his voice.

{}``I shall speak if it suits me,''\ exclaimed Michel, seizing
his companions'\ arms with violence.

{}``\textit{It must}\ suit you,''\ said Barbicane, with an eye
on fire and a threatening hand. {}``It was you who drew us into this
frightful journey, and we want to know what for.''

{}``Yes,''\ said the captain, {}``now that I do not know \textit{where}\ I
am going, I want to know \textit{why}\ I am going.''

{}``Why?''\ exclaimed Michel, jumping a yard high, {}``why? To
take possession of the moon in the name of the United States; to add
a fortieth State to the Union; to colonize the lunar regions; to cultivate
them, to people them, to transport thither all the prodigies of art,
of science, and industry; to civilize the Selenites, unless they are
more civilized than we are; and to constitute them a republic, if
they are not already one!''

{}``And if there are no Selenites?''\ retorted Nicholl, who, under
the influence of this unaccountable intoxication, was very contradictory.

{}``Who said that there were no Selenites?''\ exclaimed Michel
in a threatening tone.

{}``I do,''\ howled Nicholl.

{}``Captain,''\ said Michel, {}``do not repeat that insolence,
or I will knock your teeth down your throat!''

The two adversaries were going to fall upon each other, and the incoherent
discussion threatened to merge into a fight, when Barbicane intervened
with one bound.

{}``Stop, miserable men,''\ said he, separating his two companions;
{}``if there are no Selenites, we will do without them.''

{}``Yes,''\ exclaimed Michel, who was not particular; {}``yes,
we will do without them. We have only to make Selenites. Down with
the Selenites!''

{}``The empire of the moon belongs to us,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Let us three constitute the republic.''

{}``I will be the congress,''\ cried Michel.

{}``And I the senate,''\ retorted Nicholl.

{}``And Barbicane, the president,''\ howled Michel.

{}``Not a president elected by the nation,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``Very well, a president elected by the congress,''\ cried Michel;
{}``and as I am the congress, you are unanimously elected!''

{}``Hurrah!\ hurrah!\ hurrah!\ for President Barbicane,''\ exclaimed
Nicholl.

{}``Hip!\ hip!\ hip!''\ vociferated Michel Ardan.

Then the president and the senate struck up in a tremendous voice
the popular song {}``Yankee Doodle,''\ while from the congress
resounded the masculine tones of the {}``Marseillaise.''

Then they struck up a frantic dance, with maniacal gestures, idiotic
stampings, and somersaults like those of the boneless clowns in the
circus. Diana, joining in the dance, and howling in her turn, jumped
to the top of the projectile. An unaccountable flapping of wings was
then heard amid most fantastic cock-crows, while five or six hens
fluttered like bats against the walls.

Then the three traveling companions, acted upon by some unaccountable
influence above that of intoxication, inflamed by the air which had
set their respiratory apparatus on fire, fell motionless to the bottom
of the projectile.


\chapter*{\raggedright AT SEVENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN
LEAGUES}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{At Seventy-Eight Thousand Five\\
Hundred and Fourteen Leagues}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{At 78,514 Leagues}

What had happened? Whence the cause of this singular intoxication,
the consequences of which might have been very disastrous? A simple
blunder of Michel's, which, fortunately, Nicholl was able to correct
in time.

After a perfect swoon, which lasted some minutes, the captain, recovering
first, soon collected his scattered senses. Although he had breakfasted
only two hours before, he felt a gnawing hunger, as if he had not
eaten anything for several days. Everything about him, stomach and
brain, were overexcited to the highest degree. He got up and demanded
from Michel a supplementary repast. Michel, utterly done up, did not
answer.

Nicholl then tried to prepare some tea destined to help the absorption
of a dozen sandwiches. He first tried to get some fire, and struck
a match sharply. What was his surprise to see the sulphur shine with
so extraordinary a brilliancy as to be almost unbearable to the eye.
From the gas-burner which he lit rose a flame equal to a jet of electric
light.

A revelation dawned on Nicholl's mind. That intensity of light, the
physiological troubles which had arisen in him, the overexcitement
of all his moral and quarrelsome faculties\mbox{---}he understood
all.

{}``The oxygen!''\ he exclaimed.

And leaning over the air apparatus, he saw that the tap was allowing
the colorless gas to escape freely, life-giving, but in its pure state
producing the gravest disorders in the system. Michel had blunderingly
opened the tap of the apparatus to the full.

Nicholl hastened to stop the escape of oxygen with which the atmosphere
was saturated, which would have been the death of the travelers, not
by suffocation, but by combustion. An hour later, the air less charged
with it restored the lungs to their normal condition. By degrees the
three friends recovered from their intoxication; but they were obliged
to sleep themselves sober over their oxygen as a drunkard does over
his wine.

When Michel learned his share of the responsibility of this incident,
he was not much disconcerted. This unexpected drunkenness broke the
monotony of the journey. Many foolish things had been said while under
its influence, but also quickly forgotten.

{}``And then,''\ added the merry Frenchman, {}``I am not sorry
to have tasted a little of this heady gas. Do you know, my friends,
that a curious establishment might be founded with rooms of oxygen,
where people whose system is weakened could for a few hours live a
more active life. Fancy parties where the room was saturated with
this heroic fluid, theaters where it should be kept at high pressure;
what passion in the souls of the actors and spectators!\ what fire,
what enthusiasm! And if, instead of an assembly only a whole people
could be saturated, what activity in its functions, what a supplement
to life it would derive. From an exhausted nation they might make
a great and strong one, and I know more than one state in old Europe
which ought to put itself under the regime of oxygen for the sake
of its health!''

Michel spoke with so much animation that one might have fancied that
the tap was still too open. But a few words from Barbicane soon shattered
his enthusiasm.

{}``That is all very well, friend Michel,''\ said he, {}``but
will you inform us where these chickens came from which have mixed
themselves up in our concert?''

{}``Those chickens?''

{}``Yes.''

Indeed, half a dozen chickens and a fine cock were walking about,
flapping their wings and chattering.

{}``Ah, the awkward things!''\ exclaimed Michel. {}``The oxygen
has made them revolt.''

{}``But what do you want to do with these chickens?''\ asked Barbicane.

{}``To acclimatize them in the moon, by Jove!''

{}``Then why did you hide them?''

{}``A joke, my worthy president, a simple joke, which has proved
a miserable failure. I wanted to set them free on the lunar continent,
without saying anything. Oh, what would have been your amazement on
seeing these earthly-winged animals pecking in your lunar fields!''

{}``You rascal, you unmitigated rascal,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``you
do not want oxygen to mount to the head. You are always what we were
under the influence of the gas; you are always foolish!''

{}``Ah, who says that we were not wise then?''\ replied Michel
Ardan.

After this philosophical reflection, the three friends set about restoring
the order of the projectile. Chickens and cock were reinstated in
their coop. But while proceeding with this operation, Barbicane and
his two companions had a most desired perception of a new phenomenon.
From the moment of leaving the earth, their own weight, that of the
projectile, and the objects it enclosed, had been subject to an increasing
diminution. If they could not prove this loss of the projectile, a
moment would arrive when it would be sensibly felt upon themselves
and the utensils and instruments they used.

It is needless to say that a scale would not show this loss; for the
weight destined to weight the object would have lost exactly as much
as the object itself; but a spring steelyard for example, the tension
of which was independent of the attraction, would have given a just
estimate of this loss.

We know that the attraction, otherwise called the weight, is in proportion
to the densities of the bodies, and inversely as the squares of the
distances. Hence this effect: If the earth had been alone in space,
if the other celestial bodies had been suddenly annihilated, the projectile,
according to Newton's laws, would weigh less as it got farther from
the earth, but without ever losing its weight entirely, for the terrestrial
attraction would always have made itself felt, at whatever distance.

But, in reality, a time must come when the projectile would no longer
be subject to the law of weight, after allowing for the other celestial
bodies whose effect could not be set down as zero. Indeed, the projectile's
course was being traced between the earth and the moon. As it distanced
the earth, the terrestrial attraction diminished: but the lunar attraction
rose in proportion. There must come a point where these two attractions
would neutralize each other: the projectile would possess weight no
longer. If the moon's and the earth's densities had been equal, this
point would have been at an equal distance between the two orbs. But
taking the different densities into consideration, it was easy to
reckon that this point would be situated at 47/60ths of the whole
journey, \textit{i.e.}, at 78,514 leagues from the earth. At this
point, a body having no principle of speed or displacement in itself,
would remain immovable forever, being attracted equally by both orbs,
and not being drawn more toward one than toward the other.

Now if the projectile's impulsive force had been correctly calculated,
it would attain this point without speed, having lost all trace of
weight, as well as all the objects within it. What would happen then?
Three hypotheses presented themselves.

\begin{enumerate}
\item Either it would retain a certain amount of motion, and pass the point
of equal attraction, and fall upon the moon by virtue of the excess
of the lunar attraction over the terrestrial.
\item Or, its speed failing, and unable to reach the point of equal attraction,
it would fall upon the earth by virtue of the excess of the terrestrial
attraction over the lunar.
\item Or, lastly, animated with sufficient speed to enable it to reach the
neutral point, but not sufficient to pass it, it would remain forever
suspended in that spot like the pretended tomb of Mahomet, between
the zenith and the nadir.
\end{enumerate}
Such was their situation; and Barbicane clearly explained the consequences
to his traveling companions, which greatly interested them. But how
should they know when the projectile had reached this neutral point
situated at that distance, especially when neither themselves, nor
the objects enclosed in the projectile, would be any longer subject
to the laws of weight?

Up to this time, the travelers, while admitting that this action was
constantly decreasing, had not yet become sensible to its total absence.

But that day, about eleven o'clock in the morning, Nicholl having
accidentally let a glass slip from his hand, the glass, instead of
falling, remained suspended in the air.

{}``Ah!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, {}``that is rather an amusing
piece of natural philosophy.''

And immediately divers other objects, firearms and bottles, abandoned
to themselves, held themselves up as by enchantment. Diana too, placed
in space by Michel, reproduced, but without any trick, the wonderful
suspension practiced by Caston and Robert Houdin. Indeed the dog did
not seem to know that she was floating in air.

The three adventurous companions were surprised and stupefied, despite
their scientific reasonings. They felt themselves being carried into
the domain of wonders!\ they felt that weight was really wanting
to their bodies. If they stretched out their arms, they did not attempt
to fall. Their heads shook on their shoulders. Their feet no longer
clung to the floor of the projectile. They were like drunken men having
no stability in themselves.

Fancy has depicted men without reflection, others without shadow.
But here reality, by the neutralizations of attractive forces, produced
men in whom nothing had any weight, and who weighed nothing themselves.

Suddenly Michel, taking a spring, left the floor and remained suspended
in the air, like Murillo's monk of the \textit{Cusine des Anges}.

The two friends joined him instantly, and all three formed a miraculous
{}``Ascension''\ in the center of the projectile.

{}``Is it to be believed?\ is it probable?\ is it possible?''\ exclaimed
Michel; {}``and yet it is so. Ah!\ if Raphael had seen us thus,
what an `Assumption'\ he would have thrown upon canvas!''

{}``The `Assumption'\ cannot last,''\ replied Barbicane. {}``If
the projectile passes the neutral point, the lunar attraction will
draw us to the moon.''

{}``Then our feet will be upon the roof,''\ replied Michel.

{}``No,''\ said Barbicane, {}``because the projectile's center
of gravity is very low; it will only turn by degrees.''

{}``Then all our portables will be upset from top to bottom, that
is a fact.''

{}``Calm yourself, Michel,''\ replied Nicholl; {}``no upset is
to be feared; not a thing will move, for the projectile's evolution
will be imperceptible.''

{}``Just so,''\ continued Barbicane; {}``and when it has passed
the point of equal attraction, its base, being the heavier, will draw
it perpendicularly to the moon; but, in order that this phenomenon
should take place, we must have passed the neutral line.''

{}``Pass the neutral line,''\ cried Michel; {}``then let us do
as the sailors do when they cross the equator.''

A slight side movement brought Michel back toward the padded side;
thence he took a bottle and glasses, placed them {}``in space''\ before
his companions, and, drinking merrily, they saluted the line with
a triple hurrah. The influence of these attractions scarcely lasted
an hour; the travelers felt themselves insensibly drawn toward the
floor, and Barbicane fancied that the conical end of the projectile
was varying a little from its normal direction toward the moon. By
an inverse motion the base was approaching first; the lunar attraction
was prevailing over the terrestrial; the fall toward the moon was
beginning, almost imperceptibly as yet, but by degrees the attractive
force would become stronger, the fall would be more decided, the projectile,
drawn by its base, would turn its cone to the earth, and fall with
ever-increasing speed on to the surface of the Selenite continent;
their destination would then be attained. Now nothing could prevent
the success of their enterprise, and Nicholl and Michel Ardan shared
Barbicane's joy.

Then they chatted of all the phenomena which had astonished them one
after the other, particularly the neutralization of the laws of weight.
Michel Ardan, always enthusiastic, drew conclusions which were purely
fanciful.

{}``Ah, my worthy friends,''\ he exclaimed, {}``what progress
we should make if on earth we could throw off some of that weight,
some of that chain which binds us to her; it would be the prisoner
set at liberty; no more fatigue of either arms or legs. Or, if it
is true that in order to fly on the earth's surface, to keep oneself
suspended in the air merely by the play of the muscles, there requires
a strength a hundred and fifty times greater than that which we possess,
a simple act of volition, a caprice, would bear us into space, if
attraction did not exist.''

{}``Just so,''\ said Nicholl, smiling; {}``if we could succeed
in suppressing weight as they suppress pain by anaesthesia, that would
change the face of modern society!''

{}``Yes,''\ cried Michel, full of his subject, {}``destroy weight,
and no more burdens!''

{}``Well said,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``but if nothing had any
weight, nothing would keep in its place, not even your hat on your
head, worthy Michel; nor your house, whose stones only adhere by weight;
nor a boat, whose stability on the waves is only caused by weight;
not even the ocean, whose waves would no longer be equalized by terrestrial
attraction; and lastly, not even the atmosphere, whose atoms, being
no longer held in their places, would disperse in space!''

{}``That is tiresome,''\ retorted Michel; {}``nothing like these
matter-of-fact people for bringing one back to the bare reality.''

{}``But console yourself, Michel,''\ continued Barbicane, {}``for
if no orb exists from whence all laws of weight are banished, you
are at least going to visit one where it is much less than on the
earth.''

{}``The moon?''

{}``Yes, the moon, on whose surface objects weigh six times less
than on the earth, a phenomenon easy to prove.''

{}``And we shall feel it?''\ asked Michel.

{}``Evidently, as two hundred pounds will only weigh thirty pounds
on the surface of the moon.''

{}``And our muscular strength will not diminish?''

{}``Not at all; instead of jumping one yard high, you will rise eighteen
feet high.''

{}``But we shall be regular Herculeses in the moon!''\ exclaimed
Michel.

{}``Yes,''\ replied Nicholl; {}``for if the height of the Selenites
is in proportion to the density of their globe, they will be scarcely
a foot high.''

{}``Lilliputians!''\ ejaculated Michel; {}``I shall play the part
of Gulliver. We are going to realize the fable of the giants. This
is the advantage of leaving one's own planet and over-running the
solar world.''

{}``One moment, Michel,''\ answered Barbicane; {}``if you wish
to play the part of Gulliver, only visit the inferior planets, such
as Mercury, Venus, or Mars, whose density is a little less than that
of the earth; but do not venture into the great planets, Jupiter,
Saturn, Uranus, Neptune; for there the order will be changed, and
you will become Lilliputian.''

{}``And in the sun?''

{}``In the sun, if its density is thirteen hundred and twenty-four
thousand times greater, and the attraction is twenty-seven times greater
than on the surface of our globe, keeping everything in proportion,
the inhabitants ought to be at least two hundred feet high.''

{}``By Jove!''\ exclaimed Michel; {}``I should be nothing more
than a pigmy, a shrimp!''

{}``Gulliver with the giants,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Just so,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``And it would not be quite useless to carry some pieces of artillery
to defend oneself.''

{}``Good,''\ replied Nicholl; {}``your projectiles would have
no effect on the sun; they would fall back upon the earth after some
minutes.''

{}``That is a strong remark.''

{}``It is certain,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``the attraction is
so great on this enormous orb, that an object weighing 70,000 pounds
on the sun would weigh but 1,920 pounds on the surface of the earth.
If you were to fall upon it you would weigh\mbox{---}let me see\mbox{---}about
5,000 pounds, a weight which you would never be able to raise again.''

{}``The devil!''\ said Michel; {}``one would want a portable crane.
However, we will be satisfied with the moon for the present; there
at least we shall cut a great figure. We will see about the sun by
and by.''


\chapter*{\raggedright THE CONSEQUENCES OF A DEVIATION}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Consequences of a Deviation}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{The Consequences of a Deviation}

Barbicane had now no fear of the issue of the journey, at least as
far as the projectile's impulsive force was concerned; its own speed
would carry it beyond the neutral line; it would certainly not return
to earth; it would certainly not remain motionless on the line of
attraction. One single hypothesis remained to be realized, the arrival
of the projectile at its destination by the action of the lunar attraction.

It was in reality a fall of 8,296 leagues on an orb, it is true, where
weight could only be reckoned at one sixth of terrestrial weight;
a formidable fall, nevertheless, and one against which every precaution
must be taken without delay.

These precautions were of two sorts, some to deaden the shock when
the projectile should touch the lunar soil, others to delay the fall,
and consequently make it less violent.

To deaden the shock, it was a pity that Barbicane was no longer able
to employ the means which had so ably weakened the shock at departure,
that is to say, by water used as springs and the partition breaks.

The partitions still existed, but water failed, for they could not
use their reserve, which was precious, in case during the first days
the liquid element should be found wanting on lunar soil.

And indeed this reserve would have been quite insufficient for a spring.
The layer of water stored in the projectile at the time of starting
upon their journey occupied no less than three feet in depth, and
spread over a surface of not less than fifty-four square feet. Besides,
the cistern did not contain one-fifth part of it; they must therefore
give up this efficient means of deadening the shock of arrival. Happily,
Barbicane, not content with employing water, had furnished the movable
disc with strong spring plugs, destined to lessen the shock against
the base after the breaking of the horizontal partitions. These plugs
still existed; they had only to readjust them and replace the movable
disc; every piece, easy to handle, as their weight was now scarcely
felt, was quickly mounted.

The different pieces were fitted without trouble, it being only a
matter of bolts and screws; tools were not wanting, and soon the reinstated
disc lay on steel plugs, like a table on its legs. One inconvenience
resulted from the replacing of the disc, the lower window was blocked
up; thus it was impossible for the travelers to observe the moon from
that opening while they were being precipitated perpendicularly upon
her; but they were obliged to give it up; even by the side openings
they could still see vast lunar regions, as an aeronaut sees the earth
from his car.

This replacing of the disc was at least an hour's work. It was past
twelve when all preparations were finished. Barbicane took fresh observations
on the inclination of the projectile, but to his annoyance it had
not turned over sufficiently for its fall; it seemed to take a curve
parallel to the lunar disc. The orb of night shone splendidly into
space, while opposite, the orb of day blazed with fire.

Their situation began to make them uneasy.

{}``Are we reaching our destination?''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Let us act as if we were about reaching it,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``You are sceptical,''\ retorted Michel Ardan. {}``We shall
arrive, and that, too, quicker than we like.''

This answer brought Barbicane back to his preparations, and he occupied
himself with placing the contrivances intended to break their descent.
We may remember the scene of the meeting held at Tampa Town, in Florida,
when Captain Nicholl came forward as Barbicane's enemy and Michel
Ardan's adversary. To Captain Nicholl's maintaining that the projectile
would smash like glass, Michel replied that he would break their fall
by means of rockets properly placed.

Thus, powerful fireworks, taking their starting-point from the base
and bursting outside, could, by producing a recoil, check to a certain
degree the projectile's speed. These rockets were to burn in space,
it is true; but oxygen would not fail them, for they could supply
themselves with it, like the lunar volcanoes, the burning of which
has never yet been stopped by the want of atmosphere round the moon.

Barbicane had accordingly supplied himself with these fireworks, enclosed
in little steel guns, which could be screwed on to the base of the
projectile. Inside, these guns were flush with the bottom; outside,
they protruded about eighteen inches. There were twenty of them. An
opening left in the disc allowed them to light the match with which
each was provided. All the effect was felt outside. The burning mixture
had already been rammed into each gun. They had, then, nothing to
do but raise the metallic buffers fixed in the base, and replace them
by the guns, which fitted closely in their places.

This new work was finished about three o'clock, and after taking all
these precautions there remained but to wait. But the projectile was
perceptibly nearing the moon, and evidently succumbed to her influence
to a certain degree; though its own velocity also drew it in an oblique
direction. From these conflicting influences resulted a line which
might become a tangent. But it was certain that the projectile would
not fall directly on the moon; for its lower part, by reason of its
weight, ought to be turned toward her.

Barbicane's uneasiness increased as he saw his projectile resist the
influence of gravitation. The Unknown was opening before him, the
Unknown in interplanetary space. The man of science thought he had
foreseen the only three hypotheses possible\mbox{---}the return
to the earth, the return to the moon, or stagnation on the neutral
line; and here a fourth hypothesis, big with all the terrors of the
Infinite, surged up inopportunely. To face it without flinching, one
must be a resolute savant like Barbicane, a phlegmatic being like
Nicholl, or an audacious adventurer like Michel Ardan.

Conversation was started upon this subject. Other men would have considered
the question from a practical point of view; they would have asked
themselves whither their projectile carriage was carrying them. Not
so with these; they sought for the cause which produced this effect.

{}``So we have become diverted from our route,''\ said Michel;
{}``but why?''

{}``I very much fear,''\ answered Nicholl, {}``that, in spite
of all precautions taken, the Columbiad was not fairly pointed. An
error, however small, would be enough to throw us out of the moon's
attraction.''

{}``Then they must have aimed badly?''\ asked Michel.

{}``I do not think so,''\ replied Barbicane. {}``The perpendicularity
of the gun was exact, its direction to the zenith of the spot incontestible;
and the moon passing to the zenith of the spot, we ought to reach
it at the full. There is another reason, but it escapes me.''

{}``Are we not arriving too late?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``Too late?''\ said Barbicane.

{}``Yes,''\ continued Nicholl. {}``The Cambridge Observatory's
note says that the transit ought to be accomplished in ninety-seven
hours thirteen minutes and twenty seconds; which means to say, that
\textit{sooner}\ the moon will \textit{not}\ be at the point indicated,
and \textit{later}\ it will have passed it.''

{}``True,''\ replied Barbicane. {}``But we started the 1st of
December, at thirteen minutes and twenty-five seconds to eleven at
night; and we ought to arrive on the 5th at midnight, at the exact
moment when the moon would be full; and we are now at the 5th of December.
It is now half-past three in the evening; half-past eight ought to
see us at the end of our journey. Why do we not arrive?''

{}``Might it not be an excess of speed?''\ answered Nicholl; {}``for
we know now that its initial velocity was greater than they supposed.''

{}``No!\ a hundred times, no!''\ replied Barbicane. {}``An excess
of speed, if the direction of the projectile had been right, would
not have prevented us reaching the moon. No, there has been a deviation.
We have been turned out of our course.''

{}``By whom?\ by what?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``I cannot say,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``Very well, then, Barbicane,''\ said Michel, {}``do you wish
to know my opinion on the subject of finding out this deviation?''

{}``Speak.''

{}``I would not give half a dollar to know it. That we have deviated
is a fact. Where we are going matters little; we shall soon see. Since
we are being borne along in space we shall end by falling into some
center of attraction or other.''

Michel Ardan's indifference did not content Barbicane. Not that he
was uneasy about the future, but he wanted to know at any cost \textit{why}\ his
projectile had deviated.

But the projectile continued its course sideways to the moon, and
with it the mass of things thrown out. Barbicane could even prove,
by the elevations which served as landmarks upon the moon, which was
only two thousand leagues distant, that its speed was becoming uniform\mbox{---}fresh
proof that there was no fall. Its impulsive force still prevailed
over the lunar attraction, but the projectile's course was certainly
bringing it nearer to the moon, and they might hope that at a nearer
point the weight, predominating, would cause a decided fall.

The three friends, having nothing better to do, continued their observations;
but they could not yet determine the topographical position of the
satellite; every relief was leveled under the reflection of the solar
rays.

They watched thus through the side windows until eight o'clock at
night. The moon had grown so large in their eyes that it filled half
of the firmament. The sun on one side, and the orb of night on the
other, flooded the projectile with light.

At that moment Barbicane thought he could estimate the distance which
separated them from their aim at no more than 700 leagues. The speed
of the projectile seemed to him to be more than 200 yards, or about
170 leagues a second. Under the centripetal force, the base of the
projectile tended toward the moon; but the centrifugal still prevailed;
and it was probable that its rectilineal course would be changed to
a curve of some sort, the nature of which they could not at present
determine.

Barbicane was still seeking the solution of his insoluble problem.
Hours passed without any result. The projectile was evidently nearing
the moon, but it was also evident that it would never reach her. As
to the nearest distance at which it would pass her, that must be the
result of two forces, attraction and repulsion, affecting its motion.

{}``I ask but one thing,''\ said Michel; {}``that we may pass
near enough to penetrate her secrets.''

{}``Cursed be the thing that has caused our projectile to deviate
from its course,''\ cried Nicholl.

And, as if a light had suddenly broken in upon his mind, Barbicane
answered, {}``Then cursed be the meteor which crossed our path.''

{}``What?''\ said Michel Ardan.

{}``What do you mean?''\ exclaimed Nicholl.

{}``I mean,''\ said Barbicane in a decided tone, {}``I mean that
our deviation is owing solely to our meeting with this erring body.''

{}``But it did not even brush us as it passed,''\ said Michel.

{}``What does that matter? Its mass, compared to that of our projectile,
was enormous, and its attraction was enough to influence our course.''

{}``So little?''\ cried Nicholl.

{}``Yes, Nicholl; but however little it might be,''\ replied Barbicane,
{}``in a distance of 84,000 leagues, it wanted no more to make us
miss the moon.''


\chapter*{\raggedright THE OBSERVERS OF THE MOON}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Observers of the Moon}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{The Observers of the Moon}

Barbicane had evidently hit upon the only plausible reason of this
deviation. However slight it might have been, it had sufficed to modify
the course of the projectile. It was a fatality. The bold attempt
had miscarried by a fortuitous circumstance; and unless by some exceptional
event, they could now never reach the moon's disc.

Would they pass near enough to be able to solve certain physical and
geological questions until then insoluble? This was the question,
and the only one, which occupied the minds of these bold travelers.
As to the fate in store for themselves, they did not even dream of
it.

But what would become of them amid these infinite solitudes, these
who would soon want air? A few more days, and they would fall stifled
in this wandering projectile. But some days to these intrepid fellows
was a century; and they devoted all their time to observe that moon
which they no longer hoped to reach.

The distance which had then separated the projectile from the satellite
was estimated at about two hundred leagues. Under these conditions,
as regards the visibility of the details of the disc, the travelers
were farther from the moon than are the inhabitants of earth with
their powerful telescopes.

Indeed, we know that the instrument mounted by Lord Rosse at Parsonstown,
which magnifies 6,500 times, brings the moon to within an apparent
distance of sixteen leagues. And more than that, with the powerful
one set up at Long's Peak, the orb of night, magnified 48,000 times,
is brought to within less than two leagues, and objects having a diameter
of thirty feet are seen very distinctly. So that, at this distance,
the topographical details of the moon, observed without glasses, could
not be determined with precision. The eye caught the vast outline
of those immense depressions inappropriately called {}``seas,''\ but
they could not recognize their nature. The prominence of the mountains
disappeared under the splendid irradiation produced by the reflection
of the solar rays. The eye, dazzled as if it was leaning over a bath
of molten silver, turned from it involuntarily; but the oblong form
of the orb was quite clear. It appeared like a gigantic egg, with
the small end turned toward the earth. Indeed the moon, liquid and
pliable in the first days of its formation, was originally a perfect
sphere; but being soon drawn within the attraction of the earth, it
became elongated under the influence of gravitation. In becoming a
satellite, she lost her native purity of form; her center of gravity
was in advance of the center of her figure; and from this fact some
savants draw the conclusion that the air and water had taken refuge
on the opposite surface of the moon, which is never seen from the
earth. This alteration in the primitive form of the satellite was
only perceptible for a few moments. The distance of the projectile
from the moon diminished very rapidly under its speed, though that
was much less than its initial velocity\mbox{---}but eight or nine
times greater than that which propels our express trains. The oblique
course of the projectile, from its very obliquity, gave Michel Ardan
some hopes of striking the lunar disc at some point or other. He could
not think that they would never reach it. No!\ he could not believe
it; and this opinion he often repeated. But Barbicane, who was a better
judge, always answered him with merciless logic.

{}``No, Michel, no! We can only reach the moon by a fall, and we
are not falling. The centripetal force keeps us under the moon's influence,
but the centrifugal force draws us irresistibly away from it.''

This was said in a tone which quenched Michel Ardan's last hope.

The portion of the moon which the projectile was nearing was the northern
hemisphere, that which the selenographic maps place below; for these
maps are generally drawn after the outline given by the glasses, and
we know that they reverse the objects. Such was the \textit{Mappa
Selenographica}\ of Boeer and Moedler which Barbicane consulted.
This northern hemisphere presented vast plains, dotted with isolated
mountains.

At midnight the moon was full. At that precise moment the travelers
should have alighted upon it, if the mischievous meteor had not diverted
their course. The orb was exactly in the condition determined by the
Cambridge Observatory. It was mathematically at its perigee, and at
the zenith of the twenty-eighth parallel. An observer placed at the
bottom of the enormous Columbiad, pointed perpendicularly to the horizon,
would have framed the moon in the mouth of the gun. A straight line
drawn through the axis of the piece would have passed through the
center of the orb of night. It is needless to say, that during the
night of the 5th-6th of December, the travelers took not an instant's
rest. Could they close their eyes when so near this new world? No!
All their feelings were concentrated in one single thought:\mbox{---}See!
Representatives of the earth, of humanity, past and present, all centered
in them! It is through their eyes that the human race look at these
lunar regions, and penetrate the secrets of their satellite! A strange
emotion filled their hearts as they went from one window to the other.
Their observations, reproduced by Barbicane, were rigidly determined.
To take them, they had glasses; to correct them, maps.

As regards the optical instruments at their disposal, they had excellent
marine glasses specially constructed for this journey. They possessed
magnifying powers of 100. They would thus have brought the moon to
within a distance (apparent)\ of less than 2,000 leagues from the
earth. But then, at a distance which for three hours in the morning
did not exceed sixty-five miles, and in a medium free from all atmospheric
disturbances, these instruments could reduce the lunar surface to
within less than 1,500 yards!


\chapter*{\raggedright FANCY AND REALITY}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Fancy and Reality}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Fancy and Reality}

{}``Have you ever seen the moon?''\ asked a professor, ironically,
of one of his pupils.

{}``No, sir!''\ replied the pupil, still more ironically, {}``but
I must say I have heard it spoken of.''

In one sense, the pupil's witty answer might be given by a large majority
of sublunary beings. How many people have heard speak of the moon
who have never seen it\mbox{---}at least through a glass or a telescope!
How many have never examined the map of their satellite!

In looking at a selenographic map, one peculiarity strikes us. Contrary
to the arrangement followed for that of the Earth and Mars, the continents
occupy more particularly the southern hemisphere of the lunar globe.
These continents do not show such decided, clear, and regular boundary
lines as South America, Africa, and the Indian peninsula. Their angular,
capricious, and deeply indented coasts are rich in gulfs and peninsulas.
They remind one of the confusion in the islands of the Sound, where
the land is excessively indented. If navigation ever existed on the
surface of the moon, it must have been wonderfully difficult and dangerous;
and we may well pity the Selenite sailors and hydrographers; the former,
when they came upon these perilous coasts, the latter when they took
the soundings of its stormy banks.

We may also notice that, on the lunar sphere, the south pole is much
more continental than the north pole. On the latter, there is but
one slight strip of land separated from other continents by vast seas.
Toward the south, continents clothe almost the whole of the hemisphere.
It is even possible that the Selenites have already planted the flag
on one of their poles, while Franklin, Ross, Kane, Dumont, d'Urville,
and Lambert have never yet been able to attain that unknown point
of the terrestrial globe.

As to islands, they are numerous on the surface of the moon. Nearly
all oblong or circular, and as if traced with the compass, they seem
to form one vast archipelago, equal to that charming group lying between
Greece and Asia Minor, and which mythology in ancient times adorned
with most graceful legends. Involuntarily the names of Naxos, Tenedos,
and Carpathos, rise before the mind, and we seek vainly for Ulysses'\ vessel
or the {}``clipper''\ of the Argonauts. So at least it was in Michel
Ardan's eyes. To him it was a Grecian archipelago that he saw on the
map. To the eyes of his matter-of-fact companions, the aspect of these
coasts recalled rather the parceled-out land of New Brunswick and
Nova Scotia, and where the Frenchman discovered traces of the heroes
of fable, these Americans were marking the most favorable points for
the establishment of stores in the interests of lunar commerce and
industry.

After wandering over these vast continents, the eye is attracted by
the still greater seas. Not only their formation, but their situation
and aspect remind one of the terrestrial oceans; but again, as on
earth, these seas occupy the greater portion of the globe. But in
point of fact, these are not liquid spaces, but plains, the nature
of which the travelers hoped soon to determine. Astronomers, we must
allow, have graced these pretended seas with at least odd names, which
science has respected up to the present time. Michel Ardan was right
when he compared this map to a {}``Tendre card,''\ got up by a
Scudary or a Cyrano de Bergerac. {}``Only,''\ said he, {}``it
is no longer the sentimental card of the seventeenth century, it is
the card of life, very neatly divided into two parts, one feminine,
the other masculine; the right hemisphere for woman, the left for
man.''

In speaking thus, Michel made his prosaic companions shrug their shoulders.
Barbicane and Nicholl looked upon the lunar map from a very different
point of view to that of their fantastic friend. Nevertheless, their
fantastic friend was a little in the right. Judge for yourselves.

In the left hemisphere stretches the {}``Sea of Clouds,''\ where
human reason is so often shipwrecked. Not far off lies the {}``Sea
of Rains,''\ fed by all the fever of existence. Near this is the
{}``Sea of Storms,''\ where man is ever fighting against his passions,
which too often gain the victory. Then, worn out by deceit, treasons,
infidelity, and the whole body of terrestrial misery, what does he
find at the end of his career?\ that vast {}``Sea of Humors,''\ barely
softened by some drops of the waters from the {}``Gulf of Dew!''\ 
Clouds, rain, storms, and humors\mbox{---}does the life of man contain
aught but these?\ and is it not summed up in these four words?

The right hemisphere, {}``dedicated to the ladies,''\ encloses
smaller seas, whose significant names contain every incident of a
feminine existence. There is the {}``Sea of Serenity,''\ over which
the young girl bends; {}``The Lake of Dreams,''\ reflecting a joyous
future; {}``The Sea of Nectar,''\ with its waves of tenderness
and breezes of love; {}``The Sea of Fruitfulness;''\ {}``The Sea
of Crises;''\ then the {}``Sea of Vapors,''\ whose dimensions
are perhaps a little too confined; and lastly, that vast {}``Sea
of Tranquillity,''\ in which every false passion, every useless
dream, every unsatisfied desire is at length absorbed, and whose waves
emerge peacefully into the {}``Lake of Death!''

What a strange succession of names! What a singular division of the
moon's two hemispheres, joined to one another like man and woman,
and forming that sphere of life carried into space! And was not the
fantastic Michel right in thus interpreting the fancies of the ancient
astronomers? But while his imagination thus roved over {}``the seas,''\ his
grave companions were considering things more geographically. They
were learning this new world by heart. They were measuring angles
and diameters.


\chapter*{\raggedright OROGRAPHIC DETAILS}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Orographic Details}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Orographic Details}

The course taken by the projectile, as we have before remarked, was
bearing it toward the moon's northern hemisphere. The travelers were
far from the central point which they would have struck, had their
course not been subject to an irremediable deviation. It was past
midnight; and Barbicane then estimated the distance at seven hundred
and fifty miles, which was a little greater than the length of the
lunar radius, and which would diminish as it advanced nearer to the
North Pole. The projectile was then not at the altitude of the equator;
but across the tenth parallel, and from that latitude, carefully taken
on the map to the pole, Barbicane and his two companions were able
to observe the moon under the most favorable conditions. Indeed, by
means of glasses, the above-named distance was reduced to little more
than fourteen miles. The telescope of the Rocky Mountains brought
the moon much nearer; but the terrestrial atmosphere singularly lessened
its power. Thus Barbicane, posted in his projectile, with the glasses
to his eyes, could seize upon details which were almost imperceptible
to earthly observers.

{}``My friends,''\ said the president, in a serious voice, {}``I
do not know whither we are going; I do not know if we shall ever see
the terrestrial globe again. Nevertheless, let us proceed as if our
work would one day by useful to our fellow-men. Let us keep our minds
free from every other consideration. We are astronomers; and this
projectile is a room in the Cambridge University, carried into space.
Let us make our observations!''

This said, work was begun with great exactness; and they faithfully
reproduced the different aspects of the moon, at the different distances
which the projectile reached.

At the time that the projectile was as high as the tenth parallel,
north latitude, it seemed rigidly to follow the twentieth degree,
east longitude. We must here make one important remark with regard
to the map by which they were taking observations. In the selenographical
maps where, on account of the reversing of the objects by the glasses,
the south is above and the north below, it would seem natural that,
on account of that inversion, the east should be to the left hand,
and the west to the right. But it is not so. If the map were turned
upside down, showing the moon as we see her, the east would be to
the left, and the west to the right, contrary to that which exists
on terrestrial maps. The following is the reason of this anomaly.
Observers in the northern hemisphere (say in Europe)\ see the moon
in the south\mbox{---}according to them. When they take observations,
they turn their backs to the north, the reverse position to that which
they occupy when they study a terrestrial map. As they turn their
backs to the north, the east is on their left, and the west to their
right. To observers in the southern hemisphere (Patagonia for example),
the moon's west would be quite to their left, and the east to their
right, as the south is behind them. Such is the reason of the apparent
reversing of these two cardinal points, and we must bear it in mind
in order to be able to follow President Barbicane's observations.

With the help of Boeer and Moedler's \textit{Mappa Selenographica},
the travelers were able at once to recognize that portion of the disc
enclosed within the field of their glasses.

{}``What are we looking at, at this moment?''\ asked Michel.

{}``At the northern part of the `Sea of Clouds,'''\ answered Barbicane.
{}``We are too far off to recognize its nature. Are these plains
composed of arid sand, as the first astronomer maintained? Or are
they nothing but immense forests, according to M.\ Warren de la Rue's
opinion, who gives the moon an atmosphere, though a very low and a
very dense one? That we shall know by and by. We must affirm nothing
until we are in a position to do so.''

This {}``Sea of Clouds''\ is rather doubtfully marked out upon
the maps. It is supposed that these vast plains are strewn with blocks
of lava from the neighboring volcanoes on its right, Ptolemy, Purbach,
Arzachel. But the projectile was advancing, and sensibly nearing it.
Soon there appeared the heights which bound this sea at this northern
limit. Before them rose a mountain radiant with beauty, the top of
which seemed lost in an eruption of solar rays.

{}``That is\mbox{---}?''\ asked Michel.

{}``Copernicus,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``Let us see Copernicus.''

This mount, situated in 9$^\circ$\ north latitude and 20$^\circ$\ east
longitude, rose to a height of 10,600 feet above the surface of the
moon. It is quite visible from the earth; and astronomers can study
it with ease, particularly during the phase between the last quarter
and the new moon, because then the shadows are thrown lengthways from
east to west, allowing them to measure the heights.

This Copernicus forms the most important of the radiating system,
situated in the southern hemisphere, according to Tycho Brahe. It
rises isolated like a gigantic lighthouse on that portion of the {}``Sea
of Clouds,''\ which is bounded by the {}``Sea of Tempests,''\ thus
lighting by its splendid rays two oceans at a time. It was a sight
without an equal, those long luminous trains, so dazzling in the full
moon, and which, passing the boundary chain on the north, extends
to the {}``Sea of Rains.'' At one o'clock of the terrestrial morning,
the projectile, like a balloon borne into space, overlooked the top
of this superb mount. Barbicane could recognize perfectly its chief
features. Copernicus is comprised in the series of ringed mountains
of the first order, in the division of great circles. Like Kepler
and Aristarchus, which overlook the {}``Ocean of Tempests,''\ sometimes
it appeared like a brilliant point through the cloudy light, and was
taken for a volcano in activity. But it is only an extinct one\mbox{---}like
all on that side of the moon. Its circumference showed a diameter
of about twenty-two leagues. The glasses discovered traces of stratification
produced by successive eruptions, and the neighborhood was strewn
with volcanic remains which still choked some of the craters.

{}``There exist,''\ said Barbicane, {}``several kinds of circles
on the surface of the moon, and it is easy to see that Copernicus
belongs to the radiating class. If we were nearer, we should see the
cones bristling on the inside, which in former times were so many
fiery mouths. A curious arrangement, and one without an exception
on the lunar disc, is that the interior surface of these circles is
the reverse of the exterior, and contrary to the form taken by terrestrial
craters. It follows, then, that the general curve of the bottom of
these circles gives a sphere of a smaller diameter than that of the
moon.''

{}``And why this peculiar disposition?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``We do not know,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``What splendid radiation!''\ said Michel. {}``One could hardly
see a finer spectacle, I think.''

{}``What would you say, then,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``if chance
should bear us toward the southern hemisphere?''

{}``Well, I should say that it was still more beautiful,''\ retorted
Michel Ardan.

At this moment the projectile hung perpendicularly over the circle.
The circumference of Copernicus formed almost a perfect circle, and
its steep escarpments were clearly defined. They could even distinguish
a second ringed enclosure. Around spread a grayish plain, of a wild
aspect, on which every relief was marked in yellow. At the bottom
of the circle, as if enclosed in a jewel case, sparkled for one instant
two or three eruptive cones, like enormous dazzling gems. Toward the
north the escarpments were lowered by a depression which would probably
have given access to the interior of the crater.

In passing over the surrounding plains, Barbicane noticed a great
number of less important mountains; and among others a little ringed
one called Guy Lussac, the breadth of which measured twelve miles.

Toward the south, the plain was very flat, without one elevation,
without one projection. Toward the north, on the contrary, till where
it was bounded by the {}``Sea of Storms,''\ it resembled a liquid
surface agitated by a storm, of which the hills and hollows formed
a succession of waves suddenly congealed. Over the whole of this,
and in all directions, lay the luminous lines, all converging to the
summit of Copernicus.

The travelers discussed the origin of these strange rays; but they
could not determine their nature any more than terrestrial observers.

{}``But why,''\ said Nicholl, {}``should not these rays be simply
spurs of mountains which reflect more vividly the light of the sun?''

{}``No,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``if it was so, under certain
conditions of the moon, these ridges would cast shadows, and they
do not cast any.''

And indeed, these rays only appeared when the orb of day was in opposition
to the moon, and disappeared as soon as its rays became oblique.

{}``But how have they endeavored to explain these lines of light?''
asked Michel; {}``for I cannot believe that savants would ever be
stranded for want of an explanation.''

{}``Yes,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``Herschel has put forward an
opinion, but he did not venture to affirm it.''

{}``Never mind. What was the opinion?''

{}``He thought that these rays might be streams of cooled lava which
shone when the sun beat straight upon them. It may be so; but nothing
can be less certain. Besides, if we pass nearer to Tycho, we shall
be in a better position to find out the cause of this radiation.''

{}``Do you know, my friends, what that plain, seen from the height
we are at, resembles?''\ said Michel.

{}``No,''\ replied Nicholl.

{}``Very well; with all those pieces of lava lengthened like rockets,
it resembles an immense game of spelikans thrown pellmell. There wants
but the hook to pull them out one by one.''

{}``Do be serious,''\ said Barbicane.

{}``Well, let us be serious,''\ replied Michel quietly; {}``and
instead of spelikans, let us put bones. This plain, would then be
nothing but an immense cemetery, on which would repose the mortal
remains of thousands of extinct generations. Do you prefer that high-flown
comparison?''

{}``One is as good as the other,''\ retorted Barbicane.

{}``My word, you are difficult to please,''\ answered Michel.

{}``My worthy friend,''\ continued the matter-of-fact Barbicane,
{}``it matters but little what it \textit{resembles}, when we do
not know what it \textit{is}.''

{}``Well answered,''\ exclaimed Michel. {}``That will teach me
to reason with savants.''

But the projectile continued to advance with almost uniform speed
around the lunar disc. The travelers, we may easily imagine, did not
dream of taking a moment's rest. Every minute changed the landscape
which fled from beneath their gaze. About half past one o'clock in
the morning, they caught a glimpse of the tops of another mountain.
Barbicane, consulting his map, recognized Eratosthenes.

It was a ringed mountain nine thousand feet high, and one of those
circles so numerous on this satellite. With regard to this, Barbicane
related Kepler's singular opinion on the formation of circles. According
to that celebrated mathematician, these crater-like cavities had been
dug by the hand of man.

{}``For what purpose?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``For a very natural one,''\ replied Barbicane. {}``The Selenites
might have undertaken these immense works and dug these enormous holes
for a refuge and shield from the solar rays which beat upon them during
fifteen consecutive days.''

{}``The Selenites are not fools,''\ said Michel.

{}``A singular idea,''\ replied Nicholl; {}``but it is probable
that Kepler did not know the true dimensions of these circles, for
the digging of them would have been the work of giants quite impossible
for the Selenites.''

{}``Why?\ if weight on the moon's surface is six times less than
on the earth?''\ said Michel.

{}``But if the Selenites are six times smaller?''\ retorted Nicholl.

{}``And if there are \textit{no}\ Selenites?''\ added Barbicane.

This put an end to the discussion.

Soon Eratosthenes disappeared under the horizon without the projectile
being sufficiently near to allow close observation. This mountain
separated the Apennines from the Carpathians. In the lunar orography
they have discerned some chains of mountains, which are chiefly distributed
over the northern hemisphere. Some, however, occupy certain portions
of the southern hemisphere also.

About two o'clock in the morning Barbicane found that they were above
the twentieth lunar parallel. The distance of the projectile from
the moon was not more than six hundred miles. Barbicane, now perceiving
that the projectile was steadily approaching the lunar disc, did not
despair; if not of reaching her, at least of discovering the secrets
of her configuration.


\chapter*{\raggedright LUNAR LANDSCAPES}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Lunar Landscapes}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Lunar Landscapes}

At half-past two in the morning, the projectile was over the thirteenth
lunar parallel and at the effective distance of five hundred miles,
reduced by the glasses to five. It still seemed impossible, however,
that it could ever touch any part of the disc. Its motive speed, comparatively
so moderate, was inexplicable to President Barbicane. At that distance
from the moon it must have been considerable, to enable it to bear
up against her attraction. Here was a phenomenon the cause of which
escaped them again. Besides, time failed them to investigate the cause.
All lunar relief was defiling under the eyes of the travelers, and
they would not lose a single detail.

Under the glasses the disc appeared at the distance of five miles.
What would an aeronaut, borne to this distance from the earth, distinguish
on its surface? We cannot say, since the greatest ascension has not
been more than 25,000 feet.

This, however, is an exact description of what Barbicane and his companions
saw at this height. Large patches of different colors appeared on
the disc. Selenographers are not agreed upon the nature of these colors.
There are several, and rather vividly marked. Julius Schmidt pretends
that, if the terrestrial oceans were dried up, a Selenite observer
could not distinguish on the globe a greater diversity of shades between
the oceans and the continental plains than those on the moon present
to a terrestrial observer. According to him, the color common to the
vast plains known by the name of {}``seas''\ is a dark gray mixed
with green and brown. Some of the large craters present the same appearance.
Barbicane knew this opinion of the German selenographer, an opinion
shared by Boeer and Moedler. Observation has proved that right was
on their side, and not on that of some astronomers who admit the existence
of only gray on the moon's surface. In some parts green was very distinct,
such as springs, according to Julius Schmidt, from the seas of {}``Serenity
and Humors.'' Barbicane also noticed large craters, without any interior
cones, which shed a bluish tint similar to the reflection of a sheet
of steel freshly polished. These colors belonged really to the lunar
disc, and did not result, as some astronomers say, either from the
imperfection in the objective of the glasses or from the interposition
of the terrestrial atmosphere.

Not a doubt existed in Barbicane's mind with regard to it, as he observed
it through space, and so could not commit any optical error. He considered
the establishment of this fact as an acquisition to science. Now,
were these shades of green, belonging to tropical vegetation, kept
up by a low dense atmosphere? He could not yet say.

Farther on, he noticed a reddish tint, quite defined. The same shade
had before been observed at the bottom of an isolated enclosure, known
by the name of Lichtenburg's circle, which is situated near the Hercynian
mountains, on the borders of the moon; but they could not tell the
nature of it.

They were not more fortunate with regard to another peculiarity of
the disc, for they could not decide upon the cause of it.

Michel Ardan was watching near the president, when he noticed long
white lines, vividly lighted up by the direct rays of the sun. It
was a succession of luminous furrows, very different from the radiation
of Copernicus not long before; they ran parallel with each other.

Michel, with his usual readiness, hastened to exclaim:\ 

{}``Look there!\ cultivated fields!''

{}``Cultivated fields!''\ replied Nicholl, shrugging his shoulders.

{}``Plowed, at all events,''\ retorted Michel Ardan; {}``but what
laborers those Selenites must be, and what giant oxen they must harness
to their plow to cut such furrows!''

{}``They are not furrows,''\ said Barbicane; {}``they are \textit{rifts}.''

{}``Rifts?\ stuff!''\ replied Michel mildly; {}``but what do
you mean by `rifts'\ in the scientific world?''

Barbicane immediately enlightened his companion as to what he knew
about lunar rifts. He knew that they were a kind of furrow found on
every part of the disc which was not mountainous; that these furrows,
generally isolated, measured from 400 to 500 leagues in length; that
their breadth varied from 1,000 to 1,500 yards, and that their borders
were strictly parallel; but he knew nothing more either of their formation
or their nature.

Barbicane, through his glasses, observed these rifts with great attention.
He noticed that their borders were formed of steep declivities; they
were long parallel ramparts, and with some small amount of imagination
he might have admitted the existence of long lines of fortifications,
raised by Selenite engineers. Of these different rifts some were perfectly
straight, as if cut by a line; others were slightly curved, though
still keeping their borders parallel; some crossed each other, some
cut through craters; here they wound through ordinary cavities, such
as Posidonius or Petavius; there they wound through the seas, such
as the {}``Sea of Serenity.''

These natural accidents naturally excited the imaginations of these
terrestrial astronomers. The first observations had not discovered
these rifts. Neither Hevelius, Cassin, La Hire, nor Herschel seemed
to have known them. It was Schroeter who in 1789 first drew attention
to them. Others followed who studied them, as Pastorff, Gruithuysen,
Boeer, and Moedler. At this time their number amounts to seventy;
but, if they have been counted, their nature has not yet been determined;
they are certainly \textit{not}\ fortifications, any more than they
are the ancient beds of dried-up rivers; for, on one side, the waters,
so slight on the moon's surface, could never have worn such drains
for themselves; and, on the other, they often cross craters of great
elevation.

We must, however, allow that Michel Ardan had {}``an idea,''\ and
that, without knowing it, he coincided in that respect with Julius
Schmidt.

{}``Why,''\ said he, {}``should not these unaccountable appearances
be simply phenomena of vegetation?''

{}``What do you mean?''\ asked Barbicane quickly.

{}``Do not excite yourself, my worthy president,''\ replied Michel;
{}``might it not be possible that the dark lines forming that bastion
were rows of trees regularly placed?''

{}``You stick to your vegetation, then?''\ said Barbicane.

{}``I like,''\ retorted Michel Ardan, {}``to explain what you
savants cannot explain; at least my hypotheses has the advantage of
indicating why these rifts disappear, or seem to disappear, at certain
seasons.''

{}``And for what reason?''

{}``For the reason that the trees become invisible when they lose
their leaves, and visible again when they regain them.''

{}``Your explanation is ingenious, my dear companion,''\ replied
Barbicane, {}``but inadmissible.''

{}``Why?''

{}``Because, so to speak, there are no seasons on the moon's surface,
and that, consequently, the phenomena of vegetation of which you speak
cannot occur.''

Indeed, the slight obliquity of the lunar axis keeps the sun at an
almost equal height in every latitude. Above the equatorial regions
the radiant orb almost invariably occupies the zenith, and does not
pass the limits of the horizon in the polar regions; thus, according
to each region, there reigns a perpetual winter, spring, summer, or
autumn, as in the planet Jupiter, whose axis is but little inclined
upon its orbit.

What origin do they attribute to these rifts? That is a question difficult
to solve. They are certainly anterior to the formation of craters
and circles, for several have introduced themselves by breaking through
their circular ramparts. Thus it may be that, contemporary with the
later geological epochs, they are due to the expansion of natural
forces.

But the projectile had now attained the fortieth degree of lunar latitude,
at a distance not exceeding 400 miles. Through the glasses objects
appeared to be only four miles distant.

At this point, under their feet, rose Mount Helicon, 1,520 feet high,
and round about the left rose moderate elevations, enclosing a small
portion of the {}``Sea of Rains,''\ under the name of the Gulf
of Iris. The terrestrial atmosphere would have to be one hundred and
seventy times more transparent than it is, to allow astronomers to
make perfect observations on the moon's surface; but in the void in
which the projectile floated no fluid interposed itself between the
eye of the observer and the object observed. And more, Barbicane found
himself carried to a greater distance than the most powerful telescopes
had ever done before, either that of Lord Rosse or that of the Rocky
Mountains. He was, therefore, under extremely favorable conditions
for solving that great question of the habitability of the moon; but
the solution still escaped him; he could distinguish nothing but desert
beds, immense plains, and toward the north, arid mountains. Not a
work betrayed the hand of man; not a ruin marked his course; not a
group of animals was to be seen indicating life, even in an inferior
degree. In no part was there life, in no part was there an appearance
of vegetation. Of the three kingdoms which share the terrestrial globe
between them, one alone was represented on the lunar and that the
mineral.

{}``Ah, indeed!''\ said Michel Ardan, a little out of countenance;
{}``then you see no one?''

{}``No,''\ answered Nicholl; {}``up to this time, not a man, not
an animal, not a tree! After all, whether the atmosphere has taken
refuge at the bottom of cavities, in the midst of the circles, or
even on the opposite face of the moon, we cannot decide.''

{}``Besides,''\ added Barbicane, {}``even to the most piercing
eye a man cannot be distinguished farther than three and a half miles
off; so that, if there are any Selenites, they can see our projectile,
but we cannot see them.''

Toward four in the morning, at the height of the fiftieth parallel,
the distance was reduced to 300 miles. To the left ran a line of mountains
capriciously shaped, lying in the full light. To the right, on the
contrary, lay a black hollow resembling a vast well, unfathomable
and gloomy, drilled into the lunar soil.

This hole was the {}``Black Lake''; it was Pluto, a deep circle
which can be conveniently studied from the earth, between the last
quarter and the new moon, when the shadows fall from west to east.

This black color is rarely met with on the surface of the satellite.
As yet it has only been recognized in the depths of the circle of
Endymion, to the east of the {}``Cold Sea,''\ in the northern hemisphere,
and at the bottom of Grimaldi's circle, on the equator, toward the
eastern border of the orb.

Pluto is an annular mountain, situated in 51$^\circ$\ north latitude,
and 9$^\circ$\ east longitude. Its circuit is forty-seven miles
long and thirty-two broad.

Barbicane regretted that they were not passing directly above this
vast opening. There was an abyss to fathom, perhaps some mysterious
phenomenon to surprise; but the projectile's course could not be altered.
They must rigidly submit. They could not guide a balloon, still less
a projectile, when once enclosed within its walls. Toward five in
the morning the northern limits of the {}``Sea of Rains''\ was
at length passed. The mounts of Condamine and Fontenelle remained\mbox{---}one
on the right, the other on the left. That part of the disc beginning
with 60$^\circ$\ was becoming quite mountainous. The glasses brought
them to within two miles, less than that separating the summit of
Mont Blanc from the level of the sea. The whole region was bristling
with spikes and circles. Toward the 60$^\circ$\ Philolaus stood
predominant at a height of 5,550 feet with its elliptical crater,
and seen from this distance, the disc showed a very fantastical appearance.
Landscapes were presented to the eye under very different conditions
from those on the earth, and also very inferior to them.

The moon having no atmosphere, the consequences arising from the absence
of this gaseous envelope have already been shown. No twilight on her
surface; night following day and day following night with the suddenness
of a lamp which is extinguished or lighted amid profound darkness\mbox{---}no
transition from cold to heat, the temperature falling in an instant
from boiling point to the cold of space.

Another consequence of this want of air is that absolute darkness
reigns where the sun's rays do not penetrate. That which on earth
is called diffusion of light, that luminous matter which the air holds
in suspension, which creates the twilight and the daybreak, which
produces the \textit{umbrae}\ and \textit{penumbrae}, and all the
magic of \textit{chiaro-oscuro}, does not exist on the moon. Hence
the harshness of contrasts, which only admit of two colors, black
and white. If a Selenite were to shade his eyes from the sun's rays,
the sky would seem absolutely black, and the stars would shine to
him as on the darkest night. Judge of the impression produced on Barbicane
and his three friends by this strange scene! Their eyes were confused.
They could no longer grasp the respective distances of the different
plains. A lunar landscape without the softening of the phenomena of
\textit{chiaro-oscuro}\ could not be rendered by an earthly landscape
painter; it would be spots of ink on a white page\mbox{---}nothing
more.

This aspect was not altered even when the projectile, at the height
of 80$^\circ$, was only separated from the moon by a distance of
fifty miles; nor even when, at five in the morning, it passed at less
than twenty-five miles from the mountain of Gioja, a distance reduced
by the glasses to a quarter of a mile. It seemed as if the moon might
be touched by the hand! It seemed impossible that, before long, the
projectile would not strike her, if only at the north pole, the brilliant
arch of which was so distinctly visible on the black sky.

Michel Ardan wanted to open one of the scuttles and throw himself
on to the moon's surface! A very useless attempt; for if the projectile
could not attain any point whatever of the satellite, Michel, carried
along by its motion, could not attain it either.

At that moment, at six o'clock, the lunar pole appeared. The disc
only presented to the travelers'\ gaze one half brilliantly lit up,
while the other disappeared in the darkness. Suddenly the projectile
passed the line of demarcation between intense light and absolute
darkness, and was plunged in profound night!


\chapter*{\raggedright THE NIGHT OF THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOUR HOURS AND
A HALF}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Night of Three Hundred and\\
Fifty-Four Hours and a Half}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{The Night of 354 Hours and a Half}

At the moment when this phenomenon took place so rapidly, the projectile
was skirting the moon's north pole at less than twenty-five miles
distance. Some seconds had sufficed to plunge it into the absolute
darkness of space. The transition was so sudden, without shade, without
gradation of light, without attenuation of the luminous waves, that
the orb seemed to have been extinguished by a powerful blow.

{}``Melted, disappeared!''\ Michel Ardan exclaimed, aghast.

Indeed, there was neither reflection nor shadow. Nothing more was
to be seen of that disc, formerly so dazzling. The darkness was complete.\ and
rendered even more so by the rays from the stars. It was {}``that
blackness''\ in which the lunar nights are insteeped, which last
three hundred and fifty-four hours and a half at each point of the
disc, a long night resulting from the equality of the translatory
and rotary movements of the moon. The projectile, immerged in the
conical shadow of the satellite, experienced the action of the solar
rays no more than any of its invisible points.

In the interior, the obscurity was complete. They could not see each
other. Hence the necessity of dispelling the darkness. However desirous
Barbicane might be to husband the gas, the reserve of which was small,
he was obliged to ask from it a fictitious light, an expensive brilliancy
which the sun then refused.

{}``Devil take the radiant orb!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, {}``which
forces us to expend gas, instead of giving us his rays gratuitously.''

{}``Do not let us accuse the sun,''\ said Nicholl, {}``it is not
his fault, but that of the moon, which has come and placed herself
like a screen between us and it.''

{}``It is the sun!''\ continued Michel.

{}``It is the moon!''\ retorted Nicholl.

An idle dispute, which Barbicane put an end to by saying:\ 

{}``My friends, it is neither the fault of the sun nor of the moon;
it is the fault of the \textit{projectile}, which, instead of rigidly
following its course, has awkwardly missed it. To be more just, it
is the fault of that unfortunate meteor which has so deplorably altered
our first direction.''

{}``Well,''\ replied Michel Ardan, {}``as the matter is settled,
let us have breakfast. After a whole night of watching it is fair
to build ourselves up a little.''

This proposal meeting with no contradiction, Michel prepared the repast
in a few minutes. But they ate for eating's sake, they drank without
toasts, without hurrahs. The bold travelers being borne away into
gloomy space, without their accustomed \textit{cort\`{e}ge} of rays,
felt a vague uneasiness in their hearts. The {}``strange''\ shadow
so dear to Victor Hugo's pen bound them on all sides. But they talked
over the interminable night of three hundred and fifty-four hours
and a half, nearly fifteen days, which the law of physics has imposed
on the inhabitants of the moon.

Barbicane gave his friends some explanation of the causes and the
consequences of this curious phenomenon.

{}``Curious indeed,''\ said they; {}``for, if each hemisphere
of the moon is deprived of solar light for fifteen days, that above
which we now float does not even enjoy during its long night any view
of the earth so beautifully lit up. In a word she has no moon (applying
this designation to our globe)\ but on one side of her disc. Now
if this were the case with the earth\mbox{---}if, for example, Europe
never saw the moon, and she was only visible at the antipodes, imagine
to yourself the astonishment of a European on arriving in Australia.''

{}``They would make the voyage for nothing but to see the moon!''
replied Michel.

{}``Very well!''\ continued Barbicane, {}``that astonishment is
reserved for the Selenites who inhabit the face of the moon opposite
to the earth, a face which is ever invisible to our countrymen of
the terrestrial globe.''

{}``And which we should have seen,''\ added Nicholl, {}``if we
had arrived here when the moon was new, that is to say fifteen days
later.''

{}``I will add, to make amends,''\ continued Barbicane, {}``that
the inhabitants of the visible face are singularly favored by nature,
to the detriment of their brethren on the invisible face. The latter,
as you see, have dark nights of 354 hours, without one single ray
to break the darkness. The other, on the contrary, when the sun which
has given its light for fifteen days sinks below the horizon, see
a splendid orb rise on the opposite horizon. It is the earth, which
is thirteen times greater than the diminutive moon that we know\mbox{---}the
earth which developes itself at a diameter of two degrees, and which
sheds a light thirteen times greater than that qualified by atmospheric
strata\mbox{---}the earth which only disappears at the moment when
the sun reappears in its turn!''

{}``Nicely worded!''\ said Michel, {}``slightly academical perhaps.''

{}``It follows, then,''\ continued Barbicane, without knitting
his brows, {}``that the visible face of the disc must be very agreeable
to inhabit, since it always looks on either the sun when the moon
is full, or on the earth when the moon is new.''

{}``But,''\ said Nicholl, {}``that advantage must be well compensated
by the insupportable heat which the light brings with it.''

{}``The inconvenience, in that respect, is the same for the two faces,
for the earth's light is evidently deprived of heat. But the invisible
face is still more searched by the heat than the visible face. I say
that for \textit{you}, Nicholl, because Michel will probably not understand.''

{}``Thank you,''\ said Michel.

{}``Indeed,''\ continued Barbicane, {}``when the invisible face
receives at the same time light and heat from the sun, it is because
the moon is new; that is to say, she is situated between the sun and
the earth. It follows, then, considering the position which she occupies
in opposition when full, that she is nearer to the sun by twice her
distance from the earth; and that distance may be estimated at the
two-hundredth part of that which separates the sun from the earth,
or in round numbers 400,000 miles. So that invisible face is so much
nearer to the sun when she receives its rays.''

{}``Quite right,''\ replied Nicholl.

{}``On the contrary,''\ continued Barbicane.

{}``One moment,''\ said Michel, interrupting his grave companion.

{}``What do you want?''

{}``I ask to be allowed to continue the explanation.''

{}``And why?''

{}``To prove that I understand.''

{}``Get along with you,''\ said Barbicane, smiling.

{}``On the contrary,''\ said Michel, imitating the tone and gestures
of the president, {}``on the contrary, when the visible face of the
moon is lit by the sun, it is because the moon is full, that is to
say, opposite the sun with regard to the earth. The distance separating
it from the radiant orb is then increased in round numbers to 400,000
miles, and the heat which she receives must be a little less.''

{}``Very well said!''\ exclaimed Barbicane. {}``Do you know, Michel,
that, for an amateur, you are intelligent.''

{}``Yes,''\ replied Michel coolly, {}``we are all so on the Boulevard
des Italiens.''

Barbicane gravely grasped the hand of his amiable companion, and continued
to enumerate the advantages reserved for the inhabitants of the visible
face.

Among others, he mentioned eclipses of the sun, which only take place
on this side of the lunar disc; since, in order that they may take
place, it is necessary for the moon to be \textit{in opposition}.
These eclipses, caused by the interposition of the earth between the
moon and the sun, can last \textit{two hours}; during which time,
by reason of the rays refracted by its atmosphere, the terrestrial
globe can appear as nothing but a black point upon the sun.

{}``So,''\ said Nicholl, {}``there is a hemisphere, that invisible
hemisphere which is very ill supplied, very ill treated, by nature.''

{}``Never mind,''\ replied Michel; {}``if we ever become Selenites,
we will inhabit the visible face. I like the light.''

{}``Unless, by any chance,''\ answered Nicholl, {}``the atmosphere
should be condensed on the other side, as certain astronomers pretend.''

{}``That would be a consideration,''\ said Michel.

Breakfast over, the observers returned to their post. They tried to
see through the darkened scuttles by extinguishing all light in the
projectile; but not a luminous spark made its way through the darkness.

One inexplicable fact preoccupied Barbicane. Why, having passed within
such a short distance of the moon\mbox{---}about twenty-five miles
only\mbox{---}why the projectile had not fallen? If its speed had
been enormous, he could have understood that the fall would not have
taken place; but, with a relatively moderate speed, that resistance
to the moon's attraction could not be explained. Was the projectile
under some foreign influence? Did some kind of body retain it in the
ether? It was quite evident that it could never reach any point of
the moon. Whither was it going? Was it going farther from, or nearing,
the disc? Was it being borne in that profound darkness through the
infinity of space? How could they learn, how calculate, in the midst
of this night? All these questions made Barbicane uneasy, but he could
not solve them.

Certainly, the invisible orb was \textit{there}, perhaps only some
few miles off; but neither he nor his companions could see it. If
there was any noise on its surface, they could not hear it. Air, that
medium of sound, was wanting to transmit the groanings of that moon
which the Arabic legends call {}``a man already half granite, and
still breathing.''

One must allow that that was enough to aggravate the most patient
observers. It was just that unknown hemisphere which was stealing
from their sight. That face which fifteen days sooner, or fifteen
days later, had been, or would be, splendidly illuminated by the solar
rays, was then being lost in utter darkness. In fifteen days where
would the projectile be? Who could say? Where would the chances of
conflicting attractions have drawn it to? The disappointment of the
travelers in the midst of this utter darkness may be imagined. All
observation of the lunar disc was impossible. The constellations alone
claimed all their attention; and we must allow that the astronomers
Faye, Charconac, and Secchi, never found themselves in circumstances
so favorable for their observation.

Indeed, nothing could equal the splendor of this starry world, bathed
in limpid ether. Its diamonds set in the heavenly vault sparkled magnificently.
The eye took in the firmament from the Southern Cross to the North
Star, those two constellations which in 12,000 years, by reason of
the succession of equinoxes, will resign their part of the polar stars,
the one to Canopus in the southern hemisphere, the other to Wega in
the northern. Imagination loses itself in this sublime Infinity, amid
which the projectile was gravitating, like a new star created by the
hand of man. From a natural cause, these constellations shone with
a soft luster; they did not twinkle, for there was no atmosphere which,
by the intervention of its layers unequally dense and of different
degrees of humidity, produces this scintillation. These stars were
soft eyes, looking out into the dark night, amid the silence of absolute
space.

Long did the travelers stand mute, watching the constellated firmament,
upon which the moon, like a vast screen, made an enormous black hole.
But at length a painful sensation drew them from their watchings.
This was an intense cold, which soon covered the inside of the glass
of the scuttles with a thick coating of ice. The sun was no longer
warming the projectile with its direct rays, and thus it was losing
the heat stored up in its walls by degrees. This heat was rapidly
evaporating into space by radiation, and a considerably lower temperature
was the result. The humidity of the interior was changed into ice
upon contact with the glass, preventing all observation.

Nicholl consulted the thermometer, and saw that it had fallen to seventeen
degrees (Centigrade)\ below zero.%
\footnote{\ 1$^\circ$\ Fahrenheit.%
} So that, in spite of the many reasons for economizing, Barbicane,
after having begged light from the gas, was also obliged to beg for
heat. The projectile's low temperature was no longer endurable. Its
tenants would have been frozen to death.

{}``Well!''\ observed Michel, {}``we cannot reasonably complain
of the monotony of our journey! What variety we have had, at least
in temperature. Now we are blinded with light and saturated with heat,
like the Indians of the Pampas!\ now plunged into profound darkness,
amid the cold, like the Esquimaux of the north pole. No, indeed!\ we
have no right to complain; nature does wonders in our honor.''

{}``But,''\ asked Nicholl, {}``what is the temperature outside?''

{}``Exactly that of the planetary space,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``Then,''\ continued Michel Ardan, {}``would not this be the
time to make the experiment which we dared not attempt when we were
drowned in the sun's rays?

{}``It is now or never,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``for we are in
a good position to verify the temperature of space, and see if Fourier
or Pouillet's calculations are exact.''

{}``In any case it is cold,''\ said Michel. {}``See!\ the steam
of the interior is condensing on the glasses of the scuttles. If the
fall continues, the vapor of our breath will fall in snow around us.''

{}``Let us prepare a thermometer,''\ said Barbicane.

We may imagine that an ordinary thermometer would afford no result
under the circumstances in which this instrument was to be exposed.
The mercury would have been frozen in its ball, as below 42$^\circ$\ Fahrenheit
below zero it is no longer liquid. But Barbicane had furnished himself
with a spirit thermometer on Wafferdin's system, which gives the minima
of excessively low temperatures.

Before beginning the experiment, this instrument was compared with
an ordinary one, and then Barbicane prepared to use it.

{}``How shall we set about it?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``Nothing is easier,''\ replied Michel Ardan, who was never at
a loss. {}``We open the scuttle rapidly; throw out the instrument;
it follows the projectile with exemplary docility; and a quarter of
an hour after, draw it in.''

{}``With the hand?''\ asked Barbicane.

{}``With the hand,''\ replied Michel.

{}``Well, then, my friend, do not expose yourself,''\ answered
Barbicane, {}``for the hand that you draw in again will be nothing
but a stump frozen and deformed by the frightful cold.''

{}``Really!''

{}``You will feel as if you had had a terrible burn, like that of
iron at a white heat; for whether the heat leaves our bodies briskly
or enters briskly, it is exactly the same thing. Besides, I am not
at all certain that the objects we have thrown out are still following
us.''

{}``Why not?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``Because, if we are passing through an atmosphere of the slightest
density, these objects will be retarded. Again, the darkness prevents
our seeing if they still float around us. But in order not to expose
ourselves to the loss of our thermometer, we will fasten it, and we
can then more easily pull it back again.''

Barbicane's advice was followed. Through the scuttle rapidly opened,
Nicholl threw out the instrument, which was held by a short cord,
so that it might be more easily drawn up. The scuttle had not been
opened more than a second, but that second had sufficed to let in
a most intense cold.

{}``The devil!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, {}``it is cold enough
to freeze a white bear.''

Barbicane waited until half an hour had elapsed, which was more than
time enough to allow the instrument to fall to the level of the surrounding
temperature. Then it was rapidly pulled in.

Barbicane calculated the quantity of spirits of wine overflowed into
the little vial soldered to the lower part of the instrument, and
said:\ 

{}``A hundred and forty degrees Centigrade%
\footnote{218 degrees Fahrenheit below zero.%
} below zero!''

M.\ Pouillet was right and Fourier wrong. That was the undoubted
temperature of the starry space. Such is, perhaps, that of the lunar
continents, when the orb of night has lost by radiation all the heat
which fifteen days of sun have poured into her.


\chapter*{\raggedright HYPERBOLA OR PARABOLA}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Hyperbola or Parabola}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Hyperbola or Parabola}

We may, perhaps, be astonished to find Barbicane and his companions
so little occupied with the future reserved for them in their metal
prison which was bearing them through the infinity of space. Instead
of asking where they were going, they passed their time making experiments,
as if they had been quietly installed in their own study.

We might answer that men so strong-minded were above such anxieties\mbox{---}that
they did not trouble themselves about such trifles\mbox{---}and
that they had something else to do than to occupy their minds with
the future.

The truth was that they were not masters of their projectile; they
could neither check its course, nor alter its direction.

A sailor can change the head of his ship as he pleases; an aeronaut
can give a vertical motion to his balloon. They, on the contrary,
had no power over their vehicle. Every maneuver was forbidden. Hence
the inclination to let things alone, or as the sailors say, {}``let
her run.''

Where did they find themselves at this moment, at eight o'clock in
the morning of the day called upon the earth the 6th of December?
Very certainly in the neighborhood of the moon, and even near enough
for her to look to them like an enormous black screen upon the firmament.
As to the distance which separated them, it was impossible to estimate
it. The projectile, held by some unaccountable force, had been within
four miles of grazing the satellite's north pole.

But since entering the cone of shadow these last two hours, had the
distance increased or diminished? Every point of mark was wanting
by which to estimate both the direction and the speed of the projectile.

Perhaps it was rapidly leaving the disc, so that it would soon quit
the pure shadow. Perhaps, again, on the other hand, it might be nearing
it so much that in a short time it might strike some high point on
the invisible hemisphere, which would doubtlessly have ended the journey
much to the detriment of the travelers.

A discussion arose on this subject, and Michel Ardan, always ready
with an explanation, gave it as his opinion that the projectile, held
by the lunar attraction, would end by falling on the surface of the
terrestrial globe like an aerolite.

{}``First of all, my friend,''\ answered Barbicane, {}``every
aerolite does not fall to the earth; it is only a small proportion
which do so; and if we had passed into an aerolite, it does not necessarily
follow that we should ever reach the surface of the moon.''

{}``But how if we get near enough?''\ replied Michel.

{}``Pure mistake,''\ replied Barbicane. {}``Have you not seen
shooting stars rush through the sky by thousands at certain seasons?''

{}``Yes.''

{}``Well, these stars, or rather corpuscles, only shine when they
are heated by gliding over the atmospheric layers. Now, if they enter
the atmosphere, they pass at least within forty miles of the earth,
but they seldom fall upon it. The same with our projectile. It may
approach very near to the moon, and not yet fall upon it.''

{}``But then,''\ asked Michel, {}``I shall be curious to know
how our erring vehicle will act in space?''

{}``I see but two hypotheses,''\ replied Barbicane, after some
moments'\ reflection.

{}``What are they?''

{}``The projectile has the choice between two mathematical curves,
and it will follow one or the other according to the speed with which
it is animated, and which at this moment I cannot estimate.''

{}``Yes,''\ said Nicholl, {}``it will follow either a parabola
or a hyperbola.''

{}``Just so,''\ replied Barbicane. {}``With a certain speed it
will assume the parabola, and with a greater the hyperbola.''

{}``I like those grand words,''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan; {}``one
knows directly what they mean. And pray what is your parabola, if
you please?''

{}``My friend,''\ answered the captain, {}``the parabola is a
curve of the second order, the result of the section of a cone intersected
by a plane parallel to one of the sides.''

{}``Ah!\ ah!''\ said Michel, in a satisfied tone.

{}``It is very nearly,''\ continued Nicholl, {}``the course described
by a bomb launched from a mortar.''

{}``Perfect! And the hyperbola?''

{}``The hyperbola, Michel, is a curve of the second order, produced
by the intersection of a conic surface and a plane parallel to its
axis, and constitutes two branches separated one from the other, both
tending indefinitely in the two directions.''

{}``Is it possible!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan in a serious tone,
as if they had told him of some serious event. {}``What I particularly
like in your definition of the hyperbola (I was going to say hyperblague)\ is
that it is still more obscure than the word you pretend to define.''

Nicholl and Barbicane cared little for Michel Ardan's fun. They were
deep in a scientific discussion. What curve would the projectile follow?\ was
their hobby. One maintained the hyperbola, the other the parabola.
They gave each other reasons bristling with \textit{x}. Their arguments
were couched in language which made Michel jump. The discussion was
hot, and neither would give up his chosen curve to his adversary.

This scientific dispute lasted so long that it made Michel very impatient.

{}``Now, gentlemen cosines, will you cease to throw parabolas and
hyperbolas at each other's heads? I want to understand the only interesting
question in the whole affair. We shall follow one or the other of
these curves? Good. But where will they lead us to?''

{}``Nowhere,''\ replied Nicholl.

{}``How, nowhere?''

{}``Evidently,''\ said Barbicane, {}``they are open curves, which
may be prolonged indefinitely.''

{}``Ah, savants!''\ cried Michel; {}``and what are either the
one or the other to us from the moment we know that they equally lead
us into infinite space?''

Barbicane and Nicholl could not forbear smiling. They had just been
creating {}``art for art's sake.'' Never had so idle a question
been raised at such an inopportune moment. The sinister truth remained
that, whether hyperbolically or parabolically borne away, the projectile
would never again meet either the earth or the moon.

What would become of these bold travelers in the immediate future?
If they did not die of hunger, if they did not die of thirst, in some
days, when the gas failed, they would die from want of air, unless
the cold had killed them first. Still, important as it was to economize
the gas, the excessive lowness of the surrounding temperature obliged
them to consume a certain quantity. Strictly speaking, they could
do without its \textit{light}, but not without its \textit{heat}.
Fortunately the caloric generated by Reiset's and Regnaut's apparatus
raised the temperature of the interior of the projectile a little,
and without much expenditure they were able to keep it bearable.

But observations had now become very difficult.\  the dampness of
the projectile was condensed on the windows and congealed immediately.
This cloudiness had to be dispersed continually. In any case they
might hope to be able to discover some phenomena of the highest interest.

But up to this time the disc remained dumb and dark. It did not answer
the multiplicity of questions put by these ardent minds; a matter
which drew this reflection from Michel, apparently a just one:\ 

{}``If ever we begin this journey over again, we shall do well to
choose the time when the moon is at the full.''

{}``Certainly,''\ said Nicholl, {}``that circumstance will be
more favorable. I allow that the moon, immersed in the sun's rays,
will not be visible during the transit, but instead we should see
the earth, which would be full. And what is more, if we were drawn
round the moon, as at this moment, we should at least have the advantage
of seeing the invisible part of her disc magnificently lit.''

{}``Well said, Nicholl,''\ replied Michel Ardan. {}``What do you
think, Barbicane?''

{}``I think this,''\ answered the grave president: {}``If ever
we begin this journey again, we shall start at the same time and under
the same conditions. Suppose we had attained our end, would it not
have been better to have found continents in broad daylight than a
country plunged in utter darkness? Would not our first installation
have been made under better circumstances? Yes, evidently. As to the
invisible side, we could have visited it in our exploring expeditions
on the lunar globe. So that the time of the full moon was well chosen.
But we ought to have arrived at the end; and in order to have so arrived,
we ought to have suffered no deviation on the road.''

{}``I have nothing to say to that,''\ answered Michel Ardan. {}``Here
is, however, a good opportunity lost of observing the other side of
the moon.''

But the projectile was now describing in the shadow that incalculable
course which no sight-mark would allow them to ascertain. Had its
direction been altered, either by the influence of the lunar attraction,
or by the action of some unknown star? Barbicane could not say. But
a change had taken place in the relative position of the vehicle;
and Barbicane verified it about four in the morning.

The change consisted in this, that the base of the projectile had
turned toward the moon's surface, and was so held by a perpendicular
passing through its axis. The attraction, that is to say the weight,
had brought about this alteration. The heaviest part of the projectile
inclined toward the invisible disc as if it would fall upon it.

Was it falling? Were the travelers attaining that much desired end?
No. And the observation of a sign-point, quite inexplicable in itself,
showed Barbicane that his projectile was not nearing the moon, and
that it had shifted by following an almost concentric curve.

This point of mark was a luminous brightness, which Nicholl sighted
suddenly, on the limit of the horizon formed by the black disc. This
point could not be confounded with a star. It was a reddish incandescence
which increased by degrees, a decided proof that the projectile was
shifting toward it and not falling normally on the surface of the
moon.

{}``A volcano!\ it is a volcano in action!''\ cried Nicholl; {}``a
disemboweling of the interior fires of the moon! That world is not
quite extinguished.''

{}``Yes, an eruption,''\ replied Barbicane, who was carefully studying
the phenomenon through his night glass. {}``What should it be, if
not a volcano?''

{}``But, then,''\ said Michel Ardan, {}``in order to maintain
that combustion, there must be air. So the atmosphere does surround
that part of the moon.''

{}``Perhaps so,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``but not necessarily.
The volcano, by the decomposition of certain substances, can provide
its own oxygen, and thus throw flames into space. It seems to me that
the deflagration, by the intense brilliancy of the substances in combustion,
is produced in pure oxygen. We must not be in a hurry to proclaim
the existence of a lunar atmosphere.''

The fiery mountain must have been situated about the 45$^\circ$\ south
latitude on the invisible part of the disc; but, to Barbicane's great
displeasure, the curve which the projectile was describing was taking
it far from the point indicated by the eruption. Thus he could not
determine its nature exactly. Half an hour after being sighted, this
luminous point had disappeared behind the dark horizon; but the verification
of this phenomenon was of considerable consequence in their selenographic
studies. It proved that all heat had not yet disappeared from the
bowels of this globe; and where heat exists, who can affirm that the
vegetable kingdom, nay, even the animal kingdom itself, has not up
to this time resisted all destructive influences? The existence of
this volcano in eruption, unmistakably seen by these earthly savants,
would doubtless give rise to many theories favorable to the grave
question of the habitability of the moon.

Barbicane allowed himself to be carried away by these reflections.
He forgot himself in a deep reverie in which the mysterious destiny
of the lunar world was uppermost. He was seeking to combine together
the facts observed up to that time, when a new incident recalled him
briskly to reality. This incident was more than a cosmical phenomenon;
it was a threatened danger, the consequence of which might be disastrous
in the extreme.

Suddenly, in the midst of the ether, in the profound darkness, an
enormous mass appeared. It was like a moon, but an incandescent moon
whose brilliancy was all the more intolerable as it cut sharply on
the frightful darkness of space. This mass, of a circular form, threw
a light which filled the projectile. The forms of Barbicane, Nicholl,
and Michel Ardan, bathed in its white sheets, assumed that livid spectral
appearance which physicians produce with the fictitious light of alcohol
impregnated with salt.

{}``By Jove!''\ cried Michel Ardan, {}``we are hideous. What is
that ill-conditioned moon?''

{}``A meteor,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``A meteor burning in space?''

{}``Yes.''

This shooting globe suddenly appearing in shadow at a distance of
at most 200 miles, ought, according to Barbicane, to have a diameter
of 2,000 yards. It advanced at a speed of about one mile and a half
per second. It cut the projectile's path and must reach it in some
minutes. As it approached it grew to enormous proportions.

Imagine, if possible, the situation of the travelers! It is impossible
to describe it. In spite of their courage, their \textit{sang-froid},
their carelessness of danger, they were mute, motionless with stiffened
limbs, a prey to frightful terror. Their projectile, the course of
which they could not alter, was rushing straight on this ignited mass,
more intense than the open mouth of an oven. It seemed as though they
were being precipitated toward an abyss of fire.

Barbicane had seized the hands of his two companions, and all three
looked through their half-open eyelids upon that asteroid heated to
a white heat. If thought was not destroyed within them, if their brains
still worked amid all this awe, they must have given themselves up
for lost.

Two minutes after the sudden appearance of the meteor (to them two
centuries of anguish)\ the projectile seemed almost about to strike
it, when the globe of fire burst like a bomb, but without making any
noise in that void where sound, which is but the agitation of the
layers of air, could not be generated.

Nicholl uttered a cry, and he and his companions rushed to the scuttle.
What a sight! What pen can describe it? What palette is rich enough
in colors to reproduce so magnificent a spectacle?

It was like the opening of a crater, like the scattering of an immense
conflagration. Thousands of luminous fragments lit up and irradiated
space with their fires. Every size, every color, was there intermingled.
There were rays of yellow and pale yellow, red, green, gray\mbox{---}a
crown of fireworks of all colors. Of the enormous and much-dreaded
globe there remained nothing but these fragments carried in all directions,
now become asteroids in their turn, some flaming like a sword, some
surrounded by a whitish cloud, and others leaving behind them trains
of brilliant cosmical dust.

These incandescent blocks crossed and struck each other, scattering
still smaller fragments, some of which struck the projectile. Its
left scuttle was even cracked by a violent shock. It seemed to be
floating amid a hail of howitzer shells, the smallest of which might
destroy it instantly.

The light which saturated the ether was so wonderfully intense, that
Michel, drawing Barbicane and Nicholl to his window, exclaimed, {}``The
invisible moon, visible at last!''

And through a luminous emanation, which lasted some seconds, the whole
three caught a glimpse of that mysterious disc which the eye of man
now saw for the first time. What could they distinguish at a distance
which they could not estimate? Some lengthened bands along the disc,
real clouds formed in the midst of a very confined atmosphere, from
which emerged not only all the mountains, but also projections of
less importance; its circles, its yawning craters, as capriciously
placed as on the visible surface. Then immense spaces, no longer arid
plains, but real seas, oceans, widely distributed, reflecting on their
liquid surface all the dazzling magic of the fires of space; and,
lastly, on the surface of the continents, large dark masses, looking
like immense forests under the rapid illumination of a brilliance.

Was it an illusion, a mistake, an optical illusion? Could they give
a scientific assent to an observation so superficially obtained? Dared
they pronounce upon the question of its habitability after so slight
a glimpse of the invisible disc?

But the lightnings in space subsided by degrees; its accidental brilliancy
died away; the asteroids dispersed in different directions and were
extinguished in the distance.

The ether returned to its accustomed darkness; the stars, eclipsed
for a moment, again twinkled in the firmament, and the disc, so hastily
discerned, was again buried in impenetrable night.


\chapter*{\raggedright THE SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Southern Hemisphere}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{The Southern Hemisphere}

The projectile had just escaped a terrible danger, and a very unforseen
one. Who would have thought of such an encounter with meteors? These
erring bodies might create serious perils for the travelers. They
were to them so many sandbanks upon that sea of ether which, less
fortunate than sailors, they could not escape. But did these adventurers
complain of space? No, not since nature had given them the splendid
sight of a cosmical meteor bursting from expansion, since this inimitable
firework, which no Ruggieri could imitate, had lit up for some seconds
the invisible glory of the moon. In that flash, continents, seas,
and forests had become visible to them. Did an atmosphere, then, bring
to this unknown face its life-giving atoms? Questions still insoluble,
and forever closed against human curiousity!

It was then half-past three in the afternoon. The projectile was following
its curvilinear direction round the moon. Had its course again been
altered by the meteor? It was to be feared so. But the projectile
must describe a curve unalterably determined by the laws of mechanical
reasoning. Barbicane was inclined to believe that this curve would
be rather a parabola than a hyperbola. But admitting the parabola,
the projectile must quickly have passed through the cone of shadow
projected into space opposite the sun. This cone, indeed, is very
narrow, the angular diameter of the moon being so little when compared
with the diameter of the orb of day; and up to this time the projectile
had been floating in this deep shadow. Whatever had been its speed
(and it could not have been insignificant), its period of occultation
continued. That was evident, but perhaps that would not have been
the case in a supposedly rigidly parabolical trajectory\mbox{---}a
new problem which tormented Barbicane's brain, imprisoned as he was
in a circle of unknowns which he could not unravel.

Neither of the travelers thought of taking an instant's repose. Each
one watched for an unexpected fact, which might throw some new light
on their uranographic studies. About five o'clock, Michel Ardan distributed,
under the name of dinner, some pieces of bread and cold meat, which
were quickly swallowed without either of them abandoning their scuttle,
the glass of which was incessantly encrusted by the condensation of
vapor.

About forty-five minutes past five in the evening, Nicholl, armed
with his glass, sighted toward the southern border of the moon, and
in the direction followed by the projectile, some bright points cut
upon the dark shield of the sky. They looked like a succession of
sharp points lengthened into a tremulous line. They were very bright.
Such appeared the terminal line of the moon when in one of her octants.

They could not be mistaken. It was no longer a simple meteor. This
luminous ridge had neither color nor motion. Nor was it a volcano
in eruption. And Barbicane did not hesitate to pronounce upon it.

{}``The sun!''\ he exclaimed.

{}``What!\ the sun?''\ answered Nicholl and Michel Ardan.

{}``Yes, my friends, it is the radiant orb itself lighting up the
summit of the mountains situated on the southern borders of the moon.
We are evidently nearing the south pole.''

{}``After having passed the north pole,''\ replied Michel. {}``We
have made the circuit of our satellite, then?''

{}``Yes, my good Michel.''

{}``Then, no more hyperbolas, no more parabolas, no more open curves
to fear?''

{}``No, but a closed curve.''

{}``Which is called\mbox{---}''

{}``An ellipse. Instead of losing itself in interplanetary space,
it is probable that the projectile will describe an elliptical orbit
around the moon.''

{}``Indeed!''

{}``And that it will become \textit{her}\ satellite.''

{}``Moon of the moon!''\ cried Michel Ardan.

{}``Only, I would have you observe, my worthy friend,''\ replied
Barbicane, {}``that we are none the less lost for that.''

{}``Yes, in another manner, and much more pleasantly,''\ answered
the careless Frenchman with his most amiable smile.


\chapter*{\raggedright TYCHO}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Tycho}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Tycho}

At six in the evening the projectile passed the south pole at less
than forty miles off, a distance equal to that already reached at
the north pole. The elliptical curve was being rigidly carried out.

At this moment the travelers once more entered the blessed rays of
the sun. They saw once more those stars which move slowly from east
to west. The radiant orb was saluted by a triple hurrah. With its
light it also sent heat, which soon pierced the metal walls. The glass
resumed its accustomed appearance. The layers of ice melted as if
by enchantment; and immediately, for economy's sake, the gas was put
out, the air apparatus alone consuming its usual quantity.

{}``Ah!''\ said Nicholl, {}``these rays of heat are good. With
what impatience must the Selenites wait the reappearance of the orb
of day.''

{}``Yes,''\ replied Michel Ardan, {}``imbibing as it were the
brilliant ether, light and heat, all life is contained in them.''

At this moment the bottom of the projectile deviated somewhat from
the lunar surface, in order to follow the slightly lengthened elliptical
orbit. From this point, had the earth been at the full, Barbicane
and his companions could have seen it, but immersed in the sun's irradiation
she was quite invisible. Another spectacle attracted their attention,
that of the southern part of the moon, brought by the glasses to within
450 yards. They did not again leave the scuttles, and noted every
detail of this fantastical continent.

Mounts Doerful and Leibnitz formed two separate groups very near the
south pole. The first group extended from the pole to the eighty-fourth
parallel, on the eastern part of the orb; the second occupied the
eastern border, extending from the 65$^\circ$\ of latitude to the
pole.

On their capriciously formed ridge appeared dazzling sheets, as mentioned
by Pere Secchi. With more certainty than the illustrious Roman astronomer,
Barbicane was enabled to recognize their nature.

{}``They are snow,''\ he exclaimed.

{}``Snow?''\ repeated Nicholl.

{}``Yes, Nicholl, snow; the surface of which is deeply frozen. See
how they reflect the luminous rays. Cooled lava would never give out
such intense reflection. There must then be water, there must be air
on the moon. As little as you please, but the fact can no longer be
contested.'' No, it could not be. And if ever Barbicane should see
the earth again, his notes will bear witness to this great fact in
his selenographic observations.

These mountains of Doerful and Leibnitz rose in the midst of plains
of a medium extent, which were bounded by an indefinite succession
of circles and annular ramparts. These two chains are the only ones
met with in this region of circles. Comparatively but slightly marked,
they throw up here and there some sharp points, the highest summit
of which attains an altitude of 24,600 feet.

But the projectile was high above all this landscape, and the projections
disappeared in the intense brilliancy of the disc. And to the eyes
of the travelers there reappeared that original aspect of the lunar
landscapes, raw in tone, without gradation of colors, and without
degrees of shadow, roughly black and white, from the want of diffusion
of light.

But the sight of this desolate world did not fail to captivate them
by its very strangeness. They were moving over this region as if they
had been borne on the breath of some storm, watching heights defile
under their feet, piercing the cavities with their eyes, going down
into the rifts, climbing the ramparts, sounding these mysterious holes,
and leveling all cracks. But no trace of vegetation, no appearance
of cities; nothing but stratification, beds of lava, overflowings
polished like immense mirrors, reflecting the sun's rays with overpowering
brilliancy. Nothing belonging to a \textit{living}\ world\mbox{---}everything
to a dead world, where avalanches, rolling from the summits of the
mountains, would disperse noiselessly at the bottom of the abyss,
retaining the motion, but wanting the sound. In any case it was the
image of death, without its being possible even to say that life had
ever existed there.

Michel Ardan, however, thought he recognized a heap of ruins, to which
he drew Barbicane's attention. It was about the 80th parallel, in
30$^\circ$\ longitude. This heap of stones, rather regularly placed,
represented a vast fortress, overlooking a long rift, which in former
days had served as a bed to the rivers of prehistorical times. Not
far from that, rose to a height of 17,400 feet the annular mountain
of Short, equal to the Asiatic Caucasus. Michel Ardan, with his accustomed
ardor, maintained {}``the evidences''\ of his fortress. Beneath
it he discerned the dismantled ramparts of a town; here the still
intact arch of a portico, there two or three columns lying under their
base; farther on, a succession of arches which must have supported
the conduit of an aqueduct; in another part the sunken pillars of
a gigantic bridge, run into the thickest parts of the rift. He distinguished
all this, but with so much imagination in his glance, and through
glasses so fantastical, that we must mistrust his observation. But
who could affirm, who would dare to say, that the amiable fellow did
not really see that which his two companions would not see?

Moments were too precious to be sacrificed in idle discussion. The
selenite city, whether imaginary or not, had already disappeared afar
off. The distance of the projectile from the lunar disc was on the
increase, and the details of the soil were being lost in a confused
jumble. The reliefs, the circles, the craters, and the plains alone
remained, and still showed their boundary lines distinctly. At this
moment, to the left, lay extended one of the finest circles of lunar
orography, one of the curiosities of this continent. It was Newton,
which Barbicane recognized without trouble, by referring to the \textit{Mappa
Selenographica}.

Newton is situated in exactly 77$^\circ$\ south latitude, and 16$^\circ$
east longitude. It forms an annular crater, the ramparts of which,
rising to a height of 21,300 feet, seemed to be impassable.

Barbicane made his companions observe that the height of this mountain
above the surrounding plain was far from equaling the depth of its
crater. This enormous hole was beyond all measurement, and formed
a gloomy abyss, the bottom of which the sun's rays could never reach.
There, according to Humboldt, reigns utter darkness, which the light
of the sun and the earth cannot break. Mythologists could well have
made it the mouth of hell.

{}``Newton,''\ said Barbicane, {}``is the most perfect type of
these annular mountains, of which the earth possesses no sample. They
prove that the moon's formation, by means of cooling, is due to violent
causes; for while, under the pressure of internal fires the reliefs
rise to considerable height, the depths withdraw far below the lunar
level.''

{}``I do not dispute the fact,''\ replied Michel Ardan.

Some minutes after passing Newton, the projectile directly overlooked
the annular mountains of Moret. It skirted at some distance the summits
of Blancanus, and at about half-past seven in the evening reached
the circle of Clavius.

This circle, one of the most remarkable of the disc, is situated in
58$^\circ$\ south latitude, and 15$^\circ$\ east longitude. Its
height is estimated at 22,950 feet. The travelers, at a distance of
twenty-four miles (reduced to four by their glasses)\ could admire
this vast crater in its entirety.

{}``Terrestrial volcanoes,''\ said Barbicane, {}``are but mole-hills
compared with those of the moon. Measuring the old craters formed
by the first eruptions of Vesuvius and Etna, we find them little more
than three miles in breadth. In France the circle of Cantal measures
six miles across; at Ceyland the circle of the island is forty miles,
which is considered the largest on the globe. What are these diameters
against that of Clavius, which we overlook at this moment?''

{}``What is its breadth?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``It is 150 miles,''\ replied Barbicane. {}``This circle is
certainly the most important on the moon, but many others measure
150, 100, or 75 miles.''

{}``Ah!\ my friends,''\ exclaimed Michel, {}``can you picture
to yourselves what this now peaceful orb of night must have been when
its craters, filled with thunderings, vomited at the same time smoke
and tongues of flame. What a wonderful spectacle then, and now what
decay! This moon is nothing more than a thin carcase of fireworks,
whose squibs, rockets, serpents, and suns, after a superb brilliancy,
have left but sadly broken cases. Who can say the cause, the reason,
the motive force of these cataclysms?''

Barbicane was not listening to Michel Ardan; he was contemplating
these ramparts of Clavius, formed by large mountains spread over several
miles. At the bottom of the immense cavity burrowed hundreds of small
extinguished craters, riddling the soil like a colander, and overlooked
by a peak 15,000 feet high.

Around the plain appeared desolate. Nothing so arid as these reliefs,
nothing so sad as these ruins of mountains, and (if we may so express
ourselves)\ these fragments of peaks and mountains which strewed
the soil. The satellite seemed to have burst at this spot.

The projectile was still advancing, and this movement did not subside.
Circles, craters, and uprooted mountains succeeded each other incessantly.
No more plains; no more seas. A never ending Switzerland and Norway.
And lastly, in the canter of this region of crevasses, the most splendid
mountain on the lunar disc, the dazzling Tycho, in which posterity
will ever preserve the name of the illustrious Danish astronomer.

In observing the full moon in a cloudless sky no one has failed to
remark this brilliant point of the southern hemisphere. Michel Ardan
used every metaphor that his imagination could supply to designate
it by. To him this Tycho was a focus of light, a center of irradiation,
a crater vomiting rays. It was the tire of a brilliant wheel, an \textit{asteria}\ enclosing
the disc with its silver tentacles, an enormous eye filled with flames,
a glory carved for Pluto's head, a star launched by the Creator's
hand, and crushed against the face of the moon!

Tycho forms such a concentration of light that the inhabitants of
the earth can see it without glasses, though at a distance of 240,000
miles! Imagine, then, its intensity to the eye of observers placed
at a distance of only fifty miles! Seen through this pure ether, its
brilliancy was so intolerable that Barbicane and his friends were
obliged to blacken their glasses with the gas smoke before they could
bear the splendor. Then silent, scarcely uttering an interjection
of admiration, they gazed, they contemplated. All their feelings,
all their impressions, were concentrated in that look, as under any
violent emotion all life is concentrated at the heart.

Tycho belongs to the system of radiating mountains, like Aristarchus
and Copernicus; but it is of all the most complete and decided, showing
unquestionably the frightful volcanic action to which the formation
of the moon is due. Tycho is situated in 43$^\circ$\ south latitude,
and 12$^\circ$\ east longitude. Its center is occupied by a crater
fifty miles broad. It assumes a slightly elliptical form, and is surrounded
by an enclosure of annular ramparts, which on the east and west overlook
the outer plain from a height of 15,000 feet. It is a group of Mont
Blancs, placed round one common center and crowned by radiating beams.

What this incomparable mountain really is, with all the projections
converging toward it, and the interior excrescences of its crater,
photography itself could never represent. Indeed, it is during the
full moon that Tycho is seen in all its splendor. Then all shadows
disappear, the foreshortening of perspective disappears, and all proofs
become white\mbox{---}a disagreeable fact: for this strange region
would have been marvelous if reproduced with photographic exactness.
It is but a group of hollows, craters, circles, a network of crests;
then, as far as the eye could see, a whole volcanic network cast upon
this encrusted soil. One can then understand that the bubbles of this
central eruption have kept their first form. Crystallized by cooling,
they have stereotyped that aspect which the moon formerly presented
when under the Plutonian forces.

The distance which separated the travelers from the annular summits
of Tycho was not so great but that they could catch the principal
details. Even on the causeway forming the fortifications of Tycho,
the mountains hanging on to the interior and exterior sloping flanks
rose in stories like gigantic terraces. They appeared to be higher
by 300 or 400 feet to the west than to the east. No system of terrestrial
encampment could equal these natural fortifications. A town built
at the bottom of this circular cavity would have been utterly inaccessible.

Inaccessible and wonderfully extended over this soil covered with
picturesque projections! Indeed, nature had not left the bottom of
this crater flat and empty. It possessed its own peculiar orography,
a mountainous system, making it a world in itself. The travelers could
distinguish clearly cones, central hills, remarkable positions of
the soil, naturally placed to receive the \textit{chefs-d'oeuvre}\ of
Selenite architecture. There was marked out the place for a temple,
here the ground of a forum, on this spot the plan of a palace, in
another the plateau for a citadel; the whole overlooked by a central
mountain of 1,500 feet. A vast circle, in which ancient Rome could
have been held in its entirety ten times over.

{}``Ah!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, enthusiastic at the sight; {}``what
a grand town might be constructed within that ring of mountains! A
quiet city, a peaceful refuge, beyond all human misery. How calm and
isolated those misanthropes, those haters of humanity might live there,
and all who have a distaste for social life!''

{}``All! It would be too small for them,''\ replied Barbicane simply.


\chapter*{\raggedright GRAVE QUESTIONS}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Grave Questions}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Grave Questions}

But the projectile had passed the \textit{enceinte}\ of Tycho, and
Barbicane and his two companions watched with scrupulous attention
the brilliant rays which the celebrated mountain shed so curiously
over the horizon.

What was this radiant glory? What geological phenomenon had designed
these ardent beams? This question occupied Barbicane's mind.

Under his eyes ran in all directions luminous furrows, raised at the
edges and concave in the center, some twelve miles, others thirty
miles broad. These brilliant trains extended in some places to within
600 miles of Tycho, and seemed to cover, particularly toward the east,
the northeast and the north, the half of the southern hemisphere.
One of these jets extended as far as the circle of Neander, situated
on the 40th meridian. Another, by a slight curve, furrowed the {}``Sea
of Nectar,''\ breaking against the chain of Pyrenees, after a circuit
of 800 miles. Others, toward the west, covered the {}``Sea of Clouds''\ and
the {}``Sea of Humors''\ with a luminous network. What was the
origin of these sparkling rays, which shone on the plains as well
as on the reliefs, at whatever height they might be? All started from
a common center, the crater of Tycho. They sprang from him. Herschel
attributed their brilliancy to currents of lava congealed by the cold;
an opinion, however, which has not been generally adopted. Other astronomers
have seen in these inexplicable rays a kind of moraines, rows of erratic
blocks, which had been thrown up at the period of Tycho's formation.

{}``And why not?''\ asked Nicholl of Barbicane, who was relating
and rejecting these different opinions.

{}``Because the regularity of these luminous lines, and the violence
necessary to carry volcanic matter to such distances, is inexplicable.''

{}``Eh!\ by Jove!''\ replied Michel Ardan, {}``it seems easy
enough to me to explain the origin of these rays.''

{}``Indeed?''\ said Barbicane.

{}``Indeed,''\ continued Michel. {}``It is enough to say that
it is a vast star, similar to that produced by a ball or a stone thrown
at a square of glass!''

{}``Well!''\ replied Barbicane, smiling. {}``And what hand would
be powerful enough to throw a ball to give such a shock as that?''

{}``The hand is not necessary,''\ answered Nicholl, not at all
confounded; {}``and as to the stone, let us suppose it to be a comet.''

{}``Ah!\ those much-abused comets!''\ exclaimed Barbicane. {}``My
brave Michel, your explanation is not bad; but your comet is useless.
The shock which produced that rent must have some from the inside
of the star. A violent contraction of the lunar crust, while cooling,
might suffice to imprint this gigantic star.''

{}``A contraction!\ something like a lunar stomach-ache.''\ said
Michel Ardan.

{}``Besides,''\ added Barbicane, {}``this opinion is that of an
English savant, Nasmyth, and it seems to me to sufficiently explain
the radiation of these mountains.''

{}``That Nasmyth was no fool!''\ replied Michel.

Long did the travelers, whom such a sight could never weary, admire
the splendors of Tycho. Their projectile, saturated with luminous
gleams in the double irradiation of sun and moon, must have appeared
like an incandescent globe. They had passed suddenly from excessive
cold to intense heat. Nature was thus preparing them to become Selenites.
Become Selenites! That idea brought up once more the question of the
habitability of the moon. After what they had seen, could the travelers
solve it? Would they decide for or against it? Michel Ardan persuaded
his two friends to form an opinion, and asked them directly if they
thought that men and animals were represented in the lunar world.

{}``I think that we can answer,''\ said Barbicane; {}``but according
to my idea the question ought not to be put in that form. I ask it
to be put differently.''

{}``Put it your own way,''\ replied Michel.

{}``Here it is,''\ continued Barbicane. {}``The problem is a double
one, and requires a double solution. Is the moon \textit{habitable}?
Has the moon ever been \textit{inhabitable}?''

{}``Good!''\ replied Nicholl. {}``First let us see whether the
moon is habitable.''

{}``To tell the truth, I know nothing about it,''\ answered Michel.

{}``And I answer in the negative,''\ continued Barbicane. {}``In
her actual state, with her surrounding atmosphere certainly very much
reduced, her seas for the most part dried up, her insufficient supply
of water restricted, vegetation, sudden alternations of cold and heat,
her days and nights of 354 hours\mbox{---}the moon does not seem
habitable to me, nor does she seem propitious to animal development,
nor sufficient for the wants of existence as we understand it.''

{}``Agreed,''\ replied Nicholl. {}``But is not the moon habitable
for creatures differently organized from ourselves?''

{}``That question is more difficult to answer, but I will try; and
I ask Nicholl if \textit{motion}\ appears to him to be a necessary
result of \textit{life}, whatever be its organization?''

{}``Without a doubt!''\ answered Nicholl.

{}``Then, my worthy companion, I would answer that we have observed
the lunar continent at a distance of 500 yards at most, and that nothing
seemed to us to move on the moon's surface. The presence of any kind
of life would have been betrayed by its attendant marks, such as divers
buildings, and even by ruins. And what have we seen? Everywhere and
always the geological works of nature, never the work of man. If,
then, there exist representatives of the animal kingdom on the moon,
they must have fled to those unfathomable cavities which the eye cannot
reach; which I cannot admit, for they must have left traces of their
passage on those plains which the atmosphere must cover, however slightly
raised it may be. These traces are nowhere visible. There remains
but one hypothesis, that of a living race to which motion, which is
life, is foreign.''

{}``One might as well say, living creatures which do not live,''
replied Michel.

{}``Just so,''\ said Barbicane, {}``which for us has no meaning.''

{}``Then we may form our opinion?''\ said Michel.

{}``Yes,''\ replied Nicholl.

{}``Very well,''\ continued Michel Ardan, {}``the Scientific Commission
assembled in the projectile of the Gun Club, after having founded
their argument on facts recently observed, decide unanimously upon
the question of the habitability of the moon\mbox{---}`\emph{No!}\ the
moon is not habitable.'''

This decision was consigned by President Barbicane to his notebook,
where the process of the sitting of the 6th of December may be seen.

{}``Now,''\ said Nicholl, {}``let us attack the second question,
an indispensable complement of the first. I ask the honorable commission,
if the moon is not habitable, has she ever been inhabited, Citizen
Barbicane?''

{}``My friends,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``I did not undertake
this journey in order to form an opinion on the past habitability
of our satellite; but I will add that our personal observations only
confirm me in this opinion. I believe, indeed I affirm, that the moon
has been inhabited by a human race organized like our own; that she
has produced animals anatomically formed like the terrestrial animals:
but I add that these races, human and animal, have had their day,
and are now forever extinct!''

{}``Then,''\ asked Michel, {}``the moon must be older than the
earth?''

{}``No!''\ said Barbicane decidedly, {}``but a world which has
grown old quicker, and whose formation and deformation have been more
rapid. Relatively, the organizing force of matter has been much more
violent in the interior of the moon than in the interior of the terrestrial
globe. The actual state of this cracked, twisted, and burst disc abundantly
proves this. The moon and the earth were nothing but gaseous masses
originally. These gases have passed into a liquid state under different
influences, and the solid masses have been formed later. But most
certainly our sphere was still gaseous or liquid, when the moon was
solidified by cooling, and had become habitable.''

{}``I believe it,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Then,''\ continued Barbicane, {}``an atmosphere surrounded
it, the waters contained within this gaseous envelope could not evaporate.
Under the influence of air, water, light, solar heat, and central
heat, vegetation took possession of the continents prepared to receive
it, and certainly life showed itself about this period, for nature
does not expend herself in vain; and a world so wonderfully formed
for habitation must necessarily be inhabited.''

{}``But,''\ said Nicholl, {}``many phenomena inherent in our satellite
might cramp the expansion of the animal and vegetable kingdom. For
example, its days and nights of 354 hours?''

{}``At the terrestrial poles they last six months,''\ said Michel.

{}``An argument of little value, since the poles are not inhabited.''

{}``Let us observe, my friends,''\ continued Barbicane, {}``that
if in the actual state of the moon its long nights and long days created
differences of temperature insupportable to organization, it was not
so at the historical period of time. The atmosphere enveloped the
disc with a fluid mantle; vapor deposited itself in the shape of clouds;
this natural screen tempered the ardor of the solar rays, and retained
the nocturnal radiation. Light, like heat, can diffuse itself in the
air; hence an equality between the influences which no longer exists,
now that atmosphere has almost entirely disappeared. And now I am
going to astonish you.''

{}``Astonish us?''\ said Michel Ardan.

{}``I firmly believe that at the period when the moon was inhabited,
the nights and days did not last 354 hours!''

{}``And why?''\ asked Nicholl quickly.

{}``Because most probably then the rotary motion of the moon upon
her axis was not equal to her revolution, an equality which presents
each part of her disc during fifteen days to the action of the solar
rays.''

{}``Granted,''\ replied Nicholl, {}``but why should not these
two motions have been equal, as they are really so?''

{}``Because that equality has only been determined by terrestrial
attraction. And who can say that this attraction was powerful enough
to alter the motion of the moon at that period when the earth was
still fluid?''

{}``Just so,''\ replied Nicholl; {}``and who can say that the
moon has always been a satellite of the earth?''

{}``And who can say,''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, {}``that the moon
did not exist before the earth?''

Their imaginations carried them away into an indefinite field of hypothesis.
Barbicane sought to restrain them.

{}``Those speculations are too high,''\ said he; {}``problems
utterly insoluble. Do not let us enter upon them. Let us only admit
the insufficiency of the primordial attraction; and then by the inequality
of the two motions of rotation and revolution, the days and nights
could have succeeded each other on the moon as they succeed each other
on the earth. Besides, even without these conditions, life was possible.''

{}``And so,''\ asked Michel Ardan, {}``humanity has disappeared
from the moon?''

{}``Yes,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``after having doubtless remained
persistently for millions of centuries; by degrees the atmosphere
becoming rarefied, the disc became uninhabitable, as the terrestrial
globe will one day become by cooling.''

{}``By cooling?''

{}``Certainly,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``as the internal fires
became extinguished, and the incandescent matter concentrated itself,
the lunar crust cooled. By degrees the consequences of these phenomena
showed themselves in the disappearance of organized beings, and by
the disappearance of vegetation. Soon the atmosphere was rarefied,
probably withdrawn by terrestrial attraction; then aerial departure
of respirable air, and disappearance of water by means of evaporation.
At this period the moon becoming uninhabitable, was no longer inhabited.
It was a dead world, such as we see it to-day.''

{}``And you say that the same fate is in store for the earth?''

{}``Most probably.''

{}``But when?''

{}``When the cooling of its crust shall have made it uninhabitable.''

{}``And have they calculated the time which our unfortunate sphere
will take to cool?''

{}``Certainly.''

{}``And you know these calculations?''

{}``Perfectly.''

{}``But speak, then, my clumsy savant,''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan,
{}``for you make me boil with impatience!''

{}``Very well, my good Michel,''\ replied Barbicane quietly; {}``we
know what diminution of temperature the earth undergoes in the lapse
of a century. And according to certain calculations, this mean temperature
will after a period of 400,000 years, be brought down to zero!''

{}``Four hundred thousand years!''\ exclaimed Michel. {}``Ah!
I breathe again. Really I was frightened to hear you; I imagined that
we had not more than 50,000 years to live.''

Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing at their companion's
uneasiness. Then Nicholl, who wished to end the discussion, put the
second question, which had just been considered again.

{}``Has the moon been inhabited?''\ he asked.

The answer was unanimously in the affirmative. But during this discussion,
fruitful in somewhat hazardous theories, the projectile was rapidly
leaving the moon: the lineaments faded away from the travelers'\ eyes,
mountains were confused in the distance; and of all the wonderful,
strange, and fantastical form of the earth's satellite, there soon
remained nothing but the imperishable remembrance.


\chapter*{\raggedright A STRUGGLE AGAINST THE IMPOSSIBLE}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{A Struggle Against the Impossible}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{A Struggle Against the Impossible}

For a long time Barbicane and his companions looked silently and sadly
upon that world which they had only seen from a distance, as Moses
saw the land of Canaan, and which they were leaving without a possibility
of ever returning to it. The projectile's position with regard to
the moon had altered, and the base was now turned to the earth.

This change, which Barbicane verified, did not fail to surprise them.
If the projectile was to gravitate round the satellite in an elliptical
orbit, why was not its heaviest part turned toward it, as the moon
turns hers to the earth? That was a difficult point.

In watching the course of the projectile they could see that on leaving
the moon it followed a course analogous to that traced in approaching
her. It was describing a very long ellipse, which would most likely
extend to the point of equal attraction, where the influences of the
earth and its satellite are neutralized.

Such was the conclusion which Barbicane very justly drew from facts
already observed, a conviction which his two friends shared with him.

{}``And when arrived at this dead point, what will become of us?''
asked Michel Ardan.

{}``We don't know,''\ replied Barbicane.

{}``But one can draw some hypotheses, I suppose?''

{}``Two,''\ answered Barbicane; {}``either the projectile's speed
will be insufficient, and it will remain forever immovable on this
line of double attraction\mbox{---}''

{}``I prefer the other hypothesis, whatever it may be,''\ interrupted
Michel.

{}``Or,''\ continued Barbicane, {}``its speed will be sufficient,
and it will continue its elliptical course, to gravitate forever around
the orb of night.''

{}``A revolution not at all consoling,''\ said Michel, {}``to
pass to the state of humble servants to a moon whom we are accustomed
to look upon as our own handmaid. So that is the fate in store for
us?''

Neither Barbicane nor Nicholl answered.

{}``You do not answer,''\ continued Michel impatiently.

{}``There is nothing to answer,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Is there nothing to try?''

{}``No,''\ answered Barbicane. {}``Do you pretend to fight against
the impossible?''

{}``Why not? Do one Frenchman and two Americans shrink from such
a word?''

{}``But what would you do?''

{}``Subdue this motion which is bearing us away.''

{}``Subdue it?''

{}``Yes,''\ continued Michel, getting animated, {}``or else alter
it, and employ it to the accomplishment of our own ends.''

{}``And how?''

{}``That is your affair. If artillerymen are not masters of their
projectile they are not artillerymen. If the projectile is to command
the gunner, we had better ram the gunner into the gun. My faith!\ fine
savants!\ who do not know what is to become of us after inducing
me\mbox{---}''

{}``Inducing you!''\ cried Barbicane and Ni\-ch\-oll. {}``Inducing
you! What do you mean by that?''

{}``No recrimination,''\ said Michel. {}``I do not complain, the
trip has pleased me, and the projectile agrees with me; but let us
do all that is humanly possible to do the fall somewhere, even if
only on the moon.''

{}``We ask no better, my worthy Michel,''\ replied Barbicane, {}``but
means fail us.''

{}``We cannot alter the motion of the projectile?''

{}``No.''

{}``Nor diminish its speed?''

{}``No.''

{}``Not even by lightening it, as they lighten an overloaded vessel?''

{}``What would you throw out?''\ said Nicholl. {}``We have no
ballast on board; and indeed it seems to me that if lightened it would
go much quicker.''

{}``Slower.''

{}``Quicker.''

{}``Neither slower nor quicker,''\ said Barbicane, wishing to make
his two friends agree; {}``for we float is space, and must no longer
consider specific weight.''

{}``Very well,''\ cried Michel Ardan in a decided voice; {}``then
their remains but one thing to do.''

{}``What is it?''\ asked Nicholl.

{}``Breakfast,''\ answered the cool, audacious Frenchman, who always
brought up this solution at the most difficult juncture.

In any case, if this operation had no influence on the projectile's
course, it could at least be tried without inconvenience, and even
with success from a stomachic point of view. Certainly Michel had
none but good ideas.

They breakfasted then at two in the morning; the hour mattered little.
Michel served his usual repast, crowned by a glorious bottle drawn
from his private cellar. If ideas did not crowd on their brains, we
must despair of the Chambertin of 1853. The repast finished, observation
began again. Around the projectile, at an invariable distance, were
the objects which had been thrown out. Evidently, in its translatory
motion round the moon, it had not passed through any atmosphere, for
the specific weight of these different objects would have checked
their relative speed.

On the side of the terrestrial sphere nothing was to be seen. The
earth was but a day old, having been new the night before at twelve;
and two days must elapse before its crescent, freed from the solar
rays, would serve as a clock to the Selenites, as in its rotary movement
each of its points after twenty-four hours repasses the same lunar
meridian.

On the moon's side the sight was different; the orb shone in all her
splendor amid innumerable constellations, whose purity could not be
troubled by her rays. On the disc, the plains were already returning
to the dark tint which is seen from the earth. The other part of the
nimbus remained brilliant, and in the midst of this general brilliancy
Tycho shone prominently like a sun.

Barbicane had no means of estimating the projectile's speed, but reasoning
showed that it must uniformly decrease, according to the laws of mechanical
reasoning. Having admitted that the projectile was describing an orbit
around the moon, this orbit must necessarily be elliptical; science
proves that it must be so. No motive body circulating round an attracting
body fails in this law. Every orbit described in space is elliptical.
And why should the projectile of the Gun Club escape this natural
arrangement? In elliptical orbits, the attracting body always occupies
one of the foci; so that at one moment the satellite is nearer, and
at another farther from the orb around which it gravitates. When the
earth is nearest the sun she is in her perihelion; and in her aphelion
at the farthest point. Speaking of the moon, she is nearest to the
earth in her perigee, and farthest from it in her apogee. To use analogous
expressions, with which the astronomers'\ language is enriched, if
the projectile remains as a satellite of the moon, we must say that
it is in its {}``aposelene''\ at its farthest point, and in its
{}``periselene''\ at its nearest. In the latter case, the projectile
would attain its maximum of speed; and in the former its minimum.
It was evidently moving toward its aposelenitical point; and Barbicane
had reason to think that its speed would decrease up to this point,
and then increase by degrees as it neared the moon. This speed would
even become \textit{nil}, if this point joined that of equal attraction.
Barbicane studied the consequences of these different situations,
and thinking what inference he could draw from them, when he was roughly
disturbed by a cry from Michel Ardan.

{}``By Jove!''\ he exclaimed, {}``I must admit we are down-right
simpletons!''

{}``I do not say we are not,''\ replied Barbicane; {}``but why?''

{}``Because we have a very simple means of checking this speed which
is bearing us from the moon, and we do not use it!''

{}``And what is the means?''

{}``To use the recoil contained in our rockets.''

{}``Done!''\ said Nicholl.

{}``We have not used this force yet,''\ said Barbicane, {}``it
is true, but we will do so.''

{}``When?''\ asked Michel.

{}``When the time comes. Observe, my friends, that in the position
occupied by the projectile, an oblique position with regard to the
lunar disc, our rockets, in slightly altering its direction, might
turn it from the moon instead of drawing it nearer?''

{}``Just so,''\ replied Michel.

{}``Let us wait, then. By some inexplicable influence, the projectile
is turning its base toward the earth. It is probable that at the point
of equal attraction, its conical cap will be directed rigidly toward
the moon; at that moment we may hope that its speed will be \textit{nil};
then will be the moment to act, and with the influence of our rockets
we may perhaps provoke a fall directly on the surface of the lunar
disc.''

{}``Bravo!''\ said Michel. {}``What we did not do, what we could
not do on our first passage at the dead point, because the projectile
was then endowed with too great a speed.''

{}``Very well reasoned,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``Let us wait patiently,''\ continued Barbicane. {}``Putting
every chance on our side, and after having so much despaired, I may
say I think we shall gain our end.''

This conclusion was a signal for Michel Ardan's hips and hurrahs.
And none of the audacious boobies remembered the question that they
themselves had solved in the negative. No!\ the moon is not inhabited;
no!\ the moon is probably not habitable. And yet they were going
to try everything to reach her.

One single question remained to be solved. At what precise moment
the projectile would reach the point of equal attraction, on which
the travelers must play their last card. In order to calculate this
to within a few seconds, Barbicane had only to refer to his notes,
and to reckon the different heights taken on the lunar parallels.
Thus the time necessary to travel over the distance between the dead
point and the south pole would be equal to the distance separating
the north pole from the dead point. The hours representing the time
traveled over were carefully noted, and the calculation was easy.
Barbicane found that this point would be reached at one in the morning
on the night of the 7th-8th of December. So that, if nothing interfered
with its course, it would reach the given point in twenty-two hours.

The rockets had primarily been placed to check the fall of the projectile
upon the moon, and now they were going to employ them for a directly
contrary purpose. In any case they were ready, and they had only to
wait for the moment to set fire to them.

{}``Since there is nothing else to be done,''\ said Nicholl, {}``I
make a proposition.''

{}``What is it?''\ asked Barbicane.

{}``I propose to go to sleep.''

{}``What a motion!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan.

{}``It is forty hours since we closed our eyes,''\ said Nicholl.
{}``Some hours of sleep will restore our strength.''

{}``Never,''\ interrupted Michel.

{}``Well,''\ continued Nicholl, {}``every one to his taste; I
shall go to sleep.'' And stretching himself on the divan, he soon
snored like a forty-eight pounder.

{}``That Nicholl has a good deal of sense,''\ said Barbicane; {}``presently
I shall follow his example.'' Some moments after his continued bass
supported the captain's baritone.

{}``Certainly,''\ said Michel Ardan, finding himself alone, {}``these
practical people have sometimes most opportune ideas.''

And with his long legs stretched out, and his great arms folded under
his head, Michel slept in his turn.

But this sleep could be neither peaceful nor lasting, the minds of
these three men were too much occupied, and some hours after, about
seven in the morning, all three were on foot at the same instant.

The projectile was still leaving the moon, and turning its conical
part more and more toward her.

An explicable phenomenon, but one which happily served Barbicane's
ends.

Seventeen hours more, and the moment for action would have arrived.

The day seemed long. However bold the travelers might be, they were
greatly impressed by the approach of that moment which would decide
all\mbox{---}either precipitate their fall on to the moon, or forever
chain them in an immutable orbit. They counted the hours as they passed
too slow for their wish; Barbicane and Nicholl were obstinately plunged
in their calculations, Michel going and coming between the narrow
walls, and watching that impassive moon with a longing eye.

At times recollections of the earth crossed their minds. They saw
once more their friends of the Gun Club, and the dearest of all, J.\ T.\ Maston.
At that moment, the honorable secretary must be filling his post on
the Rocky Mountains. If he could see the projectile through the glass
of his gigantic telescope, what would he think? After seeing it disappear
behind the moon's south pole, he would see them reappear by the north
pole! They must therefore be a satellite of a satellite! Had J.\ T.
Maston given this unexpected news to the world? Was this the \textit{d\'{e}nouement}\ of
this great enterprise?

But the day passed without incident. The terrestrial midnight arrived.
The 8th of December was beginning. One hour more, and the point of
equal attraction would be reached. What speed would then animate the
projectile? They could not estimate it. But no error could vitiate
Barbicane's calculations. At one in the morning this speed ought to
be and would be \textit{nil}.

Besides, another phenomenon would mark the projectile's stopping-point
on the neutral line. At that spot the two attractions, lunar and terrestrial,
would be annulled. Objects would {}``weigh''\ no more. This singular
fact, which had surprised Barbicane and his companions so much in
going, would be repeated on their return under the very same conditions.
At this precise moment they must act.

Already the projectile's conical top was sensibly turned toward the
lunar disc, presented in such a way as to utilize the whole of the
recoil produced by the pressure of the rocket apparatus. The chances
were in favor of the travelers. If its speed was utterly annulled
on this dead point, a decided movement toward the moon would suffice,
however slight, to determine its fall.

{}``Five minutes to one,''\ said Nicholl.

{}``All is ready,''\ replied Michel Ardan, directing a lighted
match to the flame of the gas.

{}``Wait!''\ said Barbicane, holding his chronometer in his hand.

At that moment weight had no effect. The travelers felt in themselves
the entire disappearance of it. They were very near the neutral point,
if they did not touch it.

{}``One o'clock,''\ said Barbicane.

Michel Ardan applied the lighted match to a train in communication
with the rockets. No detonation was heard in the inside, for there
was no air. But, through the scuttles, Barbicane saw a prolonged smoke,
the flames of which were immediately extinguished.

The projectile sustained a certain shock, which was sensibly felt
in the interior.

The three friends looked and listened without speaking, and scarcely
breathing. One might have heard the beating of their hearts amid this
perfect silence.

{}``Are we falling?''\ asked Michel Ardan, at length.

{}``No,''\ said Nicholl, {}``since the bottom of the projectile
is not turning to the lunar disc!''

At this moment, Barbicane, quitting his scuttle, turned to his two
companions. He was frightfully pale, his forehead wrinkled, and his
lips contracted.

{}``We are falling!''\ said he.

{}``Ah!''\ cried Michel Ardan, {}``on to the moon?''

{}``On to the earth!''

{}``The devil!''\ exclaimed Michel Ardan, adding philosophically,
{}``well, when we came into this projectile we were very doubtful
as to the ease with which we should get out of it!''

And now this fearful fall had begun. The speed retained had borne
the projectile beyond the dead point. The explosion of the rockets
could not divert its course. This speed in going had carried it over
the neutral line, and in returning had done the same thing. The laws
of physics condemned it \textit{to pass through every point which
it had already gone through}. It was a terrible fall, from a height
of 160,000 miles, and no springs to break it. According to the laws
of gunnery, the projectile must strike the earth with a speed equal
to that with which it left the mouth of the Columbiad, a speed of
16,000 yards in the last second.

But to give some figures of comparison, it has been reckoned that
an object thrown from the top of the towers of Notre Dame, the height
of which is only 200 feet, will arrive on the pavement at a speed
of 240 miles per hour. Here the projectile must strike the earth with
a speed of 115,200 miles per hour.

{}``We are lost!''\ said Michel coolly.

{}``Very well!\ if we die,''\ answered Barbicane, with a sort
of religious enthusiasm, {}``the results of our travels will be magnificently
spread. It is His own secret that God will tell us! In the other life
the soul will want to know nothing, either of machines or engines!
It will be identified with eternal wisdom!''

{}``In fact,''\ interrupted Michel Ardan, {}``the whole of the
other world may well console us for the loss of that inferior orb
called the moon!''

Barbicane crossed his arms on his breast, with a motion of sublime
resignation, saying at the same time:\ 

{}``The will of heaven be done!''


\chapter*{\raggedright THE SOUNDINGS OF THE \emph{SUSQUEHANNA}}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The Soundings of the \emph{Susquehanna}}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{The Soundings of the \emph{Susquehanna}}

{}``Well, lieutenant, and our soundings?''

{}``I think, sir, that the operation is nearing its completion,''
replied Lieutenant Bronsfield. {}``But who would have thought of
finding such a depth so near in shore, and only 200 miles from the
American coast?''

{}``Certainly, Bronsfield, there is a great depression,''\ said
Captain Blomsberry. {}``In this spot there is a submarine valley
worn by Humboldt's current, which skirts the coast of America as far
as the Straits of Magellan.''

{}``These great depths,''\ continued the lieutenant, {}``are not
favorable for laying telegraphic cables. A level bottom, like that
supporting the American cable between Valentia and Newfoundland, is
much better.''

{}``I agree with you, Bronsfield. With your permission, lieutenant,
where are we now?''

{}``Sir, at this moment we have 3,508 fathoms of line out, and the
ball which draws the sounding lead has not yet touched the bottom;
for if so, it would have come up of itself.''

{}``Brook's apparatus is very ingenious,''\ said Captain Blomsberry;
{}``it gives us very exact soundings.''

{}``Touch!''\ cried at this moment one of the men at the forewheel,
who was superintending the operation.

The captain and the lieutenant mounted the quarterdeck.

{}``What depth have we?''\ asked the captain.

{}``Three thousand six hundred and twenty-seven fathoms,''\ replied
the lieutenant, entering it in his notebook.

{}``Well, Bronsfield,''\ said the captain, {}``I will take down
the result. Now haul in the sounding line. It will be the work of
some hours. In that time the engineer can light the furnaces, and
we shall be ready to start as soon as you have finished. It is ten
o'clock, and with your permission, lieutenant, I will turn in.''

{}``Do so, sir; do so!''\ replied the lieutenant obligingly.

The captain of the \emph{Susquehanna}, as brave a man as need be,
and the humble servant of his officers, returned to his cabin, took
a brandy-grog, which earned for the steward no end of praise, and
turned in, not without having complimented his servant upon his making
beds, and slept a peaceful sleep.

It was then ten at night. The eleventh day of the month of December
was drawing to a close in a magnificent night.

The \emph{Susquehanna}, a corvette of 500 horse-power, of the United
States navy, was occupied in taking soundings in the Pacific Ocean
about 200 miles off the American coast, following that long peninsula
which stretches down the coast of Mexico.

The wind had dropped by degrees. There was no disturbance in the air.
The pennant hung motionless from the maintop-gallant-mast truck.

Captain Jonathan Blomsberry (cousin-german of Colonel Blomsberry,
one of the most ardent supporters of the Gun Club, who had married
an aunt of the captain and daughter of an honorable Kentucky merchant)\mbox{---}Captain
Blomsberry could not have wished for finer weather in which to bring
to a close his delicate operations of sounding. His corvette had not
even felt the great tempest, which by sweeping away the groups of
clouds on the Rocky Mountains, had allowed them to observe the course
of the famous projectile.

Everything went well, and with all the fervor of a Presbyterian, he
did not forget to thank heaven for it. The series of soundings taken
by the \emph{Susquehanna}, had for its aim the finding of a favorable
spot for the laying of a submarine cable to connect the Hawaiian Islands
with the coast of America.

It was a great undertaking, due to the instigation of a powerful company.
Its managing director, the intelligent Cyrus Field, purposed even
covering all the islands of Oceanica with a vast electrical network,
an immense enterprise, and one worthy of American genius.

To the corvette \emph{Susquehanna} had been confided the first operations
of sounding. It was on the night of the 11th-12th of December, she
was in exactly 27$^\circ$\ 7'\ north latitude, and 41$^\circ$\ 37'
west longitude, on the meridian of Washington.

The moon, then in her last quarter, was beginning to rise above the
horizon.

After the departure of Captain Blomsberry, the lieutenant and some
officers were standing together on the poop. On the appearance of
the moon, their thoughts turned to that orb which the eyes of a whole
hemisphere were contemplating. The best naval glasses could not have
discovered the projectile wandering around its hemisphere, and yet
all were pointed toward that brilliant disc which millions of eyes
were looking at at the same moment.

{}``They have been gone ten days,''\ said Lieutenant Bronsfield
at last. {}``What has become of them?''

{}``They have arrived, lieutenant,''\ exclaimed a young midshipman,
{}``and they are doing what all travelers do when they arrive in
a new country, taking a walk!''

{}``Oh! I am sure of that, if you tell me so, my young friend,''
said Lieutenant Bronsfield, smiling.

{}``But,''\ continued another officer, {}``their arrival cannot
be doubted. The projectile was to reach the moon when full on the
5th at midnight. We are now at the 11th of December, which makes six
days. And in six times twenty-four hours, without darkness, one would
have time to settle comfortably. I fancy I see my brave countrymen
encamped at the bottom of some valley, on the borders of a Selenite
stream, near a projectile half-buried by its fall amid volcanic rubbish,
Captain Nicholl beginning his leveling operations, President Barbicane
writing out his notes, and Michel Ardan embalming the lunar solitudes
with the perfume of his\mbox{---}''

{}``Yes!\ it must be so, it is so!''\ exclaimed the young midshipman,
worked up to a pitch of enthusiasm by this ideal description of his
superior officer.

{}``I should like to believe it,''\ replied the lieutenant, who
was quite unmoved. {}``Unfortunately direct news from the lunar world
is still wanting.''

{}``Beg pardon, lieutenant,''\ said the midshipman, {}``but cannot
President Barbicane write?''

A burst of laughter greeted this answer.

{}``No letters!''\ continued the young man quickly. {}``The postal
administration has something to see to there.''

{}``Might it not be the telegraphic service that is at fault?''
asked one of the officers ironically.

{}``Not necessarily,''\ replied the midshipman, not at all confused.
{}``But it is very easy to set up a graphic communication with the
earth.''

{}``And how?''

{}``By means of the telescope at Long's Peak. You know it brings
the moon to within four miles of the Rocky Mountains, and that it
shows objects on its surface of only nine feet in diameter. Very well;
let our industrious friends construct a giant alphabet; let them write
words three fathoms long, and sentences three miles long, and then
they can send us news of themselves.''

The young midshipman, who had a certain amount of imagination, was
loudly applauded; Lieutenant Bronsfield allowing that the idea was
possible, but observing that if by these means they could receive
news from the lunar world they could not send any from the terrestrial,
unless the Selenites had instruments fit for taking distant observations
at their disposal.

{}``Evidently,''\ said one of the officers; {}``but what has become
of the travelers?\ what they have done, what they have seen, that
above all must interest us. Besides, if the experiment has succeeded
(which I do not doubt), they will try it again. The Columbiad is still
sunk in the soil of Florida. It is now only a question of powder and
shot; and every time the moon is at her zenith a cargo of visitors
may be sent to her.''

{}``It is clear,''\ replied Lieutenant Bronsfield, {}``that J.\ T.\ Maston
will one day join his friends.''

{}``If he will have me,''\ cried the midshipman, {}``I am ready!''

{}``Oh!\ volunteers will not be wanting,''\ answered Bronsfield;
{}``and if it were allowed, half of the earth's inhabitants would
emigrate to the moon!''

This conversation between the officers of the \emph{Susquehanna} was
kept up until nearly one in the morning. We cannot say what blundering
systems were broached, what inconsistent theories advanced by these
bold spirits. Since Barbicane's attempt, nothing seemed impossible
to the Americans. They had already designed an expedition, not only
of savants, but of a whole colony toward the Selenite borders, and
a complete army, consisting of infantry, artillery, and cavalry, to
conquer the lunar world.

At one in the morning, the hauling in of the sounding-line was not
yet completed; 1,670 fathoms were still out, which would entail some
hours'\ work. According to the commander's orders, the fires had
been lighted, and steam was being got up. The \emph{Susquehanna} could
have started that very instant.

At that moment (it was seventeen minutes past one in the morning)\ Lieutenant
Bronsfield was preparing to leave the watch and return to his cabin,
when his attention was attracted by a distant hissing noise. His comrades
and himself first thought that this hissing was caused by the letting
off of steam; but lifting their heads, they found that the noise was
produced in the highest regions of the air. They had not time to question
each other before the hissing became frightfully intense, and suddenly
there appeared to their dazzled eyes an enormous meteor, ignited by
the rapidity of its course and its friction through the atmospheric
strata.

This fiery mass grew larger to their eyes, and fell, with the noise
of thunder, upon the bowsprit, which it smashed close to the stem,
and buried itself in the waves with a deafening roar!

A few feet nearer, and the \emph{Susquehanna} would have foundered
with all on board!

At this instant Captain Blomsberry appeared, half-dressed, and rushing
on to the forecastle-deck, whither all the officers had hurried, exclaimed,
{}``With your permission, gentlemen, what has happened?''

And the midshipman, making himself as it were the echo of the body,
cried, {}``Commander, it is `they'\ come back again!''


\chapter*{\raggedright J.\ T.\ MASTON RECALLED}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{J. T. Maston Recalled}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{J. T. Maston Recalled}

{}``It is `they'\ come back again!''\ the young midshipman had
said, and every one had understood him. No one doubted but that the
meteor was the projectile of the Gun Club. As to the travelers which
it enclosed, opinions were divided regarding their fate.

{}``They are dead!''\ said one.

{}``They are alive!''\ said another; {}``the crater is deep, and
the shock was deadened.''

{}``But they must have wanted air,''\ continued a third speaker;
{}``they must have died of suffocation.''

{}``Burned!''\ replied a fourth; {}``the projectile was nothing
but an incandescent mass as it crossed the atmosphere.''

{}``What does it matter!''\ they exclaimed unanimously; {}``living
or dead, we must pull them out!''

But Captain Blomsberry had assembled his officers, and {}``with their
permission,''\ was holding a council. They must decide upon something
to be done immediately. The more hasty ones were for fishing up the
projectile. A difficult operation, though not an impossible one. But
the corvette had no proper machinery, which must be both fixed and
powerful; so it was resolved that they should put in at the nearest
port, and give information to the Gun Club of the projectile's fall.

This determination was unanimous. The choice of the port had to be
discussed. The neighboring coast had no anchorage on 27$^\circ$\ latitude.
Higher up, above the peninsula of Monterey, stands the important town
from which it takes its name; but, seated on the borders of a perfect
desert, it was not connected with the interior by a network of telegraphic
wires, and electricity alone could spread these important news fast
enough.

Some degrees above opened the bay of San Francisco. Through the capital
of the gold country communication would be easy with the heart of
the Union. And in less than two days the \emph{Susquehanna}, by putting
on high pressure, could arrive in that port. She must therefore start
at once.

The fires were made up; they could set off immediately. Two thousand
fathoms of line were still out, which Captain Blomsberry, not wishing
to lose precious time in hauling in, resolved to cut.

{}``We will fasten the end to a buoy,''\ said he, {}``and that
buoy will show us the exact spot where the projectile fell.''

{}``Besides,''\ replied Lieutenant Bronsfield, {}``we have our
situation exact\mbox{---}27$^\circ$\ 7'\ north latitude and 41$^\circ$\ 37'\ west
longitude.''

{}``Well, Mr.\ Bronsfield,''\ replied the captain, {}``now, with
your permission, we will have the line cut.''

A strong buoy, strengthened by a couple of spars, was thrown into
the ocean. The end of the rope was carefully lashed to it; and, left
solely to the rise and fall of the billows, the buoy would not sensibly
deviate from the spot.

At this moment the engineer sent to inform the captain that steam
was up and they could start, for which agreeable communication the
captain thanked him. The course was then given north-northeast, and
the corvette, wearing, steered at full steam direct for San Francisco.
It was three in the morning.

Four hundred and fifty miles to cross; it was nothing for a good vessel
like the \emph{Susquehanna}. In thirty-six hours she had covered that
distance; and on the 14th of December, at twenty-seven minutes past
one at night, she entered the bay of San Francisco.

At the sight of a ship of the national navy arriving at full speed,
with her bowsprit broken, public curiosity was greatly roused. A dense
crowd soon assembled on the quay, waiting for them to disembark.

After casting anchor, Captain Blomsberry and Lieutenant Bronsfield
entered an eight-pared cutter, which soon brought them to land.

They jumped on to the quay.

{}``The telegraph?''\ they asked, without answering one of the
thousand questions addressed to them.

The officer of the port conducted them to the telegraph office through
a concourse of spectators. Blomsberry and Bronsfield entered, while
the crowd crushed each other at the door.

Some minutes later a fourfold telegram was sent out\mbox{---}the
first to the Naval Secretary at Washington; the second to the vice-president
of the Gun Club, Baltimore; the third to the Hon.\ J.\ T.\ Maston,
Long's Peak, Rocky Mountains; and the fourth to the sub-director of
the Cambridge Observatory, Massachusetts.

It was worded as follows:\ 

\begin{quote}
In 20$^\circ$\ 7'\ north latitude, and 41$^\circ$\ 37'\ west
longitude, on the 12th of December, at seventeen minutes past one
in the morning, the projectile of the Columbiad fell into the Pacific.
Send instructions. \mbox{---}\noun{Blomsberry}, Com\-m\-an\-d\-er
Susquehanna.
\end{quote}
Five minutes afterward the whole town of San Francisco learned the
news. Before six in the evening the different States of the Union
had heard the great catastrophe; and after midnight, by the cable,
the whole of Europe knew the result of the great American experiment.
We will not attempt to picture the effect produced on the entire world
by that unexpected \emph{d\'{e}nouement}.

On receipt of the telegram the Naval Secretary telegraphed to the
\emph{Susquehanna} to wait in the bay of San Francisco without extinguishing
her fires. Day and night she must be ready to put to sea.

The Cambridge observatory called a special meeting; and, with that
composure which distinguishes learned bodies in general, peacefully
discussed the scientific bearings of the question. At the Gun Club
there was an explosion. All the gunners were assembled. Vice-President
the Hon.\ Wilcome was in the act of reading the premature dispatch,
in which J.\ T.\ Maston and Belfast announced that the projectile
had just been seen in the gigantic reflector of Long's Peak, and also
that it was held by lunar attraction, and was playing the part of
under satellite to the lunar world.

We know the truth on that point.

But on the arrival of Blomsberry's dispatch, so decidely contradicting
J.\ T.\ Maston's telegram, two parties were formed in the bosom
of the Gun Club. On one side were those who admitted the fall of the
projectile, and consequently the return of the travelers; on the other,
those who believed in the observations of Long's Peak, concluded that
the commander of the \emph{Susquehanna} had made a mistake. To the
latter the pretended projectile was nothing but a meteor!\ nothing
but a meteor, a shooting globe, which in its fall had smashed the
bows of the corvette. It was difficult to answer this argument, for
the speed with which it was animated must have made observation very
difficult. The commander of the \emph{Susquehanna} and her officers
might have made a mistake in all good faith; one argument however,
was in their favor, namely, that if the projectile had fallen on the
earth, its place of meeting with the terrestrial globe could only
take place on this 27$^\circ$\ north latitude, and (taking into
consideration the time that had elapsed, and the rotary motion of
the earth)\ between the 41$^\circ$\ and the 42$^\circ$\ of west
longitude. In any case, it was decided in the Gun Club that Blomsberry
brothers, Bilsby, and Major Elphinstone should go straight to San
Francisco, and consult as to the means of raising the projectile from
the depths of the ocean.

These devoted men set off at once; and the railroad, which will soon
cross the whole of Central America, took them as far as St. Louis,
where the swift mail-coaches awaited them. Almost at the same moment
in which the Secretary of Marine, the vice-president of the Gun Club,
and the sub-director of the Observatory received the dispatch from
San Francisco, the Honorable J.\ T.\ Maston was undergoing the greatest
excitement he had ever experienced in his life, an excitement which
even the bursting of his pet gun, which had more than once nearly
cost him his life, had not caused him. We may remember that the secretary
of the Gun Club had started soon after the projectile (and almost
as quickly)\ for the station on Long's Peak, in the Rocky Mountains,
J.\ Belfast, director of the Cambridge Observatory, accompanying
him. Arrived there, the two friends had installed themselves at once,
never quitting the summit of their enormous telescope. We know that
this gigantic instrument had been set up according to the reflecting
system, called by the English {}``front view.'' This arrangement
subjected all objects to but one reflection, making the view consequently
much clearer; the result was that, when they were taking observation,
J.\ T.\ Maston and Belfast were placed in the \textit{upper} part
of the instrument and not in the lower, which they reached by a circular
staircase, a masterpiece of lightness, while below them opened a metal
well terminated by the metallic mirror, which measured two hundred
and eighty feet in depth.

It was on a narrow platform placed above the telescope that the two
savants passed their existence, execrating the day which hid the moon
from their eyes, and the clouds which obstinately veiled her during
the night.

What, then, was their delight when, after some days of waiting, on
the night of the 5th of December, they saw the vehicle which was bearing
their friends into space! To this delight succeeded a great deception,
when, trusting to a cursory observation, they launched their first
telegram to the world, erroneously affirming that the projectile had
become a satellite of the moon, gravitating in an immutable orbit.

From that moment it had never shown itself to their eyes\mbox{---}a
disappearance all the more easily explained, as it was then passing
behind the moon's invisible disc; but when it was time for it to reappear
on the visible disc, one may imagine the impatience of the fuming
J.\ T.\ Maston and his not less impatient companion. Each minute
of the night they thought they saw the projectile once more, and they
did not see it. Hence constant discussions and violent disputes between
them, Belfast affirming that the projectile could not be seen, J.\ T.
Maston maintaining that {}``it had put his eyes out.''

{}``It is the projectile!''\ repeated J.\ T.\ Maston.

{}``No,''\ answered Belfast; {}``it is an avalanche detached from
a lunar mountain.''

{}``Well, we shall see it to-morrow.''

{}``No, we shall not see it any more. It is carried into space.''

{}``Yes!''

{}``No!''

And at these moments, when contradictions rained like hail, the well-known
irritability of the secretary of the Gun Club constituted a permanent
danger for the Honorable Belfast. The existence of these two together
would soon have become impossible; but an unforseen event cut short
their everlasting discussions.

During the night, from the 14th to the 15th of December, the two irreconcilable
friends were busy observing the lunar disc, J.\ T. Maston abusing
the learned Belfast as usual, who was by his side; the secretary of
the Gun Club maintaining for the thousandth time that he had just
seen the projectile, and adding that he could see Michel Ardan's face
looking through one of the scuttles, at the same time enforcing his
argument by a series of gestures which his formidable hook rendered
very unpleasant.

At this moment Belfast's servant appeared on the platform (it was
ten at night)\ and gave him a dispatch. It was the commander of the
\emph{Susquehanna}'s telegram.

Belfast tore the envelope and read, and uttered a cry.

{}``What!''\ said J.\ T.\ Maston.

{}``The projectile!''

{}``Well!''

{}``Has fallen to the earth!''

Another cry, this time a perfect howl, answered him. He turned toward
J.\ T.\ Maston. The unfortunate man, imprudently leaning over the
metal tube, had disappeared in the immense telescope. A fall of two
hundred and eighty feet! Belfast, dismayed, rushed to the orifice
of the reflector.

He breathed. J.\ T.\ Maston, caught by his metal hook, was holding
on by one of the rings which bound the telescope together, uttering
fearful cries.

Belfast called. Help was brought, tackle was let down, and they hoisted
up, not without some trouble, the imprudent secretary of the Gun Club.

He reappeared at the upper orifice without hurt.

{}``Ah!''\ said he, {}``if I had broken the mirror?''

{}``You would have paid for it,''\ replied Belfast severely.

{}``And that cursed projectile has fallen?''\ asked J.\ T.\ Maston.

{}``Into the Pacific!''

{}``Let us go!''

A quarter of an hour after the two savants were descending the declivity
of the Rocky Mountains; and two days after, at the same time as their
friends of the Gun Club, they arrived at San Francisco, having killed
five horses on the road.

Elphinstone, the brothers Blomsberry, and Bilsby rushed toward them
on their arrival.

{}``What shall we do?''\ they exclaimed.

{}``Fish up the projectile,''\ replied J.\ T.\ Maston, {}``and
the sooner the better.''


\chapter*{\raggedright RECOVERED FROM THE SEA}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Recovered from the Sea}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{Recovered from the Sea}

The spot where the projectile sank under the waves was exactly known;
but the machinery to grasp it and bring it to the surface of the ocean
was still wanting. It must first be invented, then made. American
engineers could not be troubled with such trifles. The grappling-irons
once fixed, by their help they were sure to raise it in spite of its
weight, which was lessened by the density of the liquid in which it
was plunged.

But fishing-up the projectile was not the only thing to be thought
of. They must act promptly in the interest of the travelers. No one
doubted that they were still living.

{}``Yes,''\ repeated J.\ T.\ Maston incessantly, whose confidence
gained over everybody, {}``our friends are clever people, and they
cannot have fallen like simpletons. They are alive, quite alive; but
we must make haste if we wish to find them so. Food and water do not
trouble me; they have enough for a long while. But air, air, that
is what they will soon want; so quick, quick!''

And they did go quick. They fitted up the \emph{Susquehanna} for her
new destination. Her powerful machinery was brought to bear upon the
hauling-chains. The aluminum projectile only weighed 19,250 pounds,
a weight very inferior to that of the transatlantic cable which had
been drawn up under similar conditions. The only difficulty was in
fishing up a cylindro-conical projectile, the walls of which were
so smooth as to offer no hold for the hooks. On that account Engineer
Murchison hastened to San Francisco, and had some enormous grappling-irons
fixed on an automatic system, which would never let the projectile
go if it once succeeded in seizing it in its powerful claws. Diving-dresses
were also prepared, which through this impervious covering allowed
the divers to observe the bottom of the sea. He also had put on board
an apparatus of compressed air very cleverly designed. There were
perfect chambers pierced with scuttles, which, with water let into
certain compartments, could draw it down into great depths. These
apparatuses were at San Francisco, where they had been used in the
construction of a submarine breakwater; and very fortunately it was
so, for there was no time to construct any. But in spite of the perfection
of the machinery, in spite of the ingenuity of the savants entrusted
with the use of them, the success of the operation was far from being
certain. How great were the chances against them, the projectile being
20,000 feet under the water! And if even it was brought to the surface,
how would the travelers have borne the terrible shock which 20,000
feet of water had perhaps not sufficiently broken? At any rate they
must act quickly. J.\ T.\ Maston hurried the workmen day and night.
He was ready to don the diving-dress himself, or try the air apparatus,
in order to reconnoiter the situation of his courageous friends.

But in spite of all the diligence displayed in preparing the different
engines, in spite of the considerable sum placed at the disposal of
the Gun Club by the Government of the Union, five long days (five
centuries!)\ elapsed before the preparations were complete. During
this time public opinion was excited to the highest pitch. Telegrams
were exchanged incessantly throughout the entire world by means of
wires and electric cables. The saving of Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel
Ardan was an international affair. Every one who had subscribed to
the Gun Club was directly interested in the welfare of the travelers.

At length the hauling-chains, the air-chambers, and the automatic
grappling-irons were put on board. J.\ T.\ Maston, Engineer Murchison,
and the delegates of the Gun Club, were already in their cabins. They
had but to start, which they did on the 21st of December, at eight
o'clock at night, the corvette meeting with a beautiful sea, a northeasterly
wind, and rather sharp cold. The whole population of San Francisco
was gathered on the quay, greatly excited but silent, reserving their
hurrahs for the return. Steam was fully up, and the screw of the \emph{Susquehanna}
carried them briskly out of the bay.

It is needless to relate the conversations on board between the officers,
sailors, and passengers. All these men had but one thought. All these
hearts beat under the same emotion. While they were hastening to help
them, what were Barbicane and his companions doing? What had become
of them? Were they able to attempt any bold maneuver to regain their
liberty? None could say. The truth is that every attempt must have
failed! Immersed nearly four miles under the ocean, this metal prison
defied every effort of its prisoners.

On the 23rd inst., at eight in the morning, after a rapid passage,
the \emph{Susquehanna} was due at the fatal spot. They must wait till
twelve to take the reckoning exactly. The buoy to which the sounding
line had been lashed had not yet been recognized.

At twelve, Captain Blomsberry, assisted by his officers who superintended
the observations, took the reckoning in the presence of the delegates
of the Gun Club. Then there was a moment of anxiety. Her position
decided, the \emph{Susquehanna} was found to be some minutes westward
of the spot where the projectile had disappeared beneath the waves.

The ship's course was then changed so as to reach this exact point.

At forty-seven minutes past twelve they reached the buoy; it was in
perfect condition, and must have shifted but little.

{}``At last!''\ exclaimed J.\ T.\ Maston.

{}``Shall we begin?''\ asked Captain Blomsberry.

{}``Without losing a second.''

Every precaution was taken to keep the corvette almost completely
motionless. Before trying to seize the projectile, Engineer Murchison
wanted to find its exact position at the bottom of the ocean. The
submarine apparatus destined for this expedition was supplied with
air. The working of these engines was not without danger, for at 20,000
feet below the surface of the water, and under such great pressure,
they were exposed to fracture, the consequences of which would be
dreadful.

J.\ T.\ Maston, the brothers Blomsberry, and Engineer Murchison,
without heeding these dangers, took their places in the air-chamber.
The commander, posted on his bridge, superintended the operation,
ready to stop or haul in the chains on the slightest signal. The screw
had been shipped, and the whole power of the machinery collected on
the capstan would have quickly drawn the apparatus on board. The descent
began at twenty-five minutes past one at night, and the chamber, drawn
under by the reservoirs full of water, disappeared from the surface
of the ocean.

The emotion of the officers and sailors on board was now divided between
the prisoners in the projectile and the prisoners in the submarine
apparatus. As to the latter, they forgot themselves, and, glued to
the windows of the scuttles, attentively watched the liquid mass through
which they were passing.

The descent was rapid. At seventeen minutes past two, J.\ T. Maston
and his companions had reached the bottom of the Pacific; but they
saw nothing but an arid desert, no longer animated by either fauna
or flora. By the light of their lamps, furnished with powerful reflectors,
they could see the dark beds of the ocean for a considerable extent
of view, but the projectile was nowhere to be seen.

The impatience of these bold divers cannot be described, and having
an electrical communication with the corvette, they made a signal
already agreed upon, and for the space of a mile the \emph{Susquehanna}
moved their chamber along some yards above the bottom.

Thus they explored the whole submarine plain, deceived at every turn
by optical illusions which almost broke their hearts. Here a rock,
there a projection from the ground, seemed to be the much-sought-for
projectile; but their mistake was soon discovered, and then they were
in despair.

{}``But where are they?\ where are they?''\ cried J.\ T.\ Maston.
And the poor man called loudly upon Nicholl, Barbicane, and Michel
Ardan, as if his unfortunate friends could either hear or answer him
through such an impenetrable medium! The search continued under these
conditions until the vitiated air compelled the divers to ascend.

The hauling in began about six in the evening, and was not ended before
midnight.

{}``To-morrow,''\ said J.\ T.\ Maston, as he set foot on the
bridge of the corvette.

{}``Yes,''\ answered Captain Blomsberry.

{}``And on another spot?''

{}``Yes.''

J.\ T.\ Maston did not doubt of their final success, but his companions,
no longer upheld by the excitement of the first hours, understood
all the difficulty of the enterprise. What seemed easy at San Francisco,
seemed here in the wide ocean almost impossible. The chances of success
diminished in rapid proportion; and it was from chance alone that
the meeting with the projectile might be expected.

The next day, the 24th, in spite of the fatigue of the previous day,
the operation was renewed. The corvette advanced some minutes to westward,
and the apparatus, provided with air, bore the same explorers to the
depths of the ocean.

The whole day passed in fruitless research; the bed of the sea was
a desert. The 25th brought no other result, nor the 26th.

It was disheartening. They thought of those unfortunates shut up in
the projectile for twenty-six days. Perhaps at that moment they were
experiencing the first approach of suffocation; that is, if they had
escaped the dangers of their fall. The air was spent, and doubtless
with the air all their \textit{morale}.

{}``The air, possibly,''\ answered J.\ T.\ Maston resolutely,
{}``but their \textit{morale}\ never!''

On the 28th, after two more days of search, all hope was gone. This
projectile was but an atom in the immensity of the ocean. They must
give up all idea of finding it.

But J.\ T.\ Maston would not hear of going away. He would not abandon
the place without at least discovering the tomb of his friends. But
Commander Blomsberry could no longer persist, and in spite of the
exclamations of the worthy secretary, was obliged to give the order
to sail.

On the 29th of December, at nine A.M., the \emph{Susquehanna}, heading
northeast, resumed her course to the bay of San Francisco.

It was ten in the morning; the corvette was under half-steam, as it
was regretting to leave the spot where the catastrophe had taken place,
when a sailor, perched on the main-top-gallant crosstrees, watching
the sea, cried suddenly:\ 

{}``A buoy on the lee bow!''

The officers looked in the direction indicated, and by the help of
their glasses saw that the object signalled had the appearance of
one of those buoys which are used to mark the passages of bays or
rivers. But, singularly to say, a flag floating on the wind surmounted
its cone, which emerged five or six feet out of water. This buoy shone
under the rays of the sun as if it had been made of plates of silver.
Commander Blomsberry, J.\ T.\ Maston, and the delegates of the Gun
Club were mounted on the bridge, examining this object straying at
random on the waves.

All looked with feverish anxiety, but in silence. None dared give
expression to the thoughts which came to the minds of all.

The corvette approached to within two cables'\ lengths of the object.

A shudder ran through the whole crew. That flag was the American flag!

At this moment a perfect howling was heard; it was the brave J. T.\ Maston
who had just fallen all in a heap. Forgetting on the one hand that
his right arm had been replaced by an iron hook, and on the other
that a simple gutta-percha cap covered his brain-box, he had given
himself a formidable blow.

They hurried toward him, picked him up, restored him to life. And
what were his first words?

{}``Ah!\ trebly brutes!\ quadruply idiots!\ quintuply boobies
that we are!''

{}``What is it?''\ exclaimed everyone around him.

{}``What is it?''

{}``Come, speak!''

{}``It is, simpletons,''\ howled the terrible secretary, {}``it
is that the projectile only weighs 19,250 pounds!''

{}``Well?''

{}``And that it displaces twenty-eight tons, or in other words 56,000
pounds, and that consequently \textit{it floats}!''

Ah!\ what stress the worthy man had laid on the verb {}``float!''
And it was true! All, yes!\ all these savants had forgotten this
fundamental law, namely, that on account of its specific lightness,
the projectile, after having been drawn by its fall to the greatest
depths of the ocean, must naturally return to the surface. And now
it was floating quietly at the mercy of the waves.

The boats were put to sea. J.\ T.\ Maston and his friends had rushed
into them! Excitement was at its height! Every heart beat loudly while
they advanced to the projectile. What did it contain? Living or dead?

Living, yes!\ living, at least unless death had struck Barbicane
and his two friends since they had hoisted the flag. Profound silence
reigned on the boats. All were breathless. Eyes no longer saw. One
of the scuttles of the projectile was open. Some pieces of glass remained
in the frame, showing that it had been broken. This scuttle was actually
five feet above the water.

A boat came alongside, that of J.\ T.\ Maston, and J.\ T.\ Maston
rushed to the broken window.

At that moment they heard a clear and merry voice, the voice of Michel
Ardan, exclaiming in an accent of triumph:\ 

{}``White all, Barbicane, white all!''

Barbicane, Michel Ardan, and Nicholl were playing at dominoes!


\chapter*{\raggedright THE END}

\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{The End}

\markboth{Round the Moon}{The End}

We may remember the intense sympathy which had accompanied the travelers
on their departure. If at the beginning of the enterprise they had
excited such emotion both in the old and new world, with what enthusiasm
would they be received on their return! The millions of spectators
which had beset the peninsula of Florida, would they not rush to meet
these sublime adventurers? Those legions of strangers, hurrying from
all parts of the globe toward the American shores, would they leave
the Union without having seen Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan?
No!\ and the ardent passion of the public was bound to respond worthily
to the greatness of the enterprise. Human creatures who had left the
terrestrial sphere, and returned after this strange voyage into celestial
space, could not fail to be received as the prophet Elias would be
if he came back to earth. To see them first, and then to hear them,
such was the universal longing.

Barbicane, Michel Ardan, Nicholl, and the delegates of the Gun Club,
returning without delay to Baltimore, were received with indescribable
enthusiasm. The notes of President Barbicane's voyage were ready to
be given to the public. The New York \textit{Herald}\ bought the
manuscript at a price not yet known, but which must have been very
high. Indeed, during the publication of {}``A Journey to the Moon,''\ the
sale of this paper amounted to five millions of copies. Three days
after the return of the travelers to the earth, the slightest detail
of their expedition was known. There remained nothing more but to
see the heroes of this superhuman enterprise.

The expedition of Barbicane and his friends round the moon had enabled
them to correct the many admitted theories regarding the terrestrial
satellite. These savants had observed \textit{de visu}, and under
particular circumstances. They knew what systems should be rejected,
what retained with regard to the formation of that orb, its origin,
its habitability. Its past, present, and future had even given up
their last secrets. Who could advance objections against conscientious
observers, who at less than twenty-four miles distance had marked
that curious mountain of Tycho, the strangest system of lunar orography?
How answer those savants whose sight had penetrated the abyss of Pluto's
circle? How contradict those bold ones whom the chances of their enterprise
had borne over that invisible face of the disc, which no human eye
until then had ever seen? It was now their turn to impose some limit
on that selenographic science, which had reconstructed the lunar world
as Cuvier did the skeleton of a fossil, and say, {}``The moon \textit{was}\ this,
a habitable world, inhabited before the earth. The moon \textit{is}\ that,
a world uninhabitable, and now uninhabited.''

To celebrate the return of its most illustrious member and his two
companions, the Gun Club decided upon giving a banquet, but a banquet
worthy of the conquerors, worthy of the American people, and under
such conditions that all the inhabitants of the Union could directly
take part in it.

All the head lines of railroads in the States were joined by flying
rails; and on all the platforms, lined with the same flags, and decorated
with the same ornaments, were tables laid and all served alike. At
certain hours, successively calculated, marked by electric clocks
which beat the seconds at the same time, the population were invited
to take their places at the banquet tables. For four days, from the
5th to the 9th of January, the trains were stopped as they are on
Sundays on the railways of the United States, and every road was open.
One engine only at full speed, drawing a triumphal carriage, had the
right of traveling for those four days on the railroads of the United
States.

The engine was manned by a driver and a stoker, and bore, by special
favor, the Hon.\ J.\ T.\ Maston, secretary of the Gun Club. The
carriage was reserved for President Barbicane, Colonel Nicholl, and
Michel Ardan. At the whistle of the driver, amid the hurrahs, and
all the admiring vociferations of the American language, the train
left the platform of Baltimore. It traveled at a speed of one hundred
and sixty miles in the hour. But what was this speed compared with
that which had carried the three heroes from the mouth of the Columbiad?

Thus they sped from one town to the other, finding whole populations
at table on their road, saluting them with the same acclamations,
lavishing the same bravos! They traveled in this way through the east
of the Union, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Vermont, Maine,
and New Hampshire; the north and west by New York, Ohio, Michigan,
and Wisconsin; returning to the south by Illinois, Missouri, Arkansas,
Texas, and Louisiana; they went to the southeast by Alabama and Florida,
going up by Georgia and the Carolinas, visiting the center by Tennessee,
Kentucky, Virginia, and Indiana, and, after quitting the Washington
station, re-entered Baltimore, where for four days one would have
thought that the United States of America were seated at one immense
banquet, saluting them simultaneously with the same hurrahs! The apotheosis
was worthy of these three heroes whom fable would have placed in the
rank of demigods.

And now will this attempt, unprecedented in the annals of travels,
lead to any practical result? Will direct communication with the moon
ever be established? Will they ever lay the foundation of a traveling
service through the solar world? Will they go from one planet to another,
from Jupiter to Mercury, and after awhile from one star to another,
from the Polar to Sirius? Will this means of locomotion allow us to
visit those suns which swarm in the firmament?

To such questions no answer can be given. But knowing the bold ingenuity
of the Anglo-Saxon race, no one would be astonished if the Americans
seek to make some use of President Barbicane's attempt.

Thus, some time after the return of the travelers, the public received
with marked favor the announcement of a company, limited, with a capital
of a hundred million of dollars, divided into a hundred thousand shares
of a thousand dollars each, under the name of the {}``National Company
of Interstellary Communication.'' President, Barbicane; vice-president,
Captain Nicholl; secretary, J.\ T.\ Maston; director of movements,
Michel Ardan.

And as it is part of the American temperament to foresee everything
in business, even failure, the Honorable Harry Trolloppe, judge commissioner,
and Francis Drayton, magistrate, were nominated beforehand!
\end{document}
