"ALL\n\nAROUND THE MOON\n\nFROM THE FRENCH OF\n\nJULES VERNE\n\nAUTHOR OF \"FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON\", \"TO THE SUN!\" AND \"OFF ON A\nCOMET!\"\n\nBY\n\nEDWARD ROTH\n\nILLUSTRATED\n\nPHILADELPHIA\nDAVID MCKAY, PUBLISHER\n23 SOUTH NINTH STREET\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n       PRELIMINARY\n\n    I. FROM 10 P.M. TO 10. 46' 40''\n\n   II. THE FIRST HALF HOUR\n\n  III. THEY MAKE THEMSELVES AT HOME AND FEEL QUITE COMFORTABLE\n\n   IV. FOR THE CORNELL GIRLS\n\n    V. THE COLDS OF SPACE\n\n   VI. INSTRUCTIVE CONVERSATION\n\n  VII. A HIGH OLD TIME\n\n VIII. THE NEUTRAL POINT\n\n   IX. A LITTLE OFF THE TRACK\n\n    X. THE OBSERVERS OF THE MOON\n\n   XI. FACT AND FANCY\n\n  XII. A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF THE LUNAR MOUNTAINS\n\n XIII. LUNAR LANDSCAPES\n\n  XIV. A NIGHT OF FIFTEEN DAYS\n\n   XV. GLIMPSES AT THE INVISIBLE\n\n  XVI. THE SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE\n\n XVII. TYCHO\n\nXVIII. PUZZLING QUESTIONS\n\n  XIX. IN EVERY FIGHT, THE IMPOSSIBLE WINS\n\n   XX. OFF THE PACIFIC COAST\n\n  XXI. NEWS FOR MARSTON!\n\n XXII. ON THE WINGS OF THE WIND\n\nXXIII. THE CLUB MEN GO A FISHING\n\n XXIV. FAREWELL TO THE BALTIMORE GUN CLUB\n\n\n\n\nLIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.\n\n 1. HIS FIRST CARE WAS TO TURN ON THE GAS\n\n 2. DIANA AND SATELLITE\n\n 3. HE HELPED ARDAN TO LIFT BARBICAN\n\n 4. MORE HUNGRY THAN EITHER\n\n 5. THEY DRANK TO THE SPEEDY UNION OF THE EARTH AND HER SATELLITE\n\n 6. DON'T I THOUGH? MY HEAD IS SPLITTING WITH IT!\n\n 7. POOR SATELLITE WAS DROPPED OUT\n\n 8. THE BODY OF THE DOG THROWN OUT YESTERDAY\n\n 9. A DEMONIACAL HULLABALOO\n\n10. THE OXYGEN! HE CRIED\n\n11. A GROUP _à la Jardin Mabille_\n\n12. AN IMMENSE BATTLE-FIELD PILED WITH BLEACHING BONES\n\n13. NEVERTHELESS THE SOLUTION ESCAPED HIM\n\n14. IT'S COLD ENOUGH TO FREEZE A WHITE BEAR\n\n15. THEY COULD UTTER NO WORD, THEY COULD BREATHE NO PRAYER\n\n16. THEY SEEMED HALF ASLEEP IN HIS VITALIZING BEAMS\n\n17. THESE ARCHES EVIDENTLY ONCE BORE THE PIPES OF AN AQUEDUCT\n\n18. ARDAN GAZED AT THE PAIR FOR A FEW MINUTES\n\n19. OLD MAC DISCOVERED TAKING OBSERVATIONS\n\n20. FOR A SECOND ONLY DID THEY CATCH ITS FLASH\n\n21. HOW IS THAT FOR HIGH?\n\n22. EVERYWHERE THEIR DEPARTURE WAS ACCOMPANIED WITH THE MOST TOUCHING\n    SYMPATHY\n\n\n\n\nPRELIMINARY CHAPTER,\n\nRESUMING THE FIRST PART OF THE WORK AND SERVING AS AN INTRODUCTION TO\nTHE SECOND.\n\n\nA few years ago the world was suddenly astounded by hearing of an\nexperiment of a most novel and daring nature, altogether unprecedented\nin the annals of science. The BALTIMORE GUN CLUB, a society of\nartillerymen started in America during the great Civil War, had\nconceived the idea of nothing less than establishing direct\ncommunication with the Moon by means of a projectile! President\nBarbican, the originator of the enterprise, was strongly encouraged in\nits feasibility by the astronomers of Cambridge Observatory, and took\nupon himself to provide all the means necessary to secure its success.\nHaving realized by means of a public subscription the sum of nearly five\nand a half millions of dollars, he immediately set himself to work at\nthe necessary gigantic labors.\n\nIn accordance with the Cambridge men's note, the cannon intended to\ndischarge the projectile was to be planted in some country not further\nthan 28° north or south from the equator, so that it might be aimed\nvertically at the Moon in the zenith. The bullet was to be animated with\nan initial velocity of 12,000 yards to the second. It was to be fired\noff on the night of December 1st, at thirteen minutes and twenty seconds\nbefore eleven o'clock, precisely. Four days afterwards it was to hit the\nMoon, at the very moment that she reached her _perigee_, that is to say,\nher nearest point to the Earth, about 228,000 miles distant.\n\nThe leading members of the Club, namely President Barbican, Secretary\nMarston, Major Elphinstone and General Morgan, forming the executive\ncommittee, held several meetings to discuss the shape and material of\nthe bullet, the nature and position of the cannon, and the quantity and\nquality of the powder. The decision soon arrived at was as follows:\n1st--The bullet was to be a hollow aluminium shell, its diameter nine\nfeet, its walls a foot in thickness, and its weight 19,250 pounds;\n2nd--The cannon was to be a columbiad 900 feet in length, a well of that\ndepth forming the vertical mould in which it was to be cast, and\n3rd--The powder was to be 400 thousand pounds of gun cotton, which, by\ndeveloping more than 200 thousand millions of cubic feet of gas under\nthe projectile, would easily send it as far as our satellite.\n\nThese questions settled, Barbican, aided by Murphy, the Chief Engineer\nof the Cold Spring Iron Works, selected a spot in Florida, near the 27th\ndegree north latitude, called Stony Hill, where after the performance of\nmany wonderful feats in mining engineering, the Columbiad was\nsuccessfully cast.\n\nThings had reached this state when an incident occurred which excited\nthe general interest a hundred fold.\n\nA Frenchman from Paris, Michel Ardan by name, eccentric, but keen and\nshrewd as well as daring, demanded, by the Atlantic telegraph,\npermission to be enclosed in the bullet so that he might be carried to\nthe Moon, where he was curious to make certain investigations. Received\nin America with great enthusiasm, Ardan held a great meeting,\ntriumphantly carried his point, reconciled Barbican to his mortal foe, a\ncertain Captain M'Nicholl, and even, by way of clinching the\nreconciliation, induced both the newly made friends to join him in his\ncontemplated trip to the Moon.\n\nThe bullet, so modified as to become a hollow conical cylinder with\nplenty of room inside, was further provided with powerful water-springs\nand readily-ruptured partitions below the floor, intended to deaden the\ndreadful concussion sure to accompany the start. It was supplied with\nprovisions for a year, water for a few months, and gas for nearly two\nweeks. A self-acting apparatus, of ingenious construction, kept the\nconfined atmosphere sweet and healthy by manufacturing pure oxygen and\nabsorbing carbonic acid. Finally, the Gun Club had constructed, at\nenormous expense, a gigantic telescope, which, from the summit of Long's\nPeak, could pursue the Projectile as it winged its way through the\nregions of space. Everything at last was ready.\n\nOn December 1st, at the appointed moment, in the midst of an immense\nconcourse of spectators, the departure took place, and, for the first\ntime in the world's history, three human beings quitted our terrestrial\nglobe with some possibility in their favor of finally reaching a point\nof destination in the inter-planetary spaces. They expected to\naccomplish their journey in 97 hours, 13 minutes and 20 seconds,\nconsequently reaching the Lunar surface precisely at midnight on\nDecember 5-6, the exact moment when the Moon would be full.\n\nUnfortunately, the instantaneous explosion of such a vast quantity of\ngun-cotton, by giving rise to a violent commotion in the atmosphere,\ngenerated so much vapor and mist as to render the Moon invisible for\nseveral nights to the innumerable watchers in the Western Hemisphere,\nwho vainly tried to catch sight of her.\n\nIn the meantime, J.T. Marston, the Secretary of the Gun Club, and a most\ndevoted friend of Barbican's, had started for Long's Peak, Colorado, on\nthe summit of which the immense telescope, already alluded to, had been\nerected; it was of the reflecting kind, and possessed power sufficient\nto bring the Moon within a distance of five miles. While Marston was\nprosecuting his long journey with all possible speed, Professor\nBelfast, who had charge of the telescope, was endeavoring to catch a\nglimpse of the Projectile, but for a long time with no success. The\nhazy, cloudy weather lasted for more than a week, to the great disgust\nof the public at large. People even began to fear that further\nobservation would have to be deferred to the 3d of the following month,\nJanuary, as during the latter half of December the waning Moon could not\npossibly give light enough to render the Projectile visible.\n\nAt last, however, to the unbounded satisfaction of all, a violent\ntempest suddenly cleared the sky, and on the 13th of December, shortly\nafter midnight, the Moon, verging towards her last quarter, revealed\nherself sharp and bright on the dark background of the starry firmament.\n\nThat same morning, a few hours before Marston's arrival at the summit of\nLong's Peak, a very remarkable telegram had been dispatched by Professor\nBelfast to the Smithsonian Institute, Washington. It announced:\n\nThat on December 13th, at 2 o'clock in the morning, the Projectile shot\nfrom Stony Hill had been perceived by Professor Belfast and his\nassistants; that, deflected a little from its course by some unknown\ncause, it had not reached its mark, though it had approached near enough\nto be affected by the Lunar attraction; and that, its rectilineal motion\nhaving become circular, it should henceforth continue to describe a\nregular orbit around the Moon, of which in fact it had become the\nSatellite. The dispatch went on further to state:\n\nThat the _elements_ of the new heavenly body had not yet been\ncalculated, as at least three different observations, taken at different\ntimes, were necessary to determine them. The distance of the Projectile\nfrom the Lunar surface, however, might be set down roughly at roughly\n2833 miles.\n\nThe dispatch concluded with the following hypotheses, positively\npronounced to be the only two possible: Either, 1, The Lunar attraction\nwould finally prevail, in which case the travellers would reach their\ndestination; or 2, The Projectile, kept whirling forever in an immutable\norbit, would go on revolving around the Moon till time should be no\nmore.\n\nIn either alternative, what should be the lot of the daring adventurers?\nThey had, it is true, abundant provisions to last them for some time,\nbut even supposing that they did reach the Moon and thereby completely\nestablish the practicability of their daring enterprise, how were they\never to get back? _Could_ they ever get back? or ever even be heard\nfrom? Questions of this nature, freely discussed by the ablest pens of\nthe day, kept the public mind in a very restless and excited condition.\n\nWe must be pardoned here for making a little remark which, however,\nastronomers and other scientific men of sanguine temperament would do\nwell to ponder over. An observer cannot be too cautious in announcing to\nthe public his discovery when it is of a nature purely speculative.\nNobody is obliged to discover a planet, or a comet, or even a satellite,\nbut, before announcing to the world that you have made such a discovery,\nfirst make sure that such is really the fact. Because, you know, should\nit afterwards come out that you have done nothing of the kind, you make\nyourself a butt for the stupid jokes of the lowest newspaper scribblers.\nBelfast had never thought of this. Impelled by his irrepressible rage\nfor discovery--the _furor inveniendi_ ascribed to all astronomers by\nAurelius Priscus--he had therefore been guilty of an indiscretion highly\nun-scientific when his famous telegram, launched to the world at large\nfrom the summit of the Rocky Mountains, pronounced so dogmatically on\nthe only possible issues of the great enterprise.\n\nThe truth was that his telegram contained _two_ very important errors:\n1. Error of _observation_, as facts afterwards proved; the Projectile\n_was_ not seen on the 13th and _could_ not have been on that day, so\nthat the little black spot which Belfast professed to have seen was most\ncertainly not the Projectile; 2. Error of _theory_ regarding the final\nfate of the Projectile, since to make it become the Moon's satellite was\nflying in the face of one of the great fundamental laws of Theoretical\nMechanics.\n\nOnly one, therefore, the first, of the hypotheses so positively\nannounced, was capable of realization. The travellers--that is to say if\nthey still lived--might so combine and unite their own efforts with\nthose of the Lunar attraction as actually to succeed at last in reaching\nthe Moon's surface.\n\nNow the travellers, those daring but cool-headed men who knew very well\nwhat they were about, _did_ still live, they _had_ survived the\nfrightful concussion of the start, and it is to the faithful record of\ntheir wonderful trip in the bullet-car, with all its singular and\ndramatic details, that the present volume is devoted. The story may\ndestroy many illusions, prejudices and conjectures; but it will at least\ngive correct ideas of the strange incidents to which such an enterprise\nis exposed, and it will certainly bring out in strong colors the effects\nof Barbican's scientific conceptions, M'Nicholl's mechanical resources,\nand Ardan's daring, eccentric, but brilliant and effective combinations.\n\nBesides, it will show that J.T. Marston, their faithful friend and a man\nevery way worthy of the friendship of such men, was only losing his time\nwhile mirroring the Moon in the speculum of the gigantic telescope on\nthat lofty peak of the mountains.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nFROM 10 P.M. TO 10 46' 40''.\n\n\nThe moment that the great clock belonging to the works at Stony Hill had\nstruck ten, Barbican, Ardan and M'Nicholl began to take their last\nfarewells of the numerous friends surrounding them. The two dogs\nintended to accompany them had been already deposited in the Projectile.\nThe three travellers approached the mouth of the enormous cannon, seated\nthemselves in the flying car, and once more took leave for the last time\nof the vast throng standing in silence around them. The windlass\ncreaked, the car started, and the three daring men disappeared in the\nyawning gulf.\n\nThe trap-hole giving them ready access to the interior of the\nProjectile, the car soon came back empty; the great windlass was\npresently rolled away; the tackle and scaffolding were removed, and in a\nshort space of time the great mouth of the Columbiad was completely rid\nof all obstructions.\n\nM'Nicholl took upon himself to fasten the door of the trap on the inside\nby means of a powerful combination of screws and bolts of his own\ninvention. He also covered up very carefully the glass lights with\nstrong iron plates of extreme solidity and tightly fitting joints.\n\nArdan's first care was to turn on the gas, which he found burning rather\nlow; but he lit no more than one burner, being desirous to economize as\nmuch as possible their store of light and heat, which, as he well knew,\ncould not at the very utmost last them longer than a few weeks.\n\nUnder the cheerful blaze, the interior of the Projectile looked like a\ncomfortable little chamber, with its circular sofa, nicely padded walls,\nand dome shaped ceiling.\n\nAll the articles that it contained, arms, instruments, utensils, etc.,\nwere solidly fastened to the projections of the wadding, so as to\nsustain the least injury possible from the first terrible shock. In\nfact, all precautions possible, humanly speaking, had been taken to\ncounteract this, the first, and possibly one of the very greatest\ndangers to which the courageous adventurers would be exposed.\n\nArdan expressed himself to be quite pleased with the appearance of\nthings in general.\n\n\"It's a prison, to be sure,\" said he \"but not one of your ordinary\nprisons that always keep in the one spot. For my part, as long as I can\nhave the privilege of looking out of the window, I am willing to lease\nit for a hundred years. Ah! Barbican, that brings out one of your stony\nsmiles. You think our lease may last longer than that! Our tenement may\nbecome our coffin, eh? Be it so. I prefer it anyway to Mahomet's; it may\nindeed float in the air, but it won't be motionless as a milestone!\"\n\n[Illustration: TURN ON THE GAS.]\n\nBarbican, having made sure by personal inspection that everything was in\nperfect order, consulted his chronometer, which he had carefully set a\nshort time before with Chief Engineer Murphy's, who had been charged to\nfire off the Projectile.\n\n\"Friends,\" he said, \"it is now twenty minutes past ten. At 10 46' 40'',\nprecisely, Murphy will send the electric current into the gun-cotton. We\nhave, therefore, twenty-six minutes more to remain on earth.\"\n\n\"Twenty-six minutes and twenty seconds,\" observed Captain M'Nicholl, who\nalways aimed at mathematical precision.\n\n\"Twenty-six minutes!\" cried Ardan, gaily. \"An age, a cycle, according to\nthe use you make of them. In twenty-six minutes how much can be done!\nThe weightiest questions of warfare, politics, morality, can be\ndiscussed, even decided, in twenty-six minutes. Twenty-six minutes well\nspent are infinitely more valuable than twenty-six lifetimes wasted! A\nfew seconds even, employed by a Pascal, or a Newton, or a Barbican, or\nany other profoundly intellectual being\n\n    Whose thoughts wander through eternity--\"\n\n\"As mad as Marston! Every bit!\" muttered the Captain, half audibly.\n\n\"What do you conclude from this rigmarole of yours?\" interrupted\nBarbican.\n\n\"I conclude that we have twenty-six good minutes still left--\"\n\n\"Only twenty-four minutes, ten seconds,\" interrupted the Captain, watch\nin hand.\n\n\"Well, twenty-four minutes, Captain,\" Ardan went on; \"now even in\ntwenty-four minutes, I maintain--\"\n\n\"Ardan,\" interrupted Barbican, \"after a very little while we shall have\nplenty of time for philosophical disputations. Just now let us think of\nsomething far more pressing.\"\n\n\"More pressing! what do you mean? are we not fully prepared?\"\n\n\"Yes, fully prepared, as far at least as we have been able to foresee.\nBut we may still, I think, possibly increase the number of precautions\nto be taken against the terrible shock that we are so soon to\nexperience.\"\n\n\"What? Have you any doubts whatever of the effectiveness of your\nbrilliant and extremely original idea? Don't you think that the layers\nof water, regularly disposed in easily-ruptured partitions beneath this\nfloor, will afford us sufficient protection by their elasticity?\"\n\n\"I hope so, indeed, my dear friend, but I am by no means confident.\"\n\n\"He hopes! He is by no means confident! Listen to that, Mac! Pretty time\nto tell us so! Let me out of here!\"\n\n\"Too late!\" observed the Captain quietly. \"The trap-hole alone would\ntake ten or fifteen minutes to open.\"\n\n\"Oh then I suppose I must make the best of it,\" said Ardan, laughing.\n\"All aboard, gentlemen! The train starts in twenty minutes!\"\n\n\"In nineteen minutes and eighteen seconds,\" said the Captain, who never\ntook his eye off the chronometer.\n\nThe three travellers looked at each other for a little while, during\nwhich even Ardan appeared to become serious. After another careful\nglance at the several objects lying around them, Barbican said, quietly:\n\n\"Everything is in its place, except ourselves. What we have now to do is\nto decide on the position we must take in order to neutralize the shock\nas much as possible. We must be particularly careful to guard against a\nrush of blood to the head.\"\n\n\"Correct!\" said the Captain.\n\n\"Suppose we stood on our heads, like the circus tumblers!\" cried Ardan,\nready to suit the action to the word.\n\n\"Better than that,\" said Barbican; \"we can lie on our side. Keep clearly\nin mind, dear friends, that at the instant of departure it makes very\nlittle difference to us whether we are inside the bullet or in front of\nit. There is, no doubt, _some_ difference,\" he added, seeing the great\neyes made by his friends, \"but it is exceedingly little.\"\n\n\"Thank heaven for the _some_!\" interrupted Ardan, fervently.\n\n\"Don't you approve of my suggestion, Captain?\" asked Barbican.\n\n\"Certainly,\" was the hasty reply. \"That is to say, absolutely.\nSeventeen minutes twenty-seven seconds!\"\n\n\"Mac isn't a human being at all!\" cried Ardan, admiringly. \"He is a\nrepeating chronometer, horizontal escapement, London-made lever, capped,\njewelled,--\"\n\nHis companions let him run on while they busied themselves in making\ntheir last arrangements, with the greatest coolness and most systematic\nmethod. In fact, I don't think of anything just now to compare them to\nexcept a couple of old travellers who, having to pass the night in the\ntrain, are trying to make themselves as comfortable as possible for\ntheir long journey. In your profound astonishment, you may naturally ask\nme of what strange material can the hearts of these Americans be made,\nwho can view without the slightest semblance of a flutter the approach\nof the most appalling dangers? In your curiosity I fully participate,\nbut, I'm sorry to say, I can't gratify it. It is one of those things\nthat I could never find out.\n\nThree mattresses, thick and well wadded, spread on the disc forming the\nfalse bottom of the Projectile, were arranged in lines whose parallelism\nwas simply perfect. But Ardan would never think of occupying his until\nthe very last moment. Walking up and down, with the restless nervousness\nof a wild beast in a cage, he kept up a continuous fire of talk; at one\nmoment with his friends, at another with the dogs, addressing the latter\nby the euphonious and suggestive names of Diana and Satellite.\n\n[Illustration: DIANA AND SATELLITE.]\n\n\"Ho, pets!\" he would exclaim as he patted them gently, \"you must not\nforget the noble part you are to play up there. You must be models of\ncanine deportment. The eyes of the whole Selenitic world will be upon\nyou. You are the standard bearers of your race. From you they will\nreceive their first impression regarding its merits. Let it be a\nfavorable one. Compel those Selenites to acknowledge, in spite of\nthemselves, that the terrestrial race of canines is far superior to that\nof the very best Moon dog among them!\"\n\n\"Dogs in the Moon!\" sneered M'Nicholl, \"I like that!\"\n\n\"Plenty of dogs!\" cried Ardan, \"and horses too, and cows, and sheep, and\nno end of chickens!\"\n\n\"A hundred dollars to one there isn't a single chicken within the whole\nLunar realm, not excluding even the invisible side!\" cried the Captain,\nin an authoritative tone, but never taking his eye off the chronometer.\n\n\"I take that bet, my son,\" coolly replied Ardan, shaking the Captain's\nhand by way of ratifying the wager; \"and this reminds me, by the way,\nMac, that you have lost three bets already, to the pretty little tune of\nsix thousand dollars.\"\n\n\"And paid them, too!\" cried the captain, monotonously; \"ten, thirty-six,\nsix!\"\n\n\"Yes, and in a quarter of an hour you will have to pay nine thousand\ndollars more; four thousand because the Columbiad will not burst, and\nfive thousand because the Projectile will rise more than six miles from\nthe Earth.\"\n\n\"I have the money ready,\" answered the Captain, touching his breeches\npocket. \"When I lose I pay. Not sooner. Ten, thirty-eight, ten!\"\n\n\"Captain, you're a man of method, if there ever was one. I think,\nhowever, that you made a mistake in your wagers.\"\n\n\"How so?\" asked the Captain listlessly, his eye still on the dial.\n\n\"Because, by Jove, if you win there will be no more of you left to take\nthe money than there will be of Barbican to pay it!\"\n\n\"Friend Ardan,\" quietly observed Barbican, \"my stakes are deposited in\nthe _Wall Street Bank_, of New York, with orders to pay them over to the\nCaptain's heirs, in case the Captain himself should fail to put in an\nappearance at the proper time.\"\n\n\"Oh! you rhinoceroses, you pachyderms, you granite men!\" cried Ardan,\ngasping with surprise; \"you machines with iron heads, and iron hearts! I\nmay admire you, but I'm blessed if I understand you!\"\n\n\"Ten, forty-two, ten!\" repeated M'Nicholl, as mechanically as if it was\nthe chronometer itself that spoke.\n\n\"Four minutes and a half more,\" said Barbican.\n\n\"Oh! four and a half little minutes!\" went on Ardan. \"Only think of it!\nWe are shut up in a bullet that lies in the chamber of a cannon nine\nhundred feet long. Underneath this bullet is piled a charge of 400\nthousand pounds of gun-cotton, equivalent to 1600 thousand pounds of\nordinary gunpowder! And at this very instant our friend Murphy,\nchronometer in hand, eye on dial, finger on discharger, is counting the\nlast seconds and getting ready to launch us into the limitless regions\nof planetary--\"\n\n\"Ardan, dear friend,\" interrupted Barbican, in a grave tone, \"a serious\nmoment is now at hand. Let us meet it with some interior recollection.\nGive me your hands, my dear friends.\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" said Ardan, with tears in his voice, and already at the\nother extreme of his apparent levity.\n\nThe three brave men united in one last, silent, but warm and impulsively\naffectionate pressure.\n\n\"And now, great God, our Creator, protect us! In Thee we trust!\" prayed\nBarbican, the others joining him with folded hands and bowed heads.\n\n\"Ten, forty-six!\" whispered the Captain, as he and Ardan quietly took\ntheir places on the mattresses.\n\nOnly forty seconds more!\n\nBarbican rapidly extinguishes the gas and lies down beside his\ncompanions.\n\nThe deathlike silence now reigning in the Projectile is interrupted only\nby the sharp ticking of the chronometer as it beats the seconds.\n\nSuddenly, a dreadful shock is felt, and the Projectile, shot up by the\ninstantaneous development of 200,000 millions of cubic feet of gas, is\nflying into space with inconceivable rapidity!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE FIRST HALF HOUR.\n\n\nWhat had taken place within the Projectile? What effect had been\nproduced by the frightful concussion? Had Barbican's ingenuity been\nattended with a fortunate result? Had the shock been sufficiently\ndeadened by the springs, the buffers, the water layers, and the\npartitions so readily ruptured? Had their combined effect succeeded in\ncounteracting the tremendous violence of a velocity of 12,000 yards a\nsecond, actually sufficient to carry them from London to New York in six\nminutes? These, and a hundred other questions of a similar nature were\nasked that night by the millions who had been watching the explosion\nfrom the base of Stony Hill. Themselves they forgot altogether for the\nmoment; they forgot everything in their absorbing anxiety regarding the\nfate of the daring travellers. Had one among them, our friend Marston,\nfor instance, been favored with a glimpse at the interior of the\nprojectile, what would he have seen?\n\nNothing at all at first, on account of the darkness; except that the\nwalls had solidly resisted the frightful shock. Not a crack, nor a bend,\nnor a dent could be perceived; not even the slightest injury had the\nadmirably constructed piece of mechanical workmanship endured. It had\nnot yielded an inch to the enormous pressure, and, far from melting and\nfalling back to earth, as had been so seriously apprehended, in showers\nof blazing aluminium, it was still as strong in every respect as it had\nbeen on the very day that it left the Cold Spring Iron Works, glittering\nlike a silver dollar.\n\nOf real damage there was actually none, and even the disorder into which\nthings had been thrown in the interior by the violent shock was\ncomparatively slight. A few small objects lying around loose had been\nfuriously hurled against the ceiling, but the others appeared not to\nhave suffered the slightest injury. The straps that fastened them up\nwere unfrayed, and the fixtures that held them down were uncracked.\n\nThe partitions beneath the disc having been ruptured, and the water\nhaving escaped, the false floor had been dashed with tremendous violence\nagainst the bottom of the Projectile, and on this disc at this moment\nthree human bodies could be seen lying perfectly still and motionless.\n\nWere they three corpses? Had the Projectile suddenly become a great\nmetallic coffin bearing its ghastly contents through the air with the\nrapidity of a lightning flash?\n\nIn a very few minutes after the shock, one of the bodies stirred a\nlittle, the arms moved, the eyes opened, the head rose and tried to look\naround; finally, with some difficulty, the body managed to get on its\nknees. It was the Frenchman! He held his head tightly squeezed between\nhis hands for some time as if to keep it from splitting. Then he felt\nhimself rapidly all over, cleared his throat with a vigorous \"hem!\"\nlistened to the sound critically for an instant, and then said to\nhimself in a relieved tone, but in his native tongue:\n\n\"One man all right! Call the roll for the others!\"\n\nHe tried to rise, but the effort was too great for his strength. He fell\nback again, his brain swimming, his eyes bursting, his head splitting.\nHis state very much resembled that of a young man waking up in the\nmorning after his first tremendous \"spree.\"\n\n\"Br--rr!\" he muttered to himself, still talking French; \"this reminds me\nof one of my wild nights long ago in the _Quartier Latin_, only\ndecidedly more so!\"\n\nLying quietly on his back for a while, he could soon feel that the\ncirculation of his blood, so suddenly and violently arrested by the\nterrific shock, was gradually recovering its regular flow; his heart\ngrew more normal in its action; his head became clearer, and the pain\nless distracting.\n\n\"Time to call that roll,\" he at last exclaimed in a voice with some\npretensions to firmness; \"Barbican! MacNicholl!\"\n\nHe listens anxiously for a reply. None comes. A snow-wrapt grave at\nmidnight is not more silent. In vain does he try to catch even the\nfaintest sound of breathing, though he listens intently enough to hear\nthe beating of their hearts; but he hears only his own.\n\n\"Call that roll again!\" he mutters in a voice far less assured than\nbefore; \"Barbican! MacNicholl!\"\n\nThe same fearful unearthly stillness.\n\n\"The thing is getting decidedly monotonous!\" he exclaimed, still\nspeaking French. Then rapidly recovering his consciousness as the full\nhorror of the situation began to break on his mind, he went on muttering\naudibly: \"Have they really hopped the twig? Bah! Fudge! what has not\nbeen able to knock the life out of one little Frenchman can't have\nkilled two Americans! They're all right! But first and foremost, let us\nenlighten the situation!\"\n\nSo saying, he contrived without much difficulty to get on his feet.\nBalancing himself then for a moment, he began groping about for the gas.\nBut he stopped suddenly.\n\n\"Hold on a minute!\" he cried; \"before lighting this match, let us see if\nthe gas has been escaping. Setting fire to a mixture of air and hydrogen\nwould make a pretty how-do-you-do! Such an explosion would infallibly\nburst the Projectile, which so far seems all right, though I'm blest if\nI can tell whether we're moving or not.\"\n\nHe began sniffing and smelling to discover if possible the odor of\nescaped gas. He could not detect the slightest sign of anything of the\nkind. This gave him great courage. He knew of course that his senses\nwere not yet in good order, still he thought he might trust them so far\nas to be certain that the gas had not escaped and that consequently all\nthe other receptacles were uninjured.\n\nAt the touch of the match, the gas burst into light and burned with a\nsteady flame. Ardan immediately bent anxiously over the prostrate bodies\nof his friends. They lay on each other like inert masses, M'Nicholl\nstretched across Barbican.\n\nArdan first lifted up the Captain, laid him on the sofa, opened his\nclenched hands, rubbed them, and slapped the palms vigorously. Then he\nwent all over the body carefully, kneading it, rubbing it, and gently\npatting it. In such intelligent efforts to restore suspended\ncirculation, he seemed perfectly at home, and after a few minutes his\npatience was rewarded by seeing the Captain's pallid face gradually\nrecover its natural color, and by feeling his heart gradually beat with\na firm pulsation.\n\nAt last M'Nicholl opened his eyes, stared at Ardan for an instant,\npressed his hand, looked around searchingly and anxiously, and at last\nwhispered in a faint voice:\n\n\"How's Barbican?\"\n\n\"Barbican is all right, Captain,\" answered Ardan quietly, but still\nspeaking French. \"I'll attend to him in a jiffy. He had to wait for his\nturn. I began with you because you were the top man. We'll see in a\nminute what we can do for dear old Barby (_ce cher Barbican_)!\"\n\nIn less than thirty seconds more, the Captain not only was able to sit\nup himself, but he even insisted on helping Ardan to lift Barbican,\nand deposit him gently on the sofa.\n\n[Illustration: HELPED ARDAN TO LIFT BARBICAN.]\n\nThe poor President had evidently suffered more from the concussion than\neither of his companions. As they took off his coat they were at first\nterribly shocked at the sight of a great patch of blood staining his\nshirt bosom, but they were inexpressibly relieved at finding that it\nproceeded from a slight contusion of the shoulder, little more than skin\ndeep.\n\nEvery approved operation that Ardan had performed for the Captain, both\nnow repeated for Barbican, but for a long time with nothing like a\nfavorable result.\n\nArdan at first tried to encourage the Captain by whispers of a lively\nand hopeful nature, but not yet understanding why M'Nicholl did not\ndeign to make a single reply, he grew reserved by degrees and at last\nwould not speak a single word. He worked at Barbican, however, just as\nbefore.\n\nM'Nicholl interrupted himself every moment to lay his ear on the breast\nof the unconscious man. At first he had shaken his head quite\ndespondingly, but by degrees he found himself more and more encouraged\nto persist.\n\n\"He breathes!\" he whispered at last.\n\n\"Yes, he has been breathing for some time,\" replied Ardan, quietly,\nstill unconsciously speaking French. \"A little more rubbing and pulling\nand pounding will make him as spry as a young grasshopper.\"\n\nThey worked at him, in fact, so vigorously, intelligently and\nperseveringly, that, after what they considered a long hour's labor,\nthey had the delight of seeing the pale face assume a healthy hue, the\ninert limbs give signs of returning animation, and the breathing become\nstrong and regular.\n\nAt last, Barbican suddenly opened his eyes, started into an upright\nposition on the sofa, took his friends by the hands, and, in a voice\nshowing complete consciousness, demanded eagerly:\n\n\"Ardan, M'Nicholl, are we moving?\"\n\nHis friends looked at each other, a little amused, but more perplexed.\nIn their anxiety regarding their own and their friend's recovery, they\nhad never thought of asking such a question. His words recalled them at\nonce to a full sense of their situation.\n\n\"Moving? Blessed if I can tell!\" said Ardan, still speaking French.\n\n\"We may be lying fifty feet deep in a Florida marsh, for all I know,\"\nobserved M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Or, likely as not, in the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico,\" suggested\nArdan, still in French.\n\n\"Suppose we find out,\" observed Barbican, jumping up to try, his voice\nas clear and his step as firm as ever.\n\nBut trying is one thing, and finding out another. Having no means of\ncomparing themselves with external objects, they could not possibly tell\nwhether they were moving, or at an absolute stand-still. Though our\nEarth is whirling us continually around the Sun at the tremendous speed\nof 500 miles a minute, its inhabitants are totally unconscious of the\nslightest motion. It was the same with our travellers. Through their own\npersonal consciousness they could tell absolutely nothing. Were they\nshooting through space like a meteor? They could not tell. Had they\nfallen back and buried themselves deep in the sandy soil of Florida, or,\nstill more likely, hundreds of fathoms deep beneath the waters of the\nGulf of Mexico? They could not form the slightest idea.\n\nListening evidently could do no good. The profound silence proved\nnothing. The padded walls of the Projectile were too thick to admit any\nsound whether of wind, water, or human beings. Barbican, however, was\nsoon struck forcibly by one circumstance. He felt himself to be very\nuncomfortably warm, and his friend's faces looked very hot and flushed.\nHastily removing the cover that protected the thermometer, he closely\ninspected it, and in an instant uttered a joyous exclamation.\n\n\"Hurrah!\" he cried. \"We're moving! There's no mistake about it. The\nthermometer marks 113 degrees Fahrenheit. Such a stifling heat could not\ncome from the gas. It comes from the exterior walls of our projectile,\nwhich atmospheric friction must have made almost red hot. But this heat\nmust soon diminish, because we are already far beyond the regions of the\natmosphere, so that instead of smothering we shall be shortly in danger\nof freezing.\"\n\n\"What?\" asked Ardan, much bewildered. \"We are already far beyond the\nlimits of the terrestrial atmosphere! Why do you think so?\"\n\nM'Nicholl was still too much flustered to venture a word.\n\n\"If you want me to answer your question satisfactorily, my dear Ardan,\"\nreplied Barbican, with a quiet smile, \"you will have the kindness to put\nyour questions in English.\"\n\n\"What do you mean, Barbican!\" asked Ardan, hardly believing his ears.\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried M'Nicholl, in the tone of a man who has suddenly made a\nwelcome but most unexpected discovery.\n\n\"I don't know exactly how it is with the Captain,\" continued Barbican,\nwith the utmost tranquillity, \"but for my part the study of the\nlanguages never was my strong point, and though I always admired the\nFrench, and even understood it pretty well, I never could converse in it\nwithout giving myself more trouble than I always find it convenient to\nassume.\"\n\n\"You don't mean to say that I have been talking French to you all this\ntime!\" cried Ardan, horror-stricken.\n\n\"The most elegant French I ever heard, backed by the purest Parisian\naccent,\" replied Barbican, highly amused; \"Don't you think so, Captain?\"\nhe added, turning to M'Nicholl, whose countenance still showed the most\ncomical traces of bewilderment.\n\n\"Well, I swan to man!\" cried the Captain, who always swore a little\nwhen his feelings got beyond his control; \"Ardan, the Boss has got the\nrig on both of us this time, but rough as it is on you it is a darned\nsight more so on me. Be hanged if I did not think you were talking\nEnglish the whole time, and I put the whole blame for not understanding\nyou on the disordered state of my brain!\"\n\nArdan only stared, and scratched his head, but Barbican actually--no,\nnot _laughed_, that serene nature could not _laugh_. His cast-iron\nfeatures puckered into a smile of the richest drollery, and his eyes\ntwinkled with the wickedest fun; but no undignified giggle escaped the\nportal of those majestic lips.\n\n\"It _sounds_ like French, I'd say to myself,\" continued the Captain,\n\"but I _know_ it's English, and by and by, when this whirring goes out\nof my head, I shall easily understand it.\"\n\nArdan now looked as if he was beginning to see the joke.\n\n\"The most puzzling part of the thing to me,\" went on M'Nicholl, giving\nhis experience with the utmost gravity, \"was why English sounded so like\n_French_. If it was simple incomprehensible gibberish, I could readily\nblame the state of my ears for it. But the idea that my bothered ears\ncould turn a mere confused, muzzled, buzzing reverberation into a sweet,\nharmonious, articulate, though unintelligible, human language, made me\nsure that I was fast becoming crazy, if I was not so already.\"\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha!\" roared Ardan, laughing till the tears came. \"Now I\nunderstand why the poor Captain made me no reply all the time, and\nlooked at me with such a hapless woe-begone expression of countenance.\nThe fact is, Barbican, that shock was too much both for M'Nicholl and\nmyself. You are the only man among us whose head is fire-proof,\nblast-proof, and powder-proof. I really believe a burglar would have\ngreater difficulty in blowing your head-piece open than in bursting one\nof those famous American safes your papers make such a fuss about. A\nwonderful head, the Boss's, isn't it M'Nicholl?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Captain, as slowly as if every word were a gem of the\nprofoundest thought, \"the Boss has a fearful and a wonderful head!\"\n\n\"But now to business!\" cried the versatile Ardan, \"Why do you think,\nBarbican, that we are at present beyond the limits of the terrestrial\natmosphere?\"\n\n\"For a very simple reason,\" said Barbican, pointing to the chronometer;\n\"it is now more than seven minutes after 11. We must, therefore, have\nbeen in motion more than twenty minutes. Consequently, unless our\ninitial velocity has been very much diminished by the friction, we must\nhave long before this completely cleared the fifty miles of atmosphere\nenveloping the earth.\"\n\n\"Correct,\" said the Captain, cool as a cucumber, because once more in\ncomplete possession of all his senses; \"but how much do you think the\ninitial velocity to have been diminished by the friction?\"\n\n\"By a third, according to my calculations,\" replied Barbican, \"which I\nthink are right. Supposing our initial velocity, therefore, to have been\n12,000 yards per second, by the time we quitted the atmosphere it must\nhave been reduced to 8,000 yards per second. At that rate, we must have\ngone by this time--\"\n\n\"Then, Mac, my boy, you've lost your two bets!\" interrupted Ardan. \"The\nColumbiad has not burst, four thousand dollars; the Projectile has risen\nat least six miles, five thousand dollars; come, Captain, bleed!\"\n\n\"Let me first be sure we're right,\" said the Captain, quietly. \"I don't\ndeny, you see, that friend Barbican's arguments are quite right, and,\ntherefore, that I have lost my nine thousand dollars. But there is\nanother view of the case possible, which might annul the bet.\"\n\n\"What other view?\" asked Barbican, quickly.\n\n\"Suppose,\" said the Captain, very drily, \"that the powder had not\ncaught, and that we were still lying quietly at the bottom of the\nColumbiad!\"\n\n\"By Jove!\" laughed Ardan, \"there's an idea truly worthy of my own\nnondescript brain! We must surely have changed heads during that\nconcussion! No matter, there is some sense left in us yet. Come now,\nCaptain, consider a little, if you can. Weren't we both half-killed by\nthe shock? Didn't I rescue you from certain death with these two hands?\nDon't you see Barbican's shoulder still bleeding by the violence of the\nshock?\"\n\n\"Correct, friend Michael, correct in every particular,\" replied the\nCaptain, \"But one little question.\"\n\n\"Out with it!\"\n\n\"Friend Michael, you say we're moving?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"In consequence of the explosion?\"\n\n\"Certainly!\"\n\n\"Which must have been attended with a tremendous report?\"\n\n\"Of course!\"\n\n\"Did you hear that report, friend Michael?\"\n\n\"N--o,\" replied Ardan, a little disconcerted at the question. \"Well, no;\nI can't say that I did hear any report.\"\n\n\"Did you, friend Barbican?\"\n\n\"No,\" replied Barbican, promptly. \"I heard no report whatever.\"\n\nHis answer was ready, but his look was quite as disconcerted as Ardan's.\n\n\"Well, friend Barbican and friend Michael,\" said the Captain, very drily\nas he leered wickedly at both, \"put that and that together and tell me\nwhat you make of it.\"\n\n\"It's a fact!\" exclaimed Barbican, puzzled, but not bewildered. \"Why did\nwe not hear that report?\"\n\n\"Too hard for me,\" said Ardan. \"Give it up!\"\n\nThe three friends gazed at each other for a while with countenances\nexpressive of much perplexity. Barbican appeared to be the least\nself-possessed of the party. It was a complete turning of the tables\nfrom the state of things a few moments ago. The problem was certainly\nsimple enough, but for that very reason the more inexplicable. If they\nwere moving the explosion must have taken place; but if the explosion\nhad taken place, why had they not heard the report?\n\nBarbican's decision soon put an end to speculation.\n\n\"Conjecture being useless,\" said he, \"let us have recourse to facts.\nFirst, let us see where we are. Drop the deadlights!\"\n\nThis operation, simple enough in itself and being immediately undertaken\nby the whole three, was easily accomplished. The screws fastening the\nbolts by which the external plates of the deadlights were solidly\npinned, readily yielded to the pressure of a powerful wrench. The bolts\nwere then driven outwards, and the holes which had contained them were\nimmediately filled with solid plugs of India rubber. The bolts once\ndriven out, the external plates dropped by their own weight, turning on\na hinge, like portholes, and the strong plate-glass forming the light\nimmediately showed itself. A second light exactly similar, could be\ncleared away on the opposite side of the Projectile; a third, on the\nsummit of the dome, and a fourth, in the centre of the bottom. The\ntravellers could thus take observations in four different directions,\nhaving an opportunity of gazing at the firmament through the side\nlights, and at the Earth and the Moon through the lower and the upper\nlights of the Projectile.\n\nArdan and the Captain had commenced examining the floor, previous to\noperating on the bottom light. But Barbican was the first to get through\nhis work at one of the side lights, and M'Nicholl and Ardan soon heard\nhim shouting:\n\n\"No, my friends!\" he exclaimed, in tones of decided emotion; \"we have\n_not_ fallen back to Earth; nor are we lying in the bottom of the Gulf\nof Mexico. No! We are driving through space! Look at the stars\nglittering all around! Brighter, but smaller than we have ever seen them\nbefore! We have left the Earth and the Earth's atmosphere far behind\nus!\"\n\n\"Hurrah! Hurrah!\" cried M'Nicholl and Ardan, feeling as if electric\nshocks were coursing through them, though they could see nothing,\nlooking down from the side light, but the blackest and profoundest\nobscurity.\n\nBarbican soon convinced them that this pitchy blackness proved that they\nwere not, and could not be, reposing on the surface of the Earth, where\nat that moment, everything was illuminated by the bright moonlight; also\nthat they had passed the different layers of the atmosphere, where the\ndiffused and refracted rays would be also sure to reveal themselves\nthrough the lights of the Projectile. They were, therefore, certainly\nmoving. No doubt was longer possible.\n\n\"It's a fact!\" observed the Captain, now quite convinced. \"Then I've\nlost!\"\n\n\"Let me congratulate you!\" cried Ardan, shaking his hand.\n\n\"Here is your nine thousand dollars, friend Barbican,\" said the Captain,\ntaking a roll of greenbacks of high denomination out of his\nporte-monnaie.\n\n\"You want a receipt, don't you, Captain?\" asked Barbican, counting the\nmoney.\n\n\"Yes, I should prefer one, if it is not too much trouble,\" answered\nM'Nicholl; \"it saves dispute.\"\n\nCoolly and mechanically, as if seated at his desk, in his office,\nBarbican opened his memorandum book, wrote a receipt on a blank page,\ndated, signed and sealed it, and then handed it to the Captain, who put\nit away carefully among the other papers of his portfolio.\n\nArdan, taking off his hat, made a profound bow to both of his\ncompanions, without saying a word. Such formality, under such\nextraordinary circumstances, actually paralysed his tongue for the\nmoment. No wonder that he could not understand those Americans. Even\nIndians would have surprised him by an exhibition of such stoicism.\nAfter indulging in silent wonder for a minute or two, he joined his\ncompanions who were now busy looking out at the starry sky.\n\n\"Where is the Moon?\" he asked. \"How is it that we cannot see her?\"\n\n\"The fact of our not seeing her,\" answered Barbican, \"gives me very\ngreat satisfaction in one respect; it shows that our Projectile was shot\nso rapidly out of the Columbiad that it had not time to be impressed\nwith the slightest revolving motion--for us a most fortunate matter. As\nfor the rest--see, there is _Cassiopeia_, a little to the left is\n_Andromeda_, further down is the great square of _Pegasus_, and to the\nsouthwest _Fomalhaut_ can be easily seen swallowing the _Cascade_. All\nthis shows we are looking west and consequently cannot see the Moon,\nwhich is approaching the zenith from the east. Open the other light--But\nhold on! Look here! What can this be?\"\n\nThe three travellers, looking westwardly in the direction of _Alpherat_,\nsaw a brilliant object rapidly approaching them. At a distance, it\nlooked like a dusky moon, but the side turned towards the Earth blazed\nwith a bright light, which every moment became more intense. It came\ntowards them with prodigious velocity and, what was worse, its path lay\nso directly in the course of the Projectile that a collision seemed\ninevitable. As it moved onward, from west to east, they could easily see\nthat it rotated on its axis, like all heavenly bodies; in fact, it\nsomewhat resembled a Moon on a small scale, describing its regular orbit\naround the Earth.\n\n\"_Mille tonerres!_\" cried Ardan, greatly excited; \"what is that? Can it\nbe another projectile?\" M'Nicholl, wiping his spectacles, looked again,\nbut made no reply. Barbican looked puzzled and uneasy. A collision was\nquite possible, and the results, even if not frightful in the highest\ndegree, must be extremely deplorable. The Projectile, if not absolutely\ndashed to pieces, would be diverted from its own course and dragged\nalong in a new one in obedience to the irresistible attraction of this\nfurious asteroid.\n\nBarbican fully realized that either alternative involved the complete\nfailure of their enterprise. He kept perfectly still, but, never losing\nhis presence of mind, he curiously looked on the approaching object with\na gladiatorial eye, as if seeking to detect some unguarded point in his\nterrible adversary. The Captain was equally silent; he looked like a man\nwho had fully made up his mind to regard every possible contingency with\nthe most stoical indifference. But Ardan's tongue, more fluent than\never, rattled away incessantly.\n\n\"Look! Look!\" he exclaimed, in tones so perfectly expressive of his\nrapidly alternating feelings as to render the medium of words totally\nunnecessary. \"How rapidly the cursed thing is nearing us! Plague take\nyour ugly phiz, the more I know you, the less I like you! Every second\nshe doubles in size! Come, Madame Projectile! Stir your stumps a little\nlivelier, old lady! He's making for you as straight as an arrow! We're\ngoing right in his way, or he's coming in ours, I can't say which. It's\ntaking a mean advantage of us either way. As for ourselves--what can\n_we_ do! Before such a monster as that we are as helpless as three men\nin a little skiff shooting down the rapids to the brink of Niagara! Now\nfor it!\"\n\nNearer and nearer it came, but without noise, without sparks, without a\ntrail, though its lower part was brighter than ever. Its path lying\nlittle above them, the nearer it came the more the collision seemed\ninevitable. Imagine yourself caught on a narrow railroad bridge at\nmidnight with an express train approaching at full speed, its reflector\nalready dazzling you with its light, the roar of the cars rattling in\nyour ears, and you may conceive the feelings of the travellers. At last\nit was so near that the travellers started back in affright, with eyes\nshut, hair on end, and fully believing their last hour had come. Even\nthen Ardan had his _mot_.\n\n\"We can neither switch off, down brakes, nor clap on more steam! Hard\nluck!\"\n\nIn an instant all was over. The velocity of the Projectile was\nfortunately great enough to carry it barely above the dangerous point;\nand in a flash the terrible bolide disappeared rapidly several hundred\nyards beneath the affrighted travellers.\n\n\"Good bye! And may you never come back!\" cried Ardan, hardly able to\nbreathe. \"It's perfectly outrageous! Not room enough in infinite space\nto let an unpretending bullet like ours move about a little without\nincurring the risk of being run over by such a monster as that! What is\nit anyhow? Do you know, Barbican?\"\n\n\"I do,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Of course, you do! What is it that he don't know? Eh, Captain?\"\n\n\"It is a simple bolide, but one of such enormous dimensions that the\nEarth's attraction has made it a satellite.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Ardan, \"another satellite besides the Moon? I hope there\nare no more of them!\"\n\n\"They are pretty numerous,\" replied Barbican; \"but they are so small and\nthey move with such enormous velocity that they are very seldom seen.\nPetit, the Director of the Observatory of Toulouse, who these last years\nhas devoted much time and care to the observation of bolides, has\ncalculated that the very one we have just encountered moves with such\nastonishing swiftness that it accomplishes its revolution around the\nEarth in about 3 hours and 20 minutes!\"\n\n\"Whew!\" whistled Ardan, \"where should we be now if it had struck us!\"\n\n\"You don't mean to say, Barbican,\" observed M'Nicholl, \"that Petit has\nseen this very one?\"\n\n\"So it appears,\" replied Barbican.\n\n\"And do all astronomers admit its existence?\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"Well, some of them have their doubts,\" replied Barbican--\n\n\"If the unbelievers had been here a minute or two ago,\" interrupted\nArdan, \"they would never express a doubt again.\"\n\n\"If Petit's calculation is right,\" continued Barbican, \"I can even form\na very good idea as to our distance from the Earth.\"\n\n\"It seems to me Barbican can do what he pleases here or elsewhere,\"\nobserved Ardan to the Captain.\n\n\"Let us see, Barbican,\" asked M'Nicholl; \"where has Petit's calculation\nplaced us?\"\n\n\"The bolide's distance being known,\" replied Barbican, \"at the moment we\nmet it we were a little more than 5 thousand miles from the Earth's\nsurface.\"\n\n\"Five thousand miles already!\" cried Ardan, \"why we have only just\nstarted!\"\n\n\"Let us see about that,\" quietly observed the Captain, looking at his\nchronometer, and calculating with his pencil. \"It is now 10 minutes past\neleven; we have therefore been 23 minutes on the road. Supposing our\ninitial velocity of 10,000 yards or nearly seven miles a second, to have\nbeen kept up, we should by this time be about 9,000 miles from the\nEarth; but by allowing for friction and gravity, we can hardly be more\nthan 5,500 miles. Yes, friend Barbican, Petit does not seem to be very\nwrong in his calculations.\"\n\nBut Barbican hardly heard the observation. He had not yet answered the\npuzzling question that had already presented itself to them for\nsolution; and until he had done so he could not attend to anything else.\n\n\"That's all very well and good, Captain,\" he replied in an absorbed\nmanner, \"but we have not yet been able to account for a very strange\nphenomenon. Why didn't we hear the report?\"\n\nNo one replying, the conversation came to a stand-still, and Barbican,\nstill absorbed in his reflections, began clearing the second light of\nits external shutter. In a few minutes the plate dropped, and the Moon\nbeams, flowing in, filled the interior of the Projectile with her\nbrilliant light. The Captain immediately put out the gas, from motives\nof economy as well as because its glare somewhat interfered with the\nobservation of the interplanetary regions.\n\nThe Lunar disc struck the travellers as glittering with a splendor and\npurity of light that they had never witnessed before. The beams, no\nlonger strained through the misty atmosphere of the Earth, streamed\ncopiously in through the glass and coated the interior walls of the\nProjectile with a brilliant silvery plating. The intense blackness of\nthe sky enhanced the dazzling radiance of the Moon. Even the stars\nblazed with a new and unequalled splendor, and, in the absence of a\nrefracting atmosphere, they flamed as bright in the close proximity of\nthe Moon as in any other part of the sky.\n\nYou can easily conceive the interest with which these bold travellers\ngazed on the Starry Queen, the final object of their daring journey. She\nwas now insensibly approaching the zenith, the mathematical point which\nshe was to reach four days later. They presented their telescopes, but\nher mountains, plains, craters and general characteristics hardly came\nout a particle more sharply than if they had been viewed from the Earth.\nStill, her light, unobstructed by air or vapor, shimmered with a lustre\nactually transplendent. Her disc shone like a mirror of polished\nplatins. The travellers remained for some time absorbed in the silent\ncontemplation of the glorious scene.\n\n\"How they're gazing at her this very moment from Stony Hill!\" said the\nCaptain at last to break the silence.\n\n\"By Jove!\" cried Ardan; \"It's true! Captain you're right. We were near\nforgetting our dear old Mother, the Earth. What ungrateful children! Let\nme feast my eyes once more on the blessed old creature!\"\n\nBarbican, to satisfy his companion's desire, immediately commenced to\nclear away the disc which covered the floor of the Projectile and\nprevented them from getting at the lower light. This disc, though it had\nbeen dashed to the bottom of the Projectile with great violence, was\nstill as strong as ever, and, being made in compartments fastened by\nscrews, to dismount it was no easy matter. Barbican, however, with the\nhelp of the others, soon had it all taken apart, and put away the pieces\ncarefully, to serve again in case of need. A round hole about a foot and\na half in diameter appeared, bored through the floor of the Projectile.\nIt was closed by a circular pane of plate-glass, which was about six\ninches thick, fastened by a ring of copper. Below, on the outside, the\nglass was protected by an aluminium plate, kept in its place by strong\nbolts and nuts. The latter being unscrewed, the bolts slipped out by\ntheir own weight, the shutter fell, and a new communication was\nestablished between the interior and the exterior.\n\nArdan knelt down, applied his eye to the light, and tried to look out.\nAt first everything was quite dark and gloomy.\n\n\"I see no Earth!\" he exclaimed at last.\n\n\"Don't you see a fine ribbon of light?\" asked Barbican, \"right beneath\nus? A thin, pale, silvery crescent?\"\n\n\"Of course I do. Can that be the Earth?\"\n\n\"_Terra Mater_ herself, friend Ardan. That fine fillet of light, now\nhardly visible on her eastern border, will disappear altogether as soon\nas the Moon is full. Then, lying as she will be between the Sun and the\nMoon, her illuminated face will be turned away from us altogether, and\nfor several days she will be involved in impenetrable darkness.\"\n\n\"And that's the Earth!\" repeated Ardan, hardly able to believe his eyes,\nas he continued to gaze on the slight thread of silvery white light,\nsomewhat resembling the appearance of the \"Young May Moon\" a few hours\nafter sunset.\n\nBarbican's explanation was quite correct. The Earth, in reference to the\nMoon or the Projectile, was in her last phase, or octant as it is\ncalled, and showed a sharp-horned, attenuated, but brilliant crescent\nstrongly relieved by the black background of the sky. Its light,\nrendered a little bluish by the density of the atmospheric envelopes,\nwas not quite as brilliant as the Moon's. But the Earth's crescent,\ncompared to the Lunar, was of dimensions much greater, being fully 4\ntimes larger. You would have called it a vast, beautiful, but very thin\nbow extending over the sky. A few points, brighter than the rest,\nparticularly in its concave part, revealed the presence of lofty\nmountains, probably the Himalayahs. But they disappeared every now and\nthen under thick vapory spots, which are never seen on the Lunar disc.\nThey were the thin concentric cloud rings that surround the terrestrial\nsphere.\n\nHowever, the travellers' eyes were soon able to trace the rest of the\nEarth's surface not only with facility, but even to follow its outline\nwith absolute delight. This was in consequence of two different\nphenomena, one of which they could easily account for; but the other\nthey could not explain without Barbican's assistance. No wonder. Never\nbefore had mortal eye beheld such a sight. Let us take each in its turn.\n\nWe all know that the ashy light by means of which we perceive what is\ncalled the _Old Moon in the Young Moon's arms_ is due to the\nEarth-shine, or the reflection of the solar rays from the Earth to the\nMoon. By a phenomenon exactly identical, the travellers could now see\nthat portion of the Earth's surface which was unillumined by the Sun;\nonly, as, in consequence of the different areas of the respective\nsurfaces, the _Earthlight_ is thirteen times more intense than the\n_Moonlight_, the dark portion of the Earth's disc appeared considerably\nmore adumbrated than the _Old Moon_.\n\nBut the other phenomenon had burst on them so suddenly that they\nuttered a cry loud enough to wake up Barbican from his problem. They had\ndiscovered a true starry ring! Around the Earth's outline, a ring, of\ninternally well defined thickness, but somewhat hazy on the outside,\ncould easily be traced by its surpassing brilliancy. Neither the\n_Pleiades_, the _Northern Crown_, the _Magellanic Clouds_ nor the great\nnebulas of _Orion_, or of _Argo_, no sparkling cluster, no corona, no\ngroup of glittering star-dust that the travellers had ever gazed at,\npresented such attractions as the diamond ring they now saw encompassing\nthe Earth, just as the brass meridian encompasses a terrestrial globe.\nThe resplendency of its light enchanted them, its pure softness\ndelighted them, its perfect regularity astonished them. What was it?\nthey asked Barbican. In a few words he explained it. The beautiful\nluminous ring was simply an optical illusion, produced by the refraction\nof the terrestrial atmosphere. All the stars in the neighborhood of the\nEarth, and many actually behind it, had their rays refracted, diffused,\nradiated, and finally converged to a focus by the atmosphere, as if by a\ndouble convex lens of gigantic power.\n\nWhilst the travellers were profoundly absorbed in the contemplation of\nthis wondrous sight, a sparkling shower of shooting stars suddenly\nflashed over the Earth's dark surface, making it for a moment as bright\nas the external ring. Hundreds of bolides, catching fire from contact\nwith the atmosphere, streaked the darkness with their luminous trails,\noverspreading it occasionally with sheets of electric flame. The Earth\nwas just then in her perihelion, and we all know that the months of\nNovember and December are so highly favorable to the appearance of these\nmeteoric showers that at the famous display of November, 1866,\nastronomers counted as many as 8,000 between midnight and four o'clock.\n\nBarbican explained the whole matter in a few words. The Earth, when\nnearest to the sun, occasionally plunges into a group of countless\nmeteors travelling like comets, in eccentric orbits around the grand\ncentre of our solar system. The atmosphere strikes the rapidly moving\nbodies with such violence as to set them on fire and render them visible\nto us in beautiful star showers. But to this simple explanation of the\nfamous November meteors Ardan would not listen. He preferred believing\nthat Mother Earth, feeling that her three daring children were still\nlooking at her, though five thousand miles away, shot off her best\nrocket-signals to show that she still thought of them and would never\nlet them out of her watchful eye.\n\nFor hours they continued to gaze with indescribable interest on the\nfaintly luminous mass so easily distinguishable among the other heavenly\nbodies. Jupiter blazed on their right, Mars flashed his ruddy light on\ntheir left, Saturn with his rings looked like a round white spot on a\nblack wall; even Venus they could see almost directly under them, easily\nrecognizing her by her soft, sweetly scintillant light. But no planet or\nconstellation possessed any attraction for the travellers, as long as\ntheir eyes could trace that shadowy, crescent-edged, diamond-girdled,\nmeteor-furrowed spheroid, the theatre of their existence, the home of so\nmany undying desires, the mysterious cradle of their race!\n\nMeantime the Projectile cleaved its way upwards, rapidly, unswervingly,\nthough with a gradually retarding velocity. As the Earth sensibly grew\ndarker, and the travellers' eyes grew dimmer, an irresistible somnolency\nslowly stole over their weary frames. The extraordinary excitement they\nhad gone through during the last four or five hours, was naturally\nfollowed by a profound reaction.\n\n\"Captain, you're nodding,\" said Ardan at last, after a longer silence\nthan usual; \"the fact is, Barbican is the only wake man of the party,\nbecause he is puzzling over his problem. _Dum vivimus vivamus_! As we\nare asleep let us be asleep!\"\n\nSo saying he threw himself on the mattress, and his companions\nimmediately followed the example.\n\nThey had been lying hardly a quarter of an hour, when Barbican started\nup with a cry so loud and sudden as instantly to awaken his companions.\n\nThe bright moonlight showed them the President sitting up in his bed,\nhis eye blazing, his arms waving, as he shouted in a tone reminding them\nof the day they had found him in St. Helena wood.\n\n\"_Eureka!_ I've got it! I know it!\"\n\n\"What have you got?\" cried Ardan, bouncing up and seizing him by the\nright hand.\n\n\"What do you know?\" cried the Captain, stretching over and seizing him\nby the left.\n\n\"The reason why we did not hear the report!\"\n\n\"Well, why did not we hear it!\" asked both rapidly in the same breath.\n\n\"Because we were shot up 30 times faster than sound can travel!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHEY MAKE THEMSELVES AT HOME AND FEEL QUITE COMFORTABLE.\n\n\nThis curious explanation given, and its soundness immediately\nrecognized, the three friends were soon fast wrapped in the arms of\nMorpheus. Where in fact could they have found a spot more favorable for\nundisturbed repose? On land, where the dwellings, whether in populous\ncity or lonely country, continually experience every shock that thrills\nthe Earth's crust? At sea, where between waves or winds or paddles or\nscrews or machinery, everything is tremor, quiver or jar? In the air,\nwhere the balloon is incessantly twirling, oscillating, on account of\nthe ever varying strata of different densities, and even occasionally\nthreatening to spill you out? The Projectile alone, floating grandly\nthrough the absolute void, in the midst of the profoundest silence,\ncould offer to its inmates the possibility of enjoying slumber the most\ncomplete, repose the most profound.\n\nThere is no telling how long our three daring travellers would have\ncontinued to enjoy their sleep, if it had not been suddenly terminated\nby an unexpected noise about seven o'clock in the morning of December\n2nd, eight hours after their departure.\n\nThis noise was most decidedly of barking.\n\n\"The dogs! It's the dogs!\" cried Ardan, springing up at a bound.\n\n\"They must be hungry!\" observed the Captain.\n\n\"We have forgotten the poor creatures!\" cried Barbican.\n\n\"Where can they have gone to?\" asked Ardan, looking for them in all\ndirections.\n\nAt last they found one of them hiding under the sofa. Thunderstruck and\nperfectly bewildered by the terrible shock, the poor animal had kept\nclose in its hiding place, never daring to utter a sound, until at last\nthe pangs of hunger had proved too strong even for its fright.\n\nThey readily recognized the amiable Diana, but they could not allure the\nshivering, whining animal from her retreat without a good deal of\ncoaxing. Ardan talked to her in his most honeyed and seductive accents,\nwhile trying to pull her out by the neck.\n\n\"Come out to your friends, charming Diana,\" he went on, \"come out, my\nbeauty, destined for a lofty niche in the temple of canine glory! Come\nout, worthy scion of a race deemed worthy by the Egyptians to be a\ncompanion of the great god, Anubis, by the Christians, to be a friend of\nthe good Saint Roch! Come out and partake of a glory before which the\nstars of Montargis and of St. Bernard shall henceforward pale their\nineffectual fire! Come out, my lady, and let me think o'er the countless\nmultiplication of thy species, so that, while sailing through the\ninterplanetary spaces, we may indulge in endless flights of fancy on\nthe number and variety of thy descendants who will ere long render the\nSelenitic atmosphere vocal with canine ululation!\"\n\n[Illustration: MORE HUNGRY THAN EITHER.]\n\nDiana, whether flattered or not, allowed herself to be dragged out,\nstill uttering short, plaintive whines. A hasty examination satisfying\nher friends that she was more frightened than hurt and more hungry than\neither, they continued their search for her companion.\n\n\"Satellite! Satellite! Step this way, sir!\" cried Ardan. But no\nSatellite appeared and, what was worse, not the slightest sound indicated\nhis presence. At last he was discovered on a ledge in the upper portion\nof the Projectile, whither he had been shot by the terrible concussion.\nLess fortunate than his female companion, the poor fellow had received a\nfrightful shock and his life was evidently in great danger.\n\n\"The acclimatization project looks shaky!\" cried Ardan, handing the\nanimal very carefully and tenderly to the others. Poor Satellite's head\nhad been crushed against the roof, but, though recovery seemed hopeless,\nthey laid the body on a soft cushion, and soon had the satisfaction of\nhearing it give vent to a slight sigh.\n\n\"Good!\" said Ardan, \"while there's life there's hope. You must not die\nyet, old boy. We shall nurse you. We know our duty and shall not shirk\nthe responsibility. I should rather lose the right arm off my body than\nbe the cause of your death, poor Satellite! Try a little water?\"\n\nThe suffering creature swallowed the cool draught with evident avidity,\nthen sunk into a deep slumber.\n\nThe friends, sitting around and having nothing more to do, looked out of\nthe window and began once more to watch the Earth and the Moon with\ngreat attention. The glittering crescent of the Earth was evidently\nnarrower than it had been the preceding evening, but its volume was\nstill enormous when compared to the Lunar crescent, which was now\nrapidly assuming the proportions of a perfect circle.\n\n\"By Jove,\" suddenly exclaimed Ardan, \"why didn't we start at the moment\nof Full Earth?--that is when our globe and the Sun were in opposition?\"\n\n\"Why _should_ we!\" growled M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Because in that case we should be now looking at the great continents\nand the great seas in a new light--the former glittering under the solar\nrays, the latter darker and somewhat shaded, as we see them on certain\nmaps. How I should like to get a glimpse at those poles of the Earth, on\nwhich the eye of man has never yet lighted!\"\n\n\"True,\" replied Barbican, \"but if the Earth had been Full, the Moon\nwould have been New, that is to say, invisible to us on account of solar\nirradiation. Of the two it is much preferable to be able to keep the\npoint of arrival in view rather than the point of departure.\"\n\n\"You're right, Barbican,\" observed the Captain; \"besides, once we're in\nthe Moon, the long Lunar night will give us plenty of time to gaze our\nfull at yonder great celestial body, our former home, and still\nswarming with our fellow beings.\"\n\n\"Our fellow beings no longer, dear boy!\" cried Ardan. \"We inhabit a new\nworld peopled by ourselves alone, the Projectile! Ardan is Barbican's\nfellow being, and Barbican M'Nicholl's. Beyond us, outside us, humanity\nends, and we are now the only inhabitants of this microcosm, and so we\nshall continue till the moment when we become Selenites pure and\nsimple.\"\n\n\"Which shall be in about eighty-eight hours from now,\" replied the\nCaptain.\n\n\"Which is as much as to say--?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"That it is half past eight,\" replied M'Nicholl.\n\n\"My regular hour for breakfast,\" exclaimed Ardan, \"and I don't see the\nshadow of a reason for changing it now.\"\n\nThe proposition was most acceptable, especially to the Captain, who\nfrequently boasted that, whether on land or water, on mountain summits\nor in the depths of mines, he had never missed a meal in all his life.\nIn escaping from the Earth, our travellers felt that they had by no\nmeans escaped from the laws of humanity, and their stomachs now called\non them lustily to fill the aching void. Ardan, as a Frenchman, claimed\nthe post of chief cook, an important office, but his companions yielded\nit with alacrity. The gas furnished the requisite heat, and the\nprovision chest supplied the materials for their first repast. They\ncommenced with three plates of excellent soup, extracted from _Liebig's_\nprecious tablets, prepared from the best beef that ever roamed over the\nPampas.\n\nTo this succeeded several tenderloin beefsteaks, which, though reduced\nto a small bulk by the hydraulic engines of the _American Dessicating\nCompany_, were pronounced to be fully as tender, juicy and savory as if\nthey had just left the gridiron of a London Club House. Ardan even swore\nthat they were \"bleeding,\" and the others were too busy to contradict\nhim.\n\nPreserved vegetables of various kinds, \"fresher than nature,\" according\nto Ardan, gave an agreeable variety to the entertainment, and these were\nfollowed by several cups of magnificent tea, unanimously allowed to be\nthe best they had ever tasted. It was an odoriferous young hyson\ngathered that very year, and presented to the Emperor of Russia by the\nfamous rebel chief Yakub Kushbegi, and of which Alexander had expressed\nhimself as very happy in being able to send a few boxes to his friend,\nthe distinguished President of the Baltimore Gun Club. To crown the\nmeal, Ardan unearthed an exquisite bottle of _Chambertin_, and, in\nglasses sparkling with the richest juice of the _Cote d'or,_ the\ntravellers drank to the speedy union of the Earth and her satellite.\n\nAnd, as if his work among the generous vineyards of Burgundy had not\nbeen enough to show his interest in the matter, even the Sun wished to\njoin the party. Precisely at this moment, the Projectile beginning to\nleave the conical shadow cast by the Earth, the rays of the glorious\nKing of Day struck its lower surface, not obliquely, but\nperpendicularly, on account of the slight obliquity of the Moon's orbit\nwith that of the Earth.\n\n[Illustration: TO THE UNION OF THE EARTH AND HER SATELLITE.]\n\n\"The Sun,\" cried Ardan.\n\n\"Of course,\" said Barbican, looking at his watch, \"he's exactly up to\ntime.\"\n\n\"How is it that we see him only through the bottom light of our\nProjectile?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"A moment's reflection must tell you,\" replied Barbican, \"that when we\nstarted last night, the Sun was almost directly below us; therefore, as\nwe continue to move in a straight line, he must still be in our rear.\"\n\n\"That's clear enough,\" said the Captain, \"but another consideration, I'm\nfree to say, rather perplexes me. Since our Earth lies between us and\nthe Sun, why don't we see the sunlight forming a great ring around the\nglobe, in other words, instead of the full Sun that we plainly see there\nbelow, why do we not witness an annular eclipse?\"\n\n\"Your cool, clear head has not yet quite recovered from the shock, my\ndear Captain;\" replied Barbican, with a smile. \"For two reasons we can't\nsee the ring eclipse: on account of the angle the Moon's orbit makes\nwith the Earth, the three bodies are not at present in a direct line;\nwe, therefore, see the Sun a little to the west of the earth; secondly,\neven if they were exactly in a straight line, we should still be far\nfrom the point whence an annular eclipse would be visible.\"\n\n\"That's true,\" said Ardan; \"the cone of the Earth's shadow must extend\nfar beyond the Moon.\"\n\n\"Nearly four times as far,\" said Barbican; \"still, as the Moon's orbit\nand the Earth's do not lie in exactly the same plane, a Lunar eclipse\ncan occur only when the nodes coincide with the period of the Full Moon,\nwhich is generally twice, never more than three times in a year. If we\nhad started about four days before the occurrence of a Lunar eclipse, we\nshould travel all the time in the dark. This would have been obnoxious\nfor many reasons.\"\n\n\"One, for instance?\"\n\n\"An evident one is that, though at the present moment we are moving\nthrough a vacuum, our Projectile, steeped in the solar rays, revels in\ntheir light and heat. Hence great saving in gas, an important point in\nour household economy.\"\n\nIn effect, the solar rays, tempered by no genial medium like our\natmosphere, soon began to glare and glow with such intensity, that the\nProjectile under their influence, felt like suddenly passing from winter\nto summer. Between the Moon overhead and the Sun beneath it was actually\ninundated with fiery rays.\n\n\"One feels good here,\" cried the Captain, rubbing his hands.\n\n\"A little too good,\" cried Ardan. \"It's already like a hot-house. With a\nlittle garden clay, I could raise you a splendid crop of peas in\ntwenty-four hours. I hope in heaven the walls of our Projectile won't\nmelt like wax!\"\n\n\"Don't be alarmed, dear friend,\" observed Barbican, quietly. \"The\nProjectile has seen the worst as far as heat is concerned; when tearing\nthrough the atmosphere, she endured a temperature with which what she is\nliable to at present stands no comparison. In fact, I should not be\nastonished if, in the eyes of our friends at Stony Hill, it had\nresembled for a moment or two a red-hot meteor.\"\n\n\"Poor Marston must have looked on us as roasted alive!\" observed Ardan.\n\n\"What could have saved us I'm sure I can't tell,\" replied Barbican. \"I\nmust acknowledge that against such a danger, I had made no provision\nwhatever.\"\n\n\"I knew all about it,\" said the Captain, \"and on the strength of it, I\nhad laid my fifth wager.\"\n\n\"Probably,\" laughed Ardan, \"there was not time enough to get grilled in:\nI have heard of men who dipped their fingers into molten iron with\nimpunity.\"\n\nWhilst Ardan and the Captain were arguing the point, Barbican began\nbusying himself in making everything as comfortable as if, instead of a\nfour days' journey, one of four years was contemplated. The reader, no\ndoubt, remembers that the floor of the Projectile contained about 50\nsquare feet; that the chamber was nine feet high; that space was\neconomized as much as possible, nothing but the most absolute\nnecessities being admitted, of which each was kept strictly in its own\nplace; therefore, the travellers had room enough to move around in with\na certain liberty. The thick glass window in the floor was quite as\nsolid as any other part of it; but the Sun, streaming in from below,\nlit up the Projectile strangely, producing some very singular and\nstartling effects of light appearing to come in by the wrong way.\n\nThe first thing now to be done was to see after the water cask and the\nprovision chest. They were not injured in the slightest respect, thanks\nto the means taken to counteract the shock. The provisions were in good\ncondition, and abundant enough to supply the travellers for a whole\nyear--Barbican having taken care to be on the safe side, in case the\nProjectile might land in a deserted region of the Moon. As for the water\nand the other liquors, the travellers had enough only for two months.\nRelying on the latest observations of astronomers, they had convinced\nthemselves that the Moon's atmosphere, being heavy, dense and thick in\nthe deep valleys, springs and streams of water could hardly fail to show\nthemselves there. During the journey, therefore, and for the first year\nof their installation on the Lunar continent, the daring travellers\nwould be pretty safe from all danger of hunger or thirst.\n\nThe air supply proved also to be quite satisfactory. The _Reiset_ and\n_Regnault_ apparatus for producing oxygen contained a supply of chlorate\nof potash sufficient for two months. As the productive material had to\nbe maintained at a temperature of between 7 and 8 hundred degrees Fahr.,\na steady consumption of gas was required; but here too the supply far\nexceeded the demand. The whole arrangement worked charmingly, requiring\nonly an odd glance now and then. The high temperature changing the\nchlorate into a chloride, the oxygen was disengaged gradually but\nabundantly, every eighteen pounds of chlorate of potash, furnishing the\nseven pounds of oxygen necessary for the daily consumption of the\ninmates of the Projectile.\n\nStill--as the reader need hardly be reminded--it was not sufficient to\nrenew the exhausted oxygen; the complete purification of the air\nrequired the absorption of the carbonic acid, exhaled from the lungs.\nFor nearly 12 hours the atmosphere had been gradually becoming more and\nmore charged with this deleterious gas, produced from the combustion of\nthe blood by the inspired oxygen. The Captain soon saw this, by noticing\nwith what difficulty Diana was panting. She even appeared to be\nsmothering, for the carbonic acid--as in the famous _Grotto del Cane_ on\nthe banks of Lake Agnano, near Naples--was collecting like water on the\nfloor of the Projectile, on account of its great specific gravity. It\nalready threatened the poor dog's life, though not yet endangering that\nof her masters. The Captain, seeing this state of things, hastily laid\non the floor one or two cups containing caustic potash and water, and\nstirred the mixture gently: this substance, having a powerful affinity\nfor carbonic acid, greedily absorbed it, and after a few moments the air\nwas completely purified.\n\nThe others had begun by this time to check off the state of the\ninstruments. The thermometer and the barometer were all right, except\none self-recorder of which the glass had got broken. An excellent\naneroid barometer, taken safe and sound out of its wadded box, was\ncarefully hung on a hook in the wall. It marked not only the pressure of\nthe air in the Projectile, but also the quantity of the watery vapor\nthat it contained. The needle, oscillating a little beyond thirty,\npointed pretty steadily at \"_Fair_.\"\n\nThe mariner's compasses were also found to be quite free from injury. It\nis, of course, hardly necessary to say that the needles pointed in no\nparticular direction, the magnetic pole of the Earth being unable at\nsuch a distance to exercise any appreciable influence on them. But when\nbrought to the Moon, it was expected that these compasses, once more\nsubjected to the influence of the current, would attest certain\nphenomena. In any case, it would be interesting to verify if the Earth\nand her satellite were similarly affected by the magnetic forces.\n\nA hypsometer, or instrument for ascertaining the heights of the Lunar\nmountains by the barometric pressure under which water boils, a sextant\nto measure the altitude of the Sun, a theodolite for taking horizontal\nor vertical angles, telescopes, of indispensable necessity when the\ntravellers should approach the Moon,--all these instruments, carefully\nexamined, were found to be still in perfect working order,\nnotwithstanding the violence of the terrible shock at the start.\n\nAs to the picks, spades, and other tools that had been carefully\nselected by the Captain; also the bags of various kinds of grain and\nthe bundles of various kinds of shrubs, which Ardan expected to\ntransplant to the Lunar plains--they were all still safe in their places\naround the upper corners of the Projectile.\n\nSome other articles were also up there which evidently possessed great\ninterest for the Frenchman. What they were nobody else seemed to know,\nand he seemed to be in no hurry to tell. Every now and then, he would\nclimb up, by means of iron pins fixed in the wall, to inspect his\ntreasures; whatever they were, he arranged them and rearranged them with\nevident pleasure, and as he rapidly passed a careful hand through\ncertain mysterious boxes, he joyfully sang in the falsest possible of\nfalse voices the lively piece from _Nicolo_:\n\n    _Le temps est beau, la route est belle,\n    La promenade est un plaisir_.\n\n    {The day is bright, our hearts are light.}\n    {How sweet to rove through wood and dell.}\n\nor the well known air in _Mignon_:\n\n    _Legères hirondelles,\n    Oiseaux bénis de Dieu,\n    Ouvrez-ouvrez vos ailes,\n    Envolez-vous! adieu!_\n\n    {Farewell, happy Swallows, farewell!}\n    {With summer for ever to dwell}\n    {Ye leave our northern strand}\n    {For the genial southern land}\n    {Balmy with breezes bland.}\n    {Return? Ah, who can tell?}\n    {Farewell, happy Swallows, farewell!}\n\nBarbican was much gratified to find that his rockets and other fireworks\nhad not received the least injury. He relied upon them for the\nperformance of a very important service as soon as the Projectile,\nhaving passed the point of neutral attraction between the Earth and the\nMoon, would begin to fall with accelerated velocity towards the Lunar\nsurface. This descent, though--thanks to the respective volumes of the\nattracting bodies--six times less rapid than it would have been on the\nsurface of the Earth, would still be violent enough to dash the\nProjectile into a thousand pieces. But Barbican confidently expected by\nmeans of his powerful rockets to offer very considerable obstruction to\nthe violence of this fall, if not to counteract its terrible effects\naltogether.\n\nThe inspection having thus given general satisfaction, the travellers\nonce more set themselves to watching external space through the lights\nin the sides and the floor of the Projectile.\n\nEverything still appeared to be in the same state as before. Nothing was\nchanged. The vast arch of the celestial dome glittered with stars, and\nconstellations blazed with a light clear and pure enough to throw an\nastronomer into an ecstasy of admiration. Below them shone the Sun, like\nthe mouth of a white-hot furnace, his dazzling disc defined sharply on\nthe pitch-black back-ground of the sky. Above them the Moon, reflecting\nback his rays from her glowing surface, appeared to stand motionless in\nthe midst of the starry host.\n\nA little to the east of the Sun, they could see a pretty large dark\nspot, like a hole in the sky, the broad silver fringe on one edge fading\noff into a faint glimmering mist on the other--it was the Earth. Here\nand there in all directions, nebulous masses gleamed like large flakes\nof star dust, in which, from nadir to zenith, the eye could trace\nwithout a break that vast ring of impalpable star powder, the famous\n_Milky Way_, through the midst of which the beams of our glorious Sun\nstruggle with the dusky pallor of a star of only the fourth magnitude.\n\nOur observers were never weary of gazing on this magnificent and novel\nspectacle, of the grandeur of which, it is hardly necessary to say, no\ndescription can give an adequate idea. What profound reflections it\nsuggested to their understandings! What vivid emotions it enkindled in\ntheir imaginations! Barbican, desirous of commenting the story of the\njourney while still influenced by these inspiring impressions, noted\ncarefully hour by hour every fact that signalized the beginning of his\nenterprise. He wrote out his notes very carefully and systematically,\nhis round full hand, as business-like as ever, never betraying the\nslightest emotion.\n\nThe Captain was quite as busy, but in a different way. Pulling out his\ntablets, he reviewed his calculations regarding the motion of\nprojectiles, their velocities, ranges and paths, their retardations and\ntheir accelerations, jotting down the figures with a rapidity wonderful\nto behold. Ardan neither wrote nor calculated, but kept up an incessant\nfire of small talk, now with Barbican, who hardly ever answered him,\nnow with M'Nicholl, who never heard him, occasionally with Diana, who\nnever understood him, but oftenest with himself, because, as he said, he\nliked not only to talk to a sensible man but also to hear what a\nsensible man had to say. He never stood still for a moment, but kept\n\"bobbing around\" with the effervescent briskness of a bee, at one time\nroosting at the top of the ladder, at another peering through the floor\nlight, now to the right, then to the left, always humming scraps from\nthe _Opera Bouffe_, but never changing the air. In the small space which\nwas then a whole world to the travellers, he represented to the life the\nanimation and loquacity of the French, and I need hardly say he played\nhis part to perfection.\n\nThe eventful day, or, to speak more correctly, the space of twelve hours\nwhich with us forms a day, ended for our travellers with an abundant\nsupper, exquisitely cooked. It was highly enjoyed.\n\nNo incident had yet occurred of a nature calculated to shake their\nconfidence. Apprehending none therefore, full of hope rather and already\ncertain of success, they were soon lost in a peaceful slumber, whilst\nthe Projectile, moving rapidly, though with a velocity uniformly\nretarding, still cleaved its way through the pathless regions of the\nempyrean.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nA CHAPTER FOR THE CORNELL GIRLS.\n\n\nNo incident worth recording occurred during the night, if night indeed\nit could be called. In reality there was now no night or even day in the\nProjectile, or rather, strictly speaking, it was always _night_ on the\nupper end of the bullet, and always _day_ on the lower. Whenever,\ntherefore, the words _night_ and _day_ occur in our story, the reader\nwill readily understand them as referring to those spaces of time that\nare so called in our Earthly almanacs, and were so measured by the\ntravellers' chronometers.\n\nThe repose of our friends must indeed have been undisturbed, if absolute\nfreedom from sound or jar of any kind could secure tranquillity. In\nspite of its immense velocity, the Projectile still seemed to be\nperfectly motionless. Not the slightest sign of movement could be\ndetected. Change of locality, though ever so rapid, can never reveal\nitself to our senses when it takes place in a vacuum, or when the\nenveloping atmosphere travels at the same rate as the moving body.\nThough we are incessantly whirled around the Sun at the rate of about\nseventy thousand miles an hour, which of us is conscious of the\nslightest motion? In such a case, as far as sensation is concerned,\nmotion and repose are absolutely identical. Neither has any effect one\nway or another on a material body. Is such a body in motion? It remains\nin motion until some obstacle stops it. Is it at rest? It remains at\nrest until some superior force compels it to change its position. This\nindifference of bodies to motion or rest is what physicists call\n_inertia_.\n\nBarbican and his companions, therefore, shut up in the Projectile, could\nreadily imagine themselves to be completely motionless. Had they been\noutside, the effect would have been precisely the same. No rush of air,\nno jarring sensation would betray the slightest movement. But for the\nsight of the Moon gradually growing larger above them, and of the Earth\ngradually growing smaller beneath them, they could safely swear that\nthey were fast anchored in an ocean of deathlike immobility.\n\nTowards the morning of next day (December 3), they were awakened by a\njoyful, but quite unexpected sound.\n\n\"Cock-a-doodle! doo!\" accompanied by a decided flapping of wings.\n\nThe Frenchman, on his feet in one instant and on the top of the ladder\nin another, attempted to shut the lid of a half open box, speaking in an\nangry but suppressed voice:\n\n\"Stop this hullabaloo, won't you? Do you want me to fail in my great\ncombination!\"\n\n\"Hello?\" cried Barbican and M'Nicholl, starting up and rubbing their\neyes.\n\n\"What noise was that?\" asked Barbican.\n\n\"Seems to me I heard the crowing of a cock,\" observed the Captain.\n\n\"I never thought your ears could be so easily deceived, Captain,\" cried\nArdan, quickly, \"Let us try it again,\" and, flapping his ribs with his\narms, he gave vent to a crow so loud and natural that the lustiest\nchanticleer that ever saluted the orb of day might be proud of it.\n\nThe Captain roared right out, and even Barbican snickered, but as they\nsaw that their companion evidently wanted to conceal something, they\nimmediately assumed straight faces and pretended to think no more about\nthe matter.\n\n\"Barbican,\" said Ardan, coming down the ladder and evidently anxious to\nchange the conversation, \"have you any idea of what I was thinking about\nall night?\"\n\n\"Not the slightest.\"\n\n\"I was thinking of the promptness of the reply you received last year\nfrom the authorities of Cambridge University, when you asked them about\nthe feasibility of sending a bullet to the Moon. You know very well by\nthis time what a perfect ignoramus I am in Mathematics. I own I have\nbeen often puzzled when thinking on what grounds they could form such a\npositive opinion, in a case where I am certain that the calculation must\nbe an exceedingly delicate matter.\"\n\n\"The feasibility, you mean to say,\" replied Barbican, \"not exactly of\nsending a bullet to the Moon, but of sending it to the neutral point\nbetween the Earth and the Moon, which lies at about nine-tenths of the\njourney, where the two attractions counteract each other. Because that\npoint once passed, the Projectile would reach the Moon's surface by\nvirtue of its own weight.\"\n\n\"Well, reaching that neutral point be it;\" replied Ardan, \"but, once\nmore, I should like to know how they have been able to come at the\nnecessary initial velocity of 12,000 yards a second?\"\n\n\"Nothing simpler,\" answered Barbican.\n\n\"Could you have done it yourself?\" asked the Frenchman.\n\n\"Without the slightest difficulty. The Captain and myself could have\nreadily solved the problem, only the reply from the University saved us\nthe trouble.\"\n\n\"Well, Barbican, dear boy,\" observed Ardan, \"all I've got to say is, you\nmight chop the head off my body, beginning with my feet, before you\ncould make me go through such a calculation.\"\n\n\"Simply because you don't understand Algebra,\" replied Barbican,\nquietly.\n\n\"Oh! that's all very well!\" cried Ardan, with an ironical smile. \"You\ngreat _x+y_ men think you settle everything by uttering the word\n_Algebra_!\"\n\n\"Ardan,\" asked Barbican, \"do you think people could beat iron without a\nhammer, or turn up furrows without a plough?\"\n\n\"Hardly.\"\n\n\"Well, Algebra is an instrument or utensil just as much as a hammer or a\nplough, and a very good instrument too if you know how to make use of\nit.\"\n\n\"You're in earnest?\"\n\n\"Quite so.\"\n\n\"And you can handle the instrument right before my eyes?\"\n\n\"Certainly, if it interests you so much.\"\n\n\"You can show me how they got at the initial velocity of our\nProjectile?\"\n\n\"With the greatest pleasure. By taking into proper consideration all the\nelements of the problem, viz.: (1) the distance between the centres of\nthe Earth and the Moon, (2) the Earth's radius, (3) its volume, and (4)\nthe Moon's volume, I can easily calculate what must be the initial\nvelocity, and that too by a very simple formula.\"\n\n\"Let us have the formula.\"\n\n\"In one moment; only I can't give you the curve really described by the\nProjectile as it moves between the Earth and the Moon; this is to be\nobtained by allowing for their combined movement around the Sun. I will\nconsider the Earth and the Sun to be motionless, that being sufficient\nfor our present purpose.\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"Because to give you that exact curve would be to solve a point in the\n'Problem of the Three Bodies,' which Integral Calculus has not yet\nreached.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Ardan, in a mocking tone, \"is there really anything that\nMathematics can't do?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Barbican, \"there is still a great deal that Mathematics\ncan't even attempt.\"\n\n\"So far, so good;\" resumed Ardan. \"Now then what is this Integral\nCalculus of yours?\"\n\n\"It is a branch of Mathematics that has for its object the summation of\na certain infinite series of indefinitely small terms: but for the\nsolution of which, we must generally know the function of which a given\nfunction is the differential coefficient. In other words,\" continued\nBarbican, \"in it we return from the differential coefficient, to the\nfunction from which it was deduced.\"\n\n\"Clear as mud!\" cried Ardan, with a hearty laugh.\n\n\"Now then, let me have a bit of paper and a pencil,\" added Barbican,\n\"and in half an hour you shall have your formula; meantime you can\neasily find something interesting to do.\"\n\nIn a few seconds Barbican was profoundly absorbed in his problem, while\nM'Nicholl was watching out of the window, and Ardan was busily employed\nin preparing breakfast.\n\nThe morning meal was not quite ready, when Barbican, raising his head,\nshowed Ardan a page covered with algebraic signs at the end of which\nstood the following formula:--\n\n 1     2   2         r         m'    r       r\n--- (v' - v ) = gr {--- - 1 + --- (----- - -----) }\n 2                   x         m   d - x   d - r\n\n\"Which means?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"It means,\" said the Captain, now taking part in the discussion, \"that\nthe half of _v_ prime squared minus _v_ squared equals _gr_ multiplied\nby _r_ over _x_ minus one plus _m_ prime over _m_ multiplied by _r_ over\n_d_ minus _x_ minus _r_ over _d_ minus _r_ ... that is--\"\n\n\"That is,\" interrupted Ardan, in a roar of laughter, \"_x_ stradlegs on\n_y_, making for _z_ and jumping over _p_! Do _you_ mean to say you\nunderstand the terrible jargon, Captain?\"\n\n\"Nothing is clearer, Ardan.\"\n\n\"You too, Captain! Then of course I must give in gracefully, and declare\nthat the sun at noon-day is not more palpably evident than the sense of\nBarbican's formula.\"\n\n\"You asked for Algebra, you know,\" observed Barbican.\n\n\"Rock crystal is nothing to it!\"\n\n\"The fact is, Barbican,\" said the Captain, who had been looking over the\npaper, \"you have worked the thing out very well. You have the integral\nequation of the living forces, and I have no doubt it will give us the\nresult sought for.\"\n\n\"Yes, but I should like to understand it, you know,\" cried Ardan: \"I\nwould give ten years of the Captain's life to understand it!\"\n\n\"Listen then,\" said Barbican. \"Half of _v_ prime squared less _v_\nsquared, is the formula giving us the half variation of the living\nforce.\"\n\n\"Mac pretends he understands all that!\"\n\n\"You need not be a _Solomon_ to do it,\" said the Captain. \"All these\nsigns that you appear to consider so cabalistic form a language the\nclearest, the shortest, and the most logical, for all those who can read\nit.\"\n\n\"You pretend, Captain, that, by means of these hieroglyphics, far more\nincomprehensible than the sacred Ibis of the Egyptians, you can\ndiscover the velocity at which the Projectile should start?\"\n\n\"Most undoubtedly,\" replied the Captain, \"and, by the same formula I can\neven tell you the rate of our velocity at any particular point of our\njourney.\"\n\n\"You can?\"\n\n\"I can.\"\n\n\"Then you're just as deep a one as our President.\"\n\n\"No, Ardan; not at all. The really difficult part of the question\nBarbican has done. That is, to make out such an equation as takes into\naccount all the conditions of the problem. After that, it's a simple\naffair of Arithmetic, requiring only a knowledge of the four rules to\nwork it out.\"\n\n\"Very simple,\" observed Ardan, who always got muddled at any kind of a\ndifficult sum in addition.\n\n\"Captain,\" said Barbican, \"_you_ could have found the formulas too, if\nyou tried.\"\n\n\"I don't know about that,\" was the Captain's reply, \"but I do know that\nthis formula is wonderfully come at.\"\n\n\"Now, Ardan, listen a moment,\" said Barbican, \"and you will see what\nsense there is in all these letters.\"\n\n\"I listen,\" sighed Ardan with the resignation of a martyr.\n\n\"_d_ is the distance from the centre of the Earth to the centre of the\nMoon, for it is from the centres that we must calculate the\nattractions.\"\n\n\"That I comprehend.\"\n\n\"_r_ is the radius of the Earth.\"\n\n\"That I comprehend.\"\n\n\"_m_ is the mass or volume of the Earth; _m_ prime that of the Moon. We\nmust take the mass of the two attracting bodies into consideration,\nsince attraction is in direct proportion to their masses.\"\n\n\"That I comprehend.\"\n\n\"_g_ is the gravity or the velocity acquired at the end of a second by a\nbody falling towards the centre of the Earth. Clear?\"\n\n\"That I comprehend.\"\n\n\"Now I represent by _x_ the varying distance that separates the\nProjectile from the centre of the Earth, and by _v_ prime its velocity\nat that distance.\"\n\n\"That I comprehend.\"\n\n\"Finally, _v_ is its velocity when quitting our atmosphere.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" chimed in the Captain, \"it is for this point, you see, that the\nvelocity had to be calculated, because we know already that the initial\nvelocity is exactly the three halves of the velocity when the Projectile\nquits the atmosphere.\"\n\n\"That I don't comprehend,\" cried the Frenchman, energetically.\n\n\"It's simple enough, however,\" said Barbican.\n\n\"Not so simple as a simpleton,\" replied the Frenchman.\n\n\"The Captain merely means,\" said Barbican, \"that at the instant the\nProjectile quitted the terrestrial atmosphere it had already lost a\nthird of its initial velocity.\"\n\n\"So much as a third?\"\n\n\"Yes, by friction against the atmospheric layers: the quicker its\nmotion, the greater resistance it encountered.\"\n\n\"That of course I admit, but your _v_ squared and your _v_ prime squared\nrattle in my head like nails in a box!\"\n\n\"The usual effect of Algebra on one who is a stranger to it; to finish\nyou, our next step is to express numerically the value of these several\nsymbols. Now some of them are already known, and some are to be\ncalculated.\"\n\n\"Hand the latter over to me,\" said the Captain.\n\n\"First,\" continued Barbican: \"_r_, the Earth's radius is, in the\nlatitude of Florida, about 3,921 miles. _d_, the distance from the\ncentre of the Earth to the centre of the Moon is 56 terrestrial radii,\nwhich the Captain calculates to be...?\"\n\n\"To be,\" cried M'Nicholl working rapidly with his pencil, \"219,572\nmiles, the moment the Moon is in her _perigee_, or nearest point to the\nEarth.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" continued Barbican. \"Now _m_ prime over _m_, that is the\nratio of the Moon's mass to that of the Earth is about the 1/81. _g_\ngravity being at Florida about 32-1/4 feet, of course _g_ x _r_ must\nbe--how much, Captain?\"\n\n\"38,465 miles,\" replied M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Now then?\" asked Ardan.\n\n[Illustration: MY HEAD IS SPLITTING WITH IT.]\n\n\"Now then,\" replied Barbican, \"the expression having numerical values, I\nam trying to find _v_, that is to say, the initial velocity which the\nProjectile must possess in order to reach the point where the two\nattractions neutralize each other. Here the velocity being null, _v_\nprime becomes zero, and _x_ the required distance of this neutral point\nmust be represented by the nine-tenths of _d_, the distance between the\ntwo centres.\"\n\n\"I have a vague kind of idea that it must be so,\" said Ardan.\n\n\"I shall, therefore, have the following result;\" continued Barbican,\nfiguring up; \"_x_ being nine-tenths of _d_, and _v_ prime being zero, my\nformula becomes:--\n\n 2            10 r     1    10 r     r\nv  = gr {1 - ----- - ---- (----- - -----) }\n               d      81     d     d - r   \"\n\nThe Captain read it off rapidly.\n\n\"Right! that's correct!\" he cried.\n\n\"You think so?\" asked Barbican.\n\n\"As true as Euclid!\" exclaimed M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Wonderful fellows,\" murmured the Frenchman, smiling with admiration.\n\n\"You understand now, Ardan, don't you?\" asked Barbican.\n\n\"Don't I though?\" exclaimed Ardan, \"why my head is splitting with it!\"\n\n\"Therefore,\" continued Barbican,\n\n\" 2             10 r     1    10 r     r\n2v  = 2gr {1 - ----- - ---- (----- - -----) }\n                 d      81     d     d - r   \"\n\n\"And now,\" exclaimed M'Nicholl, sharpening his pencil; \"in order to\nobtain the velocity of the Projectile when leaving the atmosphere, we\nhave only to make a slight calculation.\"\n\nThe Captain, who before clerking on a Mississippi steamboat had been\nprofessor of Mathematics in an Indiana university, felt quite at home at\nthe work. He rained figures from his pencil with a velocity that would\nhave made Marston stare. Page after page was filled with his\nmultiplications and divisions, while Barbican looked quietly on, and\nArdan impatiently stroked his head and ears to keep down a rising\nhead-ache.\n\n\"Well?\" at last asked Barbican, seeing the Captain stop and throw a\nsomewhat hasty glance over his work.\n\n\"Well,\" answered M'Nicholl slowly but confidently, \"the calculation is\nmade, I think correctly; and _v_, that is, the velocity of the\nProjectile when quitting the atmosphere, sufficient to carry it to the\nneutral point, should be at least ...\"\n\n\"How much?\" asked Barbican, eagerly.\n\n\"Should be at least 11,972 yards the first second.\"\n\n\"What!\" cried Barbican, jumping off his seat. \"How much did you say?\"\n\n\"11,972 yards the first second it quits the atmosphere.\"\n\n\"Oh, malediction!\" cried Barbican, with a gesture of terrible despair.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Ardan, very much surprised.\n\n\"Enough is the matter!\" answered Barbican excitedly. \"This velocity\nhaving been diminished by a third, our initial velocity should have been\nat least ...\"\n\n\"17,958 yards the first second!\" cried M'Nicholl, rapidly flourishing\nhis pencil.\n\n\"But the Cambridge Observatory having declared that 12,000 yards the\nfirst second were sufficient, our Projectile started with no greater\nvelocity!\"\n\n\"Well?\" asked M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Well, such a velocity will never do!\"\n\n\"How??\" }\n\"How!!\" } cried the Captain and Ardan in one voice.\n\n\"We can never reach the neutral point!\"\n\n\"Thunder and lightning\"\n\n\"Fire and Fury!\"\n\n\"We can't get even halfway!\"\n\n\"Heaven and Earth!\"\n\n\"_Mille noms d'un boulet!_\" cried Ardan, wildly gesticulating.\n\n\"And we shall fall back to the Earth!\"\n\n\"Oh!\"\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\nThey could say no more. This fearful revelation took them like a stroke\nof apoplexy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE COLDS OF SPACE.\n\n\nHow could they imagine that the Observatory men had committed such a\nblunder? Barbican would not believe it possible. He made the Captain go\nover his calculation again and again; but no flaw was to be found in it.\nHe himself carefully examined it, figure after figure, but he could find\nnothing wrong. They both took up the formula and subjected it to the\nstrongest tests; but it was invulnerable. There was no denying the fact.\nThe Cambridge professors had undoubtedly blundered in saying that an\ninitial velocity of 12,000 yards a second would be enough to carry them\nto the neutral point. A velocity of nearly 18,000 yards would be the\nvery lowest required for such a purpose. They had simply forgotten to\nallow a third for friction.\n\nThe three friends kept profound silence for some time. Breakfast now was\nthe last thing thought of. Barbican, with teeth grating, fingers\nclutching, and eye-brows closely contracting, gazed grimly through the\nwindow. The Captain, as a last resource, once more examined his\ncalculations, earnestly hoping to find a figure wrong. Ardan could\nneither sit, stand nor lie still for a second, though he tried all\nthree. His silence, of course, did not last long.\n\n\"Ha! ha! ha!\" he laughed bitterly. \"Precious scientific men! Villainous\nold hombogues! The whole set not worth a straw! I hope to gracious,\nsince we must fall, that we shall drop down plumb on Cambridge\nObservatory, and not leave a single one of the miserable old women,\ncalled professors, alive in the premises!\"\n\nA certain expression in Ardan's angry exclamation had struck the Captain\nlike a shot, and set his temples throbbing violently.\n\n\"_Must_ fall!\" he exclaimed, starting up suddenly. \"Let us see about\nthat! It is now seven o'clock in the morning. We must have, therefore,\nbeen at least thirty-two hours on the road, and more than half of our\npassage is already made. If we are going to fall at all, we must be\nfalling now! I'm certain we're not, but, Barbican, you have to find it\nout!\"\n\nBarbican caught the idea like lightning, and, seizing a compass, he\nbegan through the floor window to measure the visual angle of the\ndistant Earth. The apparent immobility of the Projectile allowed him to\ndo this with great exactness. Then laying aside the instrument, and\nwiping off the thick drops of sweat that bedewed his forehead, he began\njotting down some figures on a piece of paper. The Captain looked on\nwith keen interest; he knew very well that Barbican was calculating\ntheir distance from the Earth by the apparent measure of the terrestrial\ndiameter, and he eyed him anxiously.\n\nPretty soon his friends saw a color stealing into Barbican's pale face,\nand a triumphant light glittering in his eye.\n\n\"No, my brave boys!\" he exclaimed at last throwing down his pencil,\n\"we're not falling! Far from it, we are at present more than 150\nthousand miles from the Earth!\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" }\n\"Bravo!\"  } cried M'Nicholl and Ardan, in a breath.\n\n\"We have passed the point where we should have stopped if we had had no\nmore initial velocity than the Cambridge men allowed us!\"\n\n\"Hurrah! hurrah!\"\n\n\"Bravo, Bravissimo!\"\n\n\"And we're still going up!\"\n\n\"Glory, glory, hallelujah!\" sang M'Nicholl, in the highest excitement.\n\n\"_Vive ce cher Barbican!_\" cried Ardan, bursting into French as usual\nwhenever his feelings had the better of him.\n\n\"Of course we're marching on!\" continued M'Nicholl, \"and I know the\nreason why, too. Those 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton gave us greater\ninitial velocity than we had expected!\"\n\n\"You're right, Captain!\" added Barbican; \"besides, you must not forget\nthat, by getting rid of the water, the Projectile was relieved of\nconsiderable weight!\"\n\n\"Correct again!\" cried the Captain. \"I had not thought of that!\"\n\n\"Therefore, my brave boys,\" continued Barbican, with some excitement;\n\"away with melancholy! We're all right!\"\n\n\"Yes; everything is lovely and the goose hangs high!\" cried the Captain,\nwho on grand occasions was not above a little slang.\n\n\"Talking of goose reminds me of breakfast,\" cried Ardan; \"I assure you,\nmy fright has not taken away my appetite!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" continued Barbican. \"Captain, you're quite right. Our initial\nvelocity very fortunately was much greater than what our Cambridge\nfriends had calculated for us!\"\n\n\"Hang our Cambridge friends and their calculations!\" cried Ardan, with\nsome asperity; \"as usual with your scientific men they've more brass\nthan brains! If we're not now bed-fellows with the oysters in the Gulf\nof Mexico, no thanks to our kind Cambridge friends. But talking of\noysters, let me remind you again that breakfast is ready.\"\n\nThe meal was a most joyous one. They ate much, they talked more, but\nthey laughed most. The little incident of Algebra had certainly very\nmuch enlivened the situation.\n\n\"Now, my boys,\" Ardan went on, \"all things thus turning out quite\ncomfortable, I would just ask you why we should not succeed? We are\nfairly started. No breakers ahead that I can see. No rock on our road.\nIt is freer than the ships on the raging ocean, aye, freer than the\nballoons in the blustering air. But the ship arrives at her destination;\nthe balloon, borne on the wings of the wind, rises to as high an\naltitude as can be endured; why then should not our Projectile reach the\nMoon?\"\n\n\"It _will_ reach the Moon!\" nodded Barbican.\n\n\"We shall reach the Moon or know for what!\" cried M'Nicholl,\nenthusiastically.\n\n\"The great American nation must not be disappointed!\" continued Ardan.\n\"They are the only people on Earth capable of originating such an\nenterprise! They are the only people capable of producing a Barbican!\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried M'Nicholl.\n\n\"That point settled,\" continued the Frenchman, \"another question comes\nup to which I have not yet called your attention. When we get to the\nMoon, what shall we do there? How are we going to amuse ourselves? I'm\nafraid our life there will be awfully slow!\"\n\nHis companions emphatically disclaimed the possibility of such a thing.\n\n\"You may deny it, but I know better, and knowing better, I have laid in\nmy stores accordingly. You have but to choose. I possess a varied\nassortment. Chess, draughts, cards, dominoes--everything in fact, but a\nbilliard table?\"\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Barbican; \"cumbered yourself with such gimcracks?\"\n\n\"Such gimcracks are not only good to amuse ourselves with, but are\neminently calculated also to win us the friendship of the Selenites.\"\n\n\"Friend Michael,\" said Barbican, \"if the Moon is inhabited at all, her\ninhabitants must have appeared several thousand years before the advent\nof Man on our Earth, for there seems to be very little doubt that Luna\nis considerably older than Terra in her present state. Therefore,\nSelenites, if their brain is organized like our own, must have by this\ntime invented all that we are possessed of, and even much which we are\nstill to invent in the course of ages. The probability is that, instead\nof their learning from us, we shall have much to learn from them.\"\n\n\"What!\" asked Ardan, \"you think they have artists like Phidias, Michael\nAngelo and Raphael?\"\n\n\"Certainly.\"\n\n\"And poets like Homer, Virgil, Dante, Shakspeare, Göthe and Hugo?\"\n\n\"Not a doubt of it.\"\n\n\"And philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Bacon, Kant?\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"And scientists like Euclid, Archimedes, Copernicus, Newton, Pascal?\"\n\n\"I should think so.\"\n\n\"And famous actors, and singers, and composers, and--and photographers?\"\n\n\"I could almost swear to it.\"\n\n\"Then, dear boy, since they have gone ahead as far as we and even\nfarther, why have not those great Selenites tried to start a\ncommunication with the Earth? Why have they not fired a projectile from\nthe regions lunar to the regions terrestrial?\"\n\n\"Who says they have not done so?\" asked Barbican, coolly.\n\n\"Attempting such a communication,\" observed the Captain, \"would\ncertainly be much easier for them than for us, principally for two\nreasons. First, attraction on the Moon's surface being six times less\nthan on the Earth's, a projectile could be sent off more rapidly;\nsecond, because, as this projectile need be sent only 24 instead of 240\nthousand miles, they could do it with a quantity of powder ten times\nless than what we should require for the same purpose.\"\n\n\"Then I ask again,\" said the Frenchman; \"why haven't they made such an\nattempt?\"\n\n\"And I reply again,\" answered Barbican. \"How do you know that they have\nnot made such an attempt?\"\n\n\"Made it? When?\"\n\n\"Thousands of years ago, before the invention of writing, before even\nthe appearance of Man on the Earth.\"\n\n\"But the bullet?\" asked Ardan, triumphantly; \"Where's the bullet?\nProduce the bullet!\"\n\n\"Friend Michael,\" answered Barbican, with a quiet smile, \"you appear to\nforget that the 5/6 of the surface of our Earth is water. 5 to 1,\ntherefore, that the bullet is more likely to be lying this moment at the\nbottom of the Atlantic or the Pacific than anywhere else on the surface\nof our globe. Besides, it may have sunk into some weak point of the\nsurface, at the early epoch when the crust of the Earth had not acquired\nsufficient solidity.\"\n\n\"Captain,\" said Ardan, turning with a smile to M'Nicholl; \"no use in\ntrying to catch Barby; slippery as an eel, he has an answer for\neverything. Still I have a theory on the subject myself, which I think\nit no harm to ventilate. It is this: The Selenites have never sent us\nany projectile at all, simply because they had no gunpowder: being older\nand wiser than we, they were never such fools as to invent any.--But,\nwhat's that? Diana howling for her breakfast! Good! Like genuine\nscientific men, while squabbling over nonsense, we let the poor animals\ndie of hunger. Excuse us, Diana; it is not the first time the little\nsuffer from the senseless disputes of the great.\"\n\nSo saying he laid before the animal a very toothsome pie, and\ncontemplated with evident pleasure her very successful efforts towards\nits hasty and complete disappearance.\n\n\"Looking at Diana,\" he went on, \"makes me almost wish we had made a\nNoah's Ark of our Projectile by introducing into it a pair of all the\ndomestic animals!\"\n\n\"Not room enough,\" observed Barbican.\n\n\"No doubt,\" remarked the Captain, \"the ox, the cow, the horse, the goat,\nall the ruminating animals would be very useful in the Lunar continent.\nBut we couldn't turn our Projectile into a stable, you know.\"\n\n\"Still, we might have made room for a pair of poor little donkeys!\"\nobserved Ardan; \"how I love the poor beasts. Fellow feeling, you will\nsay. No doubt, but there really is no animal I pity more. They are the\nmost ill-treated brutes in all creation. They are not only banged during\nlife; they are banged worse after death!\"\n\n\"Hey! How do you make that out?\" asked his companions, surprised.\n\n\"Because we make their skins into drum heads!\" replied Ardan, with an\nair, as if answering a conundrum.\n\nBarbican and M'Nicholl could hardly help laughing at the absurd reply of\ntheir lively companion, but their hilarity was soon stopped by the\nexpression his face assumed as he bent over Satellite's body, where it\nlay stretched on the sofa.\n\n\"What's the matter now?\" asked Barbican.\n\n\"Satellite's attack is over,\" replied Ardan.\n\n\"Good!\" said M'Nicholl, misunderstanding him.\n\n\"Yes, I suppose it is good for the poor fellow,\" observed Ardan, in\nmelancholy accents. \"Life with one's skull broken is hardly an enviable\npossession. Our grand acclimatization project is knocked sky high, in\nmore senses than one!\"\n\nThere was no doubt of the poor dog's death. The expression of Ardan's\ncountenance, as he looked at his friends, was of a very rueful order.\n\n\"Well,\" said the practical Barbican, \"there's no help for that now; the\nnext thing to be done is to get rid of the body. We can't keep it here\nwith us forty-eight hours longer.\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" replied the Captain, \"nor need we; our lights, being\nprovided with hinges, can be lifted back. What is to prevent us from\nopening one of them, and flinging the body out through it!\"\n\nThe President of the Gun Club reflected a few minutes; then he spoke:\n\n\"Yes, it can be done; but we must take the most careful precautions.\"\n\n\"Why so?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"For two simple reasons;\" replied Barbican; \"the first refers to the air\nenclosed in the Projectile, and of which we must be very careful to lose\nonly the least possible quantity.\"\n\n\"But as we manufacture air ourselves!\" objected Ardan.\n\n\"We manufacture air only partly, friend Michael,\" replied Barbican. \"We\nmanufacture only oxygen; we can't supply nitrogen--By the bye, Ardan,\nwon't you watch the apparatus carefully every now and then to see that\nthe oxygen is not generated too freely. Very serious consequences would\nattend an immoderate supply of oxygen--No, we can't manufacture\nnitrogen, which is so absolutely necessary for our air and which might\nescape readily through the open windows.\"\n\n\"What! the few seconds we should require for flinging out poor\nSatellite?\"\n\n\"A very few seconds indeed they should be,\" said Barbican, very gravely.\n\n\"Your second reason?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"The second reason is, that we must not allow the external cold, which\nmust be exceedingly great, to penetrate into our Projectile and freeze\nus alive.\"\n\n\"But the Sun, you know--\"\n\n\"Yes, the Sun heats our Projectile, but it does not heat the vacuum\nthrough which we are now floating. Where there is no air there can\nneither be heat nor light; just as wherever the rays of the Sun do not\narrive directly, it must be both cold and dark. The temperature around\nus, if there be anything that can be called temperature, is produced\nsolely by stellar radiation. I need not say how low that is in the\nscale, or that it would be the temperature to which our Earth should\nfall, if the Sun were suddenly extinguished.\"\n\n\"Little fear of that for a few more million years,\" said M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Who can tell?\" asked Ardan. \"Besides, even admitting that the Sun will\nnot soon be extinguished, what is to prevent the Earth from shooting\naway from him?\"\n\n\"Let friend Michael speak,\" said Barbican, with a smile, to the Captain;\n\"we may learn something.\"\n\n\"Certainly you may,\" continued the Frenchman, \"if you have room for\nanything new. Were we not struck by a comet's tail in 1861?\"\n\n\"So it was said, anyhow,\" observed the Captain. \"I well remember what\nnonsense there was in the papers about the 'phosphorescent auroral\nglare.'\"\n\n\"Well,\" continued the Frenchman, \"suppose the comet of 1861 influenced\nthe Earth by an attraction superior to the Sun's. What would be the\nconsequence? Would not the Earth follow the attracting body, become its\nsatellite, and thus at last be dragged off to such a distance that the\nSun's rays could no longer excite heat on her surface?\"\n\n\"Well, that might possibly occur,\" said Barbican slowly, \"but even then\nI question if the consequences would be so terrible as you seem to\napprehend.\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because the cold and the heat might still manage to be nearly equalized\non our globe. It has been calculated that, had the Earth been carried\noff by the comet of '61, when arrived at her greatest distance, she\nwould have experienced a temperature hardly sixteen times greater than\nthe heat we receive from the Moon, which, as everybody knows, produces\nno appreciable effect, even when concentrated to a focus by the most\npowerful lenses.\"\n\n\"Well then,\" exclaimed Ardan, \"at such a temperature--\"\n\n\"Wait a moment,\" replied Barbican. \"Have you never heard of the\nprinciple of compensation? Listen to another calculation. Had the Earth\nbeen dragged along with the comet, it has been calculated that at her\nperihelion, or nearest point to the Sun, she would have to endure a heat\n28,000 times greater than our mean summer temperature. But this heat,\nfully capable of turning the rocks into glass and the oceans into vapor,\nbefore proceeding to such extremity, must have first formed a thick\ninterposing ring of clouds, and thus considerably modified the excessive\ntemperature. Therefore, between the extreme cold of the aphelion and the\nexcessive heat of the perihelion, by the great law of compensation, it\nis probable that the mean temperature would be tolerably endurable.\"\n\n\"At how many degrees is the temperature of the interplanetary space\nestimated?\" asked M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Some time ago,\" replied Barbican, \"this temperature was considered to\nbe very low indeed--millions and millions of degrees below zero. But\nFourrier of Auxerre, a distinguished member of the _Académie des\nSciences_, whose _Mémoires_ on the temperature of the Planetary spaces\nappeared about 1827, reduced these figures to considerably diminished\nproportions. According to his careful estimation, the temperature of\nspace is not much lower than 70 or 80 degrees Fahr. below zero.\"\n\n\"No more?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"No more,\" answered Barbican, \"though I must acknowledge we have only\nhis word for it, as the _Mémoire_ in which he had recorded all the\nelements of that important determination, has been lost somewhere, and\nis no longer to be found.\"\n\n\"I don't attach the slightest importance to his, or to any man's words,\nunless they are sustained by reliable evidence,\" exclaimed M'Nicholl.\n\"Besides, if I'm not very much mistaken, Pouillet--another countryman of\nyours, Ardan, and an Academician as well as Fourrier--esteems the\ntemperature of interplanetary spaces to be at least 256° Fahr. below\nzero. This we can easily verify for ourselves this moment by actual\nexperiment.\"\n\n\"Not just now exactly,\" observed Barbican, \"for the solar rays,\nstriking our Projectile directly, would give us a very elevated instead\nof a very low temperature. But once arrived at the Moon, during those\nnights fifteen days long, which each of her faces experiences\nalternately, we shall have plenty of time to make an experiment with\nevery condition in our favor. To be sure, our Satellite is at present\nmoving in a vacuum.\"\n\n\"A vacuum?\" asked Ardan; \"a perfect vacuum?\"\n\n\"Well, a perfect vacuum as far as air is concerned.\"\n\n\"But is the air replaced by nothing?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" replied Barbican. \"By ether.\"\n\n\"Ah, ether! and what, pray, is ether?\"\n\n\"Ether, friend Michael, is an elastic gas consisting of imponderable\natoms, which, as we are told by works on molecular physics, are, in\nproportion to their size, as far apart as the celestial bodies are from\neach other in space. This distance is less than the 1/3000000 x 1/1000',\nor the one trillionth of a foot. The vibrations of the molecules of this\nether produce the sensations of light and heat, by making 430 trillions\nof undulations per second, each undulation being hardly more than the\none ten-millionth of an inch in width.\"\n\n\"Trillions per second! ten-millionths of an inch in width!\" cried Ardan.\n\"These oscillations have been very neatly counted and ticketed, and\nchecked off! Ah, friend Barbican,\" continued the Frenchman, shaking his\nhead, \"these numbers are just tremendous guesses, frightening the ear\nbut revealing nothing to the intelligence.\"\n\n\"To get ideas, however, we must calculate--\"\n\n\"No, no!\" interrupted Ardan: \"not calculate, but compare. A trillion\ntells you nothing--Comparison, everything. For instance, you say, the\nvolume of _Uranus_ is 76 times greater than the Earth's; _Saturn's_ 900\ntimes greater; _Jupiter's_ 1300 times greater; the Sun's 1300 thousand\ntimes greater--You may tell me all that till I'm tired hearing it, and I\nshall still be almost as ignorant as ever. For my part I prefer to be\ntold one of those simple comparisons that I find in the old almanacs:\nThe Sun is a globe two feet in diameter; _Jupiter_, a good sized orange;\n_Saturn_, a smaller orange; _Neptune_, a plum; _Uranus_, a good sized\ncherry; the Earth, a pea; _Venus_, also a pea but somewhat smaller;\n_Mars_, a large pin's head; _Mercury_, a mustard seed; _Juno_,\n_Ceres_, _Vesta_, _Pallas_, and the other asteroids so many grains\nof sand. Be told something like that, and you have got at least the tail\nof an idea!\"\n\nThis learned burst of Ardan's had the natural effect of making his\nhearers forget what they had been arguing about, and they therefore\nproceeded at once to dispose of Satellite's body. It was a simple matter\nenough--no more than to fling it out of the Projectile into space, just\nas the sailors get rid of a dead body by throwing it into the sea. Only\nin this operation they had to act, as Barbican recommended, with the\nutmost care and dispatch, so as to lose as little as possible of the\ninternal air, which, by its great elasticity, would violently strive to\nescape. The bolts of the floor-light, which was more than a foot in\ndiameter, were carefully unscrewed, while Ardan, a good deal affected,\nprepared to launch his dog's body into space. The glass, worked by a\npowerful lever which enabled it to overcome the pressure of the enclosed\nair, turned quickly on its hinges, and poor Satellite was dropped out.\nThe whole operation was so well managed that very little air escaped,\nand ever afterwards Barbican employed the same means to rid the\nProjectile of all the litter and other useless matter by which it was\noccasionally encumbered.\n\nThe evening of this third of December wore away without further\nincident. As soon as Barbican had announced that the Projectile was\nstill winging its way, though with retarded velocity, towards the lunar\ndisc, the travellers quietly retired to rest.\n\n[Illustration: POOR SATELLITE WAS DROPPED OUT.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nINSTRUCTIVE CONVERSATION.\n\n\nOn the fourth of December, the Projectile chronometers marked five\no'clock in the morning, just as the travellers woke up from a pleasant\nslumber. They had now been 54 hours on their journey. As to lapse of\n_time_, they had passed not much more than half of the number of hours\nduring which their trip was to last; but, as to lapse of _space_, they\nhad already accomplished very nearly the seven-tenths of their passage.\nThis difference between time and distance was due to the regular\nretardation of their velocity.\n\nThey looked at the earth through the floor-light, but it was little more\nthan visible--a black spot drowned in the solar rays. No longer any sign\nof a crescent, no longer any sign of ashy light. Next day, towards\nmidnight, the Earth was to be _new_, at the precise moment when the Moon\nwas to be _full_. Overhead, they could see the Queen of Night coming\nnearer and nearer to the line followed by the Projectile, and evidently\napproaching the point where both should meet at the appointed moment.\nAll around, the black vault of heaven was dotted with luminous points\nwhich seemed to move somewhat, though, of course, in their extreme\ndistance their relative size underwent no change. The Sun and the stars\nlooked exactly as they had appeared when observed from the Earth. The\nMoon indeed had become considerably enlarged in size, but the\ntravellers' telescopes were still too weak to enable them to make any\nimportant observation regarding the nature of her surface, or that might\ndetermine her topographical or geological features.\n\nNaturally, therefore, the time slipped away in endless conversation. The\nMoon, of course, was the chief topic. Each one contributed his share of\npeculiar information, or peculiar ignorance, as the case might be.\nBarbican and M'Nicholl always treated the subject gravely, as became\nlearned scientists, but Ardan preferred to look on things with the eye\nof fancy. The Projectile, its situation, its direction, the incidents\npossible to occur, the precautions necessary to take in order to break\nthe fall on the Moon's surface--these and many other subjects furnished\nendless food for constant debate and inexhaustible conjectures.\n\nFor instance, at breakfast that morning, a question of Ardan's regarding\nthe Projectile drew from Barbican an answer curious enough to be\nreported.\n\n\"Suppose, on the night that we were shot up from Stony Hill,\" said\nArdan, \"suppose the Projectile had encountered some obstacle powerful\nenough to stop it--what would be the consequence of the sudden halt?\"\n\n\"But,\" replied Barbican, \"I don't understand what obstacle it could have\nmet powerful enough to stop it.\"\n\n\"Suppose some obstacle, for the sake of argument,\" said Ardan.\n\n\"Suppose what can't be supposed,\" replied the matter-of-fact Barbican,\n\"what cannot possibly be supposed, unless indeed the original impulse\nproved too weak. In that case, the velocity would have decreased by\ndegrees, but the Projectile itself would not have suddenly stopped.\"\n\n\"Suppose it had struck against some body in space.\"\n\n\"What body, for instance?\"\n\n\"Well, that enormous bolide which we met.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" hastily observed the Captain, \"the Projectile would have been\ndashed into a thousand pieces and we along with it.\"\n\n\"Better than that,\" observed Barbican; \"we should have been burned\nalive.\"\n\n\"Burned alive!\" laughed Ardan. \"What a pity we missed so interesting an\nexperiment! How I should have liked to find out how it felt!\"\n\n\"You would not have much time to record your observations, friend\nMichael, I assure you,\" observed Barbican. \"The case is plain enough.\nHeat and motion are convertible terms. What do we mean by heating water?\nSimply giving increased, in fact, violent motion to its molecules.\"\n\n\"Well!\" exclaimed the Frenchman, \"that's an ingenious theory any how!\"\n\n\"Not only ingenious but correct, my dear friend, for it completely\nexplains all the phenomena of caloric. Heat is nothing but molecular\nmovement, the violent oscillation of the particles of a body. When you\napply the brakes to the train, the train stops. But what has become of\nits motion? It turns into heat and makes the brakes hot. Why do people\ngrease the axles? To hinder them from getting too hot, which they\nassuredly would become if friction was allowed to obstruct the motion.\nYou understand, don't you?\"\n\n\"Don't I though?\" replied Ardan, apparently in earnest. \"Let me show you\nhow thoroughly. When I have been running hard and long, I feel myself\nperspiring like a bull and hot as a furnace. Why am I then forced to\nstop? Simply because my motion has been transformed into heat! Of\ncourse, I understand all about it!\"\n\nBarbican smiled a moment at this comical illustration of his theory and\nthen went on:\n\n\"Accordingly, in case of a collision it would have been all over\ninstantly with our Projectile. You have seen what becomes of the bullet\nthat strikes the iron target. It is flattened out of all shape;\nsometimes it is even melted into a thin film. Its motion has been turned\ninto heat. Therefore, I maintain that if our Projectile had struck that\nbolide, its velocity, suddenly checked, would have given rise to a heat\ncapable of completely volatilizing it in less than a second.\"\n\n\"Not a doubt of it!\" said the Captain. \"President,\" he added after a\nmoment, \"haven't they calculated what would be the result, if the Earth\nwere suddenly brought to a stand-still in her journey, through her\norbit?\"\n\n\"It has been calculated,\" answered Barbican, \"that in such a case so\nmuch heat would be developed as would instantly reduce her to vapor.\"\n\n\"Hm!\" exclaimed Ardan; \"a remarkably simple way for putting an end to\nthe world!\"\n\n\"And supposing the Earth to fall into the Sun?\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"Such a fall,\" answered Barbican, \"according to the calculations of\nTyndall and Thomson, would develop an amount of heat equal to that\nproduced by sixteen hundred globes of burning coal, each globe equal in\nsize to the earth itself. Furthermore such a fall would supply the Sun\nwith at least as much heat as he expends in a hundred years!\"\n\n\"A hundred years! Good! Nothing like accuracy!\" cried Ardan. \"Such\ninfallible calculators as Messrs. Tyndall and Thomson I can easily\nexcuse for any airs they may give themselves. They must be of an order\nmuch higher than that of ordinary mortals like us!\"\n\n\"I would not answer myself for the accuracy of such intricate problems,\"\nquietly observed Barbican; \"but there is no doubt whatever regarding one\nfact: motion suddenly interrupted always develops heat. And this has\ngiven rise to another theory regarding the maintenance of the Sun's\ntemperature at a constant point. An incessant rain of bolides falling on\nhis surface compensates sufficiently for the heat that he is\ncontinually giving forth. It has been calculated--\"\n\n\"Good Lord deliver us!\" cried Ardan, putting his hands to his ears:\n\"here comes Tyndall and Thomson again!\"\n\n--\"It has been calculated,\" continued Barbican, not heeding the\ninterruption, \"that the shock of every bolide drawn to the Sun's surface\nby gravity, must produce there an amount of heat equal to that of the\ncombustion of four thousand blocks of coal, each the same size as the\nfalling bolide.\"\n\n\"I'll wager another cent that our bold savants calculated the heat of\nthe Sun himself,\" cried Ardan, with an incredulous laugh.\n\n\"That is precisely what they have done,\" answered Barbican referring to\nhis memorandum book; \"the heat emitted by the Sun,\" he continued, \"is\nexactly that which would be produced by the combustion of a layer of\ncoal enveloping the Sun's surface, like an atmosphere, 17 miles in\nthickness.\"\n\n\"Well done! and such heat would be capable of--?\"\n\n\"Of melting in an hour a stratum of ice 2400 feet thick, or, according\nto another calculation, of raising a globe of ice-cold water, 3 times\nthe size of our Earth, to the boiling point in an hour.\"\n\n\"Why not calculate the exact fraction of a second it would take to cook\na couple of eggs?\" laughed Ardan. \"I should as soon believe in one\ncalculation as in the other.--But--by the by--why does not such extreme\nheat cook us all up like so many beefsteaks?\"\n\n\"For two very good and sufficient reasons,\" answered Barbican. \"In the\nfirst place, the terrestrial atmosphere absorbs the 4/10 of the solar\nheat. In the second, the quantity of solar heat intercepted by the Earth\nis only about the two billionth part of all that is radiated.\"\n\n\"How fortunate to have such a handy thing as an atmosphere around us,\"\ncried the Frenchman; \"it not only enables us to breathe, but it actually\nkeeps us from sizzling up like griskins.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the Captain, \"but unfortunately we can't say so much for the\nMoon.\"\n\n\"Oh pshaw!\" cried Ardan, always full of confidence. \"It's all right\nthere too! The Moon is either inhabited or she is not. If she is, the\ninhabitants must breathe. If she is not, there must be oxygen enough\nleft for we, us and co., even if we should have to go after it to the\nbottom of the ravines, where, by its gravity, it must have accumulated!\nSo much the better! we shall not have to climb those thundering\nmountains!\"\n\nSo saying, he jumped up and began to gaze with considerable interest on\nthe lunar disc, which just then was glittering with dazzling brightness.\n\n\"By Jove!\" he exclaimed at length; \"it must be pretty hot up there!\"\n\n\"I should think so,\" observed the Captain; \"especially when you remember\nthat the day up there lasts 360 hours!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" observed Barbican, \"but remember on the other hand that the\nnights are just as long, and, as the heat escapes by radiation, the mean\ntemperature cannot be much greater than that of interplanetary space.\"\n\n\"A high old place for living in!\" cried Ardan. \"No matter! I wish we\nwere there now! Wouldn't it be jolly, dear boys, to have old Mother\nEarth for our Moon, to see her always on our sky, never rising, never\nsetting, never undergoing any change except from New Earth to Last\nQuarter! Would not it be fun to trace the shape of our great Oceans and\nContinents, and to say: 'there is the Mediterranean! there is China!\nthere is the gulf of Mexico! there is the white line of the Rocky\nMountains where old Marston is watching for us with his big telescope!'\nThen we should see every line, and brightness, and shadow fade away by\ndegrees, as she came nearer and nearer to the Sun, until at last she sat\ncompletely lost in his dazzling rays! But--by the way--Barbican, are\nthere any eclipses in the Moon?\"\n\n\"O yes; solar eclipses\" replied Barbican, \"must always occur whenever\nthe centres of the three heavenly bodies are in the same line, the Earth\noccupying the middle place. However, such eclipses must always be\nannular, as the Earth, projected like a screen on the solar disc, allows\nmore than half of the Sun to be still visible.\"\n\n\"How is that?\" asked M'Nicholl, \"no total eclipses in the Moon? Surely\nthe cone of the Earth's shadow must extend far enough to envelop her\nsurface?\"\n\n\"It does reach her, in one sense,\" replied Barbican, \"but it does not in\nanother. Remember the great refraction of the solar rays that must be\nproduced by the Earth's atmosphere. It is easy to show that this\nrefraction prevents the Sun from ever being totally invisible. See\nhere!\" he continued, pulling out his tablets, \"Let _a_ represent the\nhorizontal parallax, and _b_ the half of the Sun's apparent diameter--\"\n\n\"Ouch!\" cried the Frenchman, making a wry face, \"here comes Mr. _x_\nsquare riding to the mischief on a pair of double zeros again! Talk\nEnglish, or Yankee, or Dutch, or Greek, and I'm your man! Even a little\nArabic I can digest! But hang me, if I can endure your Algebra!\"\n\n\"Well then, talking Yankee,\" replied Barbican with a smile, \"the mean\ndistance of the Moon from the Earth being sixty terrestrial radii, the\nlength of the conic shadow, in consequence of atmospheric refraction, is\nreduced to less than forty-two radii. Consequently, at the moment of an\neclipse, the Moon is far beyond the reach of the real shadow, so that\nshe can see not only the border rays of the Sun, but even those\nproceeding from his very centre.\"\n\n\"Oh then,\" cried Ardan with a loud laugh, \"we have an eclipse of the Sun\nat the moment when the Sun is quite visible! Isn't that very like a\nbull, Mr. Philosopher Barbican?\"\n\n\"Yet it is perfectly true notwithstanding,\" answered Barbican. \"At such\na moment the Sun is not eclipsed, because we can see him: and then again\nhe is eclipsed because we see him only by means of a few of his rays,\nand even these have lost nearly all their brightness in their passage\nthrough the terrestrial atmosphere!\"\n\n\"Barbican is right, friend Michael,\" observed the Captain slowly: \"the\nsame phenomenon occurs on earth every morning at sunrise, when\nrefraction shows us\n\n                           '_the Sun new ris'n\n    Looking through the horizontal misty air,\n    Shorn of his beams._'\"\n\n\"He must be right,\" said Ardan, who, to do him justice, though quick at\nseeing a reason, was quicker to acknowledge its justice: \"yes, he must\nbe right, because I begin to understand at last very clearly what he\nreally meant. However, we can judge for ourselves when we get\nthere.--But, apropos of nothing, tell me, Barbican, what do you think of\nthe Moon being an ancient comet, which had come so far within the sphere\nof the Earth's attraction as to be kept there and turned into a\nsatellite?\"\n\n\"Well, that _is_ an original idea!\" said Barbican with a smile.\n\n\"My ideas generally are of that category,\" observed Ardan with an\naffectation of dry pomposity.\n\n\"Not this time, however, friend Michael,\" observed M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Oh! I'm a plagiarist, am I?\" asked the Frenchman, pretending to be\nirritated.\n\n\"Well, something very like it,\" observed M'Nicholl quietly. \"Apollonius\nRhodius, as I read one evening in the Philadelphia Library, speaks of\nthe Arcadians of Greece having a tradition that their ancestors were so\nancient that they inhabited the Earth long before the Moon had ever\nbecome our satellite. They therefore called them [Greek: _Proselênoi_]\nor _Ante-lunarians_. Now starting with some such wild notion as this,\ncertain scientists have looked on the Moon as an ancient comet brought\nclose enough to the Earth to be retained in its orbit by terrestrial\nattraction.\"\n\n\"Why may not there be something plausible in such a hypothesis?\" asked\nArdan with some curiosity.\n\n\"There is nothing whatever in it,\" replied Barbican decidedly: \"a simple\nproof is the fact that the Moon does not retain the slightest trace of\nthe vaporous envelope by which comets are always surrounded.\"\n\n\"Lost her tail you mean,\" said Ardan. \"Pooh! Easy to account for that!\nIt might have got cut off by coming too close to the Sun!\"\n\n\"It might, friend Michael, but an amputation by such means is not very\nlikely.\"\n\n\"No? Why not?\"\n\n\"Because--because--By Jove, I can't say, because I don't know,\" cried\nBarbican with a quiet smile on his countenance.\n\n\"Oh what a lot of volumes,\" cried Ardan, \"could be made out of what we\ndon't know!\"\n\n\"At present, for instance,\" observed M'Nicholl, \"I don't know what\no'clock it is.\"\n\n\"Three o'clock!\" said Barbican, glancing at his chronometer.\n\n\"No!\" cried Ardan in surprise. \"Bless us! How rapidly the time passes\nwhen we are engaged in scientific conversation! Ouf! I'm getting\ndecidedly too learned! I feel as if I had swallowed a library!\"\n\n\"I feel,\" observed M'Nicholl, \"as if I had been listening to a lecture\non Astronomy in the _Star_ course.\"\n\n\"Better stir around a little more,\" said the Frenchman; \"fatigue of body\nis the best antidote to such severe mental labor as ours. I'll run up\nthe ladder a bit.\" So saying, he paid another visit to the upper portion\nof the Projectile and remained there awhile whistling _Malbrouk_, whilst\nhis companions amused themselves in looking through the floor window.\n\nArdan was coming down the ladder, when his whistling was cut short by a\nsudden exclamation of surprise.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" asked Barbican quickly, as he looked up and saw the\nFrenchman pointing to something outside the Projectile.\n\nApproaching the window, Barbican saw with much surprise a sort of\nflattened bag floating in space and only a few yards off. It seemed\nperfectly motionless, and, consequently, the travellers knew that it\nmust be animated by the same ascensional movement as themselves.\n\n\"What on earth can such a consarn be, Barbican?\" asked Ardan, who every\nnow and then liked to ventilate his stock of American slang. \"Is it one\nof those particles of meteoric matter you were speaking of just now,\ncaught within the sphere of our Projectile's attraction and accompanying\nus to the Moon?\"\n\n\"What I am surprised at,\" observed the Captain, \"is that though the\nspecific gravity of that body is far inferior to that of our Projectile,\nit moves with exactly the same velocity.\"\n\n\"Captain,\" said Barbican, after a moment's reflection, \"I know no more\nwhat that object is than you do, but I can understand very well why it\nkeeps abreast with the Projectile.\"\n\n\"Very well then, why?\"\n\n\"Because, my dear Captain, we are moving through a vacuum, and because\nall bodies fall or move--the same thing--with equal velocity through a\nvacuum, no matter what may be their shape or their specific gravity. It\nis the air alone that makes a difference of weight. Produce an\nartificial vacuum in a glass tube and you will see that all objects\nwhatever falling through, whether bits of feather or grains of shot,\nmove with precisely the same rapidity. Up here, in space, like cause and\nlike effect.\"\n\n\"Correct,\" assented M'Nicholl. \"Everything therefore that we shall throw\nout of the Projectile is bound to accompany us to the Moon.\"\n\n\"Well, we _were_ smart!\" cried Ardan suddenly.\n\n\"How so, friend Michael?\" asked Barbican.\n\n\"Why not have packed the Projectile with ever so many useful objects,\nbooks, instruments, tools, et cetera, and fling them out into space once\nwe were fairly started! They would have all followed us safely! Nothing\nwould have been lost! And--now I think on it--why not fling ourselves\nout through the window? Shouldn't we be as safe out there as that\nbolide? What fun it would be to feel ourselves sustained and upborne in\nthe ether, more highly favored even than the birds, who must keep on\nflapping their wings continually to prevent themselves from falling!\"\n\n\"Very true, my dear boy,\" observed Barbican; \"but how could we breathe?\"\n\n\"It's a fact,\" exclaimed the Frenchman. \"Hang the air for spoiling our\nfun! So we must remain shut up in our Projectile?\"\n\n\"Not a doubt of it!\"\n\n--\"Oh Thunder!\" roared Ardan, suddenly striking his forehead.\n\n\"What ails you?\" asked the Captain, somewhat surprised.\n\n\"Now I know what that bolide of ours is! Why didn't we think of it\nbefore? It is no asteroid! It is no particle of meteoric matter! Nor is\nit a piece of a shattered planet!\"\n\n\"What is it then?\" asked both of his companions in one voice.\n\n[Illustration: SATELLITE'S BODY FLYING THROUGH SPACE.]\n\n\"It is nothing more or less than the body of the dog that we threw out\nyesterday!\"\n\nSo in fact it was. That shapeless, unrecognizable mass, melted,\nexpunged, flat as a bladder under an unexhausted receiver, drained of\nits air, was poor Satellite's body, flying like a rocket through space,\nand rising higher and higher in close company with the rapidly ascending\nProjectile!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nA HIGH OLD TIME.\n\n\nA new phenomenon, therefore, strange but logical, startling but\nadmitting of easy explanation, was now presented to their view,\naffording a fresh subject for lively discussion. Not that they disputed\nmuch about it. They soon agreed on a principle from which they readily\ndeducted the following general law: _Every object thrown out of the\nProjectile should partake of the Projectile's motion: it should\ntherefore follow the same path, and never cease to move until the\nProjectile itself came to a stand-still._\n\nBut, in sober truth, they were at anything but a loss of subjects of\nwarm discussion. As the end of their journey began to approach, their\nsenses became keener and their sensations vivider. Steeled against\nsurprise, they looked for the unexpected, the strange, the startling;\nand the only thing at which they would have wondered would be to be five\nminutes without having something new to wonder at. Their excited\nimaginations flew far ahead of the Projectile, whose velocity, by the\nway, began to be retarded very decidedly by this time, though, of\ncourse, the travellers had as yet no means to become aware of it. The\nMoon's size on the sky was meantime getting larger and larger; her\napparent distance was growing shorter and shorter, until at last they\ncould almost imagine that by putting their hands out they could nearly\ntouch her.\n\nNext morning, December 5th, all were up and dressed at a very early\nhour. This was to be the last day of their journey, if all calculations\nwere correct. That very night, at 12 o'clock, within nineteen hours at\nfurthest, at the very moment of Full Moon, they were to reach her\nresplendent surface. At that hour was to be completed the most\nextraordinary journey ever undertaken by man in ancient or modern times.\nNaturally enough, therefore, they found themselves unable to sleep after\nfour o'clock in the morning; peering upwards through the windows now\nvisibly glittering under the rays of the Moon, they spent some very\nexciting hours in gazing at her slowly enlarging disc, and shouting at\nher with confident and joyful hurrahs.\n\nThe majestic Queen of the Stars had now risen so high in the spangled\nheavens that she could hardly rise higher. In a few degrees more she\nwould reach the exact point of space where her junction with the\nProjectile was to be effected. According to his own observations,\nBarbican calculated that they should strike her in the northern\nhemisphere, where her plains, or _seas_ as they are called, are immense,\nand her mountains are comparatively rare. This, of course, would be so\nmuch the more favorable, if, as was to be apprehended, the lunar\natmosphere was confined exclusively to the low lands.\n\n\"Besides,\" as Ardan observed, \"a plain is a more suitable landing place\nthan a mountain. A Selenite deposited on the top of Mount Everest or\neven on Mont Blanc, could hardly be considered, in strict language, to\nhave arrived on Earth.\"\n\n\"Not to talk,\" added M'Nicholl, \"of the comfort of the thing! When you\nland on a plain, there you are. When you land on a peak or on a steep\nmountain side, where are you? Tumbling over an embankment with the train\ngoing forty miles an hour, would be nothing to it.\"\n\n\"Therefore, Captain Barbican,\" cried the Frenchman, \"as we should like\nto appear before the Selenites in full skins, please land us in the snug\nthough unromantic North. We shall have time enough to break our necks in\nthe South.\"\n\nBarbican made no reply to his companions, because a new reflection had\nbegun to trouble him, to talk about which would have done no good. There\nwas certainly something wrong. The Projectile was evidently heading\ntowards the northern hemisphere of the Moon. What did this prove?\nClearly, a deviation resulting from some cause. The bullet, lodged,\naimed, and fired with the most careful mathematical precision, had been\ncalculated to reach the very centre of the Moon's disc. Clearly it was\nnot going to the centre now. What could have produced the deviation?\nThis Barbican could not tell; nor could he even determine its extent,\nhaving no points of sight by which to make his observations. For the\npresent he tried to console himself with the hope that the deviation of\nthe Projectile would be followed by no worse consequence than carrying\nthem towards the northern border of the Moon, where for several reasons\nit would be comparatively easier to alight. Carefully avoiding,\ntherefore, the use of any expression which might needlessly alarm his\ncompanions, he continued to observe the Moon as carefully as he could,\nhoping every moment to find some grounds for believing that the\ndeviation from the centre was only a slight one. He almost shuddered at\nthe thought of what would be their situation, if the bullet, missing its\naim, should pass the Moon, and plunge into the interplanetary space\nbeyond it.\n\nAs he continued to gaze, the Moon, instead of presenting the usual\nflatness of her disc, began decidedly to show a surface somewhat convex.\nHad the Sun been shining on her obliquely, the shadows would have\ncertainly thrown the great mountains into strong relief. The eye could\nthen bury itself deep in the yawning chasms of the craters, and easily\nfollow the cracks, streaks, and ridges which stripe, flecker, and bar\nthe immensity of her plains. But for the present all relief was lost in\nthe dazzling glare. The Captain could hardly distinguish even those dark\nspots that impart to the full Moon some resemblance to the human face.\n\n\"Face!\" cried Ardan: \"well, a very fanciful eye may detect a face,\nthough, for the sake of Apollo's beauteous sister, I regret to say, a\nterribly pockmarked one!\"\n\nThe travellers, now evidently approaching the end of their journey,\nobserved the rapidly increasing world above them with newer and greater\ncuriosity every moment. Their fancies enkindled at the sight of the new\nand strange scenes dimly presented to their view. In imagination they\nclimbed to the summit of this lofty peak. They let themselves down to\nthe abyss of that yawning crater. Here they imagined they saw vast seas\nhardly kept in their basins by a rarefied atmosphere; there they thought\nthey could trace mighty rivers bearing to vast oceans the tribute of the\nsnowy mountains. In the first promptings of their eager curiosity, they\npeered greedily into her cavernous depths, and almost expected, amidst\nthe deathlike hush of inaudible nature, to surprise some sound from the\nmystic orb floating up there in eternal silence through a boundless\nocean of never ending vacuum.\n\nThis last day of their journey left their memories stored with thrilling\nrecollections. They took careful note of the slightest details. As they\nneared their destination, they felt themselves invaded by a vague,\nundefined restlessness. But this restlessness would have given way to\ndecided uneasiness, if they had known at what a slow rate they were\ntravelling. They would have surely concluded that their present velocity\nwould never be able to take them as far as the neutral point, not to\ntalk of passing it. The reason of such considerable retardation was,\nthat by this time the Projectile had reached such a great distance from\nthe Earth that it had hardly any weight. But even this weight, such as\nit was, was to be diminished still further, and finally, to vanish\naltogether as soon as the bullet reached the neutral point, where the\ntwo attractions, terrestrial and lunar, should counteract each other\nwith new and surprising effects.\n\nNotwithstanding the absorbing nature of his observations, Ardan never\nforgot to prepare breakfast with his usual punctuality. It was eaten\nreadily and relished heartily. Nothing could be more exquisite than his\ncalf's foot jelly liquefied and prepared by gas heat, except perhaps his\nmeat biscuits of preserved Texas beef and Southdown mutton. A bottle of\nChâteau Yquem and another of Clos de Vougeot, both of superlative\nexcellence in quality and flavor, crowned the repast. Their vicinity to\nthe Moon and their incessant glancing at her surface did not prevent the\ntravellers from touching each other's glasses merrily and often. Ardan\ntook occasion to remark that the lunar vineyards--if any existed--must\nbe magnificent, considering the intense solar heat they continually\nexperienced. Not that he counted on them too confidently, for he told\nhis friends that to provide for the worst he had supplied himself with a\nfew cases of the best vintages of Médoc and the Côte d'Or, of which the\nbottles, then under discussion, might be taken as very favorable\nspecimens.\n\nThe Reiset and Regnault apparatus for purifying the air worked\nsplendidly, and maintained the atmosphere in a perfectly sanitary\ncondition. Not an atom of carbonic acid could resist the caustic potash;\nand as for the oxygen, according to M'Nicholl's expression, \"it was A\nprime number one!\"\n\nThe small quantity of watery vapor enclosed in the Projectile did no\nmore harm than serving to temper the dryness of the air: many a splendid\n_salon_ in New York, London, or Paris, and many an auditorium, even of\ntheatre, opera house or Academy of Music, could be considered its\ninferior in what concerned its hygienic condition.\n\nTo keep it in perfect working order, the apparatus should be carefully\nattended to. This, Ardan looked on as his own peculiar occupation. He\nwas never tired regulating the tubes, trying the taps, and testing the\nheat of the gas by the pyrometer. So far everything had worked\nsatisfactorily, and the travellers, following the example of their\nfriend Marston on a previous occasion, began to get so stout that their\nown mothers would not know them in another month, should their\nimprisonment last so long. Ardan said they all looked so sleek and\nthriving that he was reminded forcibly of a nice lot of pigs fattening\nin a pen for a country fair. But how long was this good fortune of\ntheirs going to last?\n\nWhenever they took their eyes off the Moon, they could not help noticing\nthat they were still attended outside by the spectre of Satellite's\ncorpse and by the other refuse of the Projectile. An occasional\nmelancholy howl also attested Diana's recognition of her companion's\nunhappy fate. The travellers saw with surprise that these waifs still\nseemed perfectly motionless in space, and kept their respective\ndistances apart as mathematically as if they had been fastened with\nnails to a stone wall.\n\n\"I tell you what, dear boys;\" observed Ardan, commenting on this curious\nphenomenon; \"if the concussion had been a little too violent for one of\nus that night, his survivors would have been seriously embarrassed in\ntrying to get rid of his remains. With no earth to cover him up, no sea\nto plunge him into, his corpse would never disappear from view, but\nwould pursue us day and night, grim and ghastly like an avenging ghost!\"\n\n\"Ugh!\" said the Captain, shuddering at the idea.\n\n\"But, by the bye, Barbican!\" cried the Frenchman, dropping the subject\nwith his usual abruptness; \"you have forgotten something else! Why\ndidn't you bring a scaphander and an air pump? I could then venture out\nof the Projectile as readily and as safely as the diver leaves his boat\nand walks about on the bottom of the river! What fun to float in the\nmidst of that mysterious ether! to steep myself, aye, actually to revel\nin the pure rays of the glorious sun! I should have ventured out on the\nvery point of the Projectile, and there I should have danced and\npostured and kicked and bobbed and capered in a style that Taglioni\nnever dreamed of!\"\n\n\"Shouldn't I like to see you!\" cried the Captain grimly, smiling at the\nidea.\n\n\"You would not see him long!\" observed Barbican quietly. \"The air\nconfined in his body, freed from external pressure, would burst him like\na shell, or like a balloon that suddenly rises to too great a height in\nthe air! A scaphander would have been a fatal gift. Don't regret its\nabsence, friend Michael; never forget this axiom: _As long as we are\nfloating in empty space, the only spot where safety is possible is\ninside the Projectile!_\"\n\nThe words \"possible\" and \"impossible\" always grated on Ardan's ears. If\nhe had been a lexicographer, he would have rigidly excluded them from\nhis dictionary, both as meaningless and useless. He was preparing an\nanswer for Barbican, when he was cut out by a sudden observation from\nM'Nicholl.\n\n\"See here, friends!\" cried the Captain; \"this going to the Moon is all\nvery well, but how shall we get back?\"\n\nHis listeners looked at each other with a surprised and perplexed air.\nThe question, though a very natural one, now appeared to have presented\nitself to their consideration absolutely for the first time.\n\n\"What do you mean by such a question, Captain?\" asked Barbican in a\ngrave judicial tone.\n\n\"Mac, my boy,\" said Ardan seriously, \"don't it strike you as a little\nout of order to ask how you are to return when you have not got there\nyet?\"\n\n\"I don't ask the question with any idea of backing out,\" observed the\nCaptain quietly; \"as a matter of purely scientific inquiry, I repeat my\nquestion: how are we to return?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied Barbican promptly.\n\n\"For my part,\" said Ardan; \"if I had known how to get back, I should\nhave never come at all!\"\n\n\"Well! of all the answers!\" said the Captain, lifting his hands and\nshaking his head.\n\n\"The best under the circumstances;\" observed Barbican; \"and I shall\nfurther observe that such a question as yours at present is both useless\nand uncalled for. On some future occasion, when we shall consider it\nadvisable to return, the question will be in order, and we shall discuss\nit with all the attention it deserves. Though the Columbiad is at Stony\nHill, the Projectile will still be in the Moon.\"\n\n\"Much we shall gain by that! A bullet without a gun!\"\n\n\"The gun we can make and the powder too!\" replied Barbican confidently.\n\"Metal and sulphur and charcoal and saltpetre are likely enough to be\npresent in sufficient quantities beneath the Moon's surface. Besides, to\nreturn is a problem of comparatively easy solution: we should have to\novercome the lunar attraction only--a slight matter--the rest of the\nbusiness would be readily done by gravity.\"\n\n\"Enough said on the subject!\" exclaimed Ardan curtly; \"how to get back\nis indefinitely postponed! How to communicate with our friends on the\nEarth, is another matter, and, as it seems to me, an extremely easy\none.\"\n\n\"Let us hear the very easy means by which you propose to communicate\nwith our friends on Earth,\" asked the Captain, with a sneer, for he was\nby this time a little out of humor.\n\n\"By means of bolides ejected from the lunar volcanoes,\" replied the\nFrenchman without an instant's hesitation.\n\n\"Well said, friend Ardan,\" exclaimed Barbican. \"I am quite disposed to\nacknowledge the feasibility of your plan. Laplace has calculated that a\nforce five times greater than that of an ordinary cannon would be\nsufficient to send a bolide from the Moon to the Earth. Now there is no\ncannon that can vie in force with even the smallest volcano.\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried Ardan, delighted at his success; \"just imagine the\npleasure of sending our letters postage free! But--oh! what a splendid\nidea!--Dolts that we were for not thinking of it sooner!\"\n\n\"Let us have the splendid idea!\" cried the Captain, with some of his old\nacrimony.\n\n\"Why didn't we fasten a wire to the Projectile?\" asked Ardan,\ntriumphantly, \"It would have enabled us to exchange telegrams with the\nEarth!\"\n\n\"Ho! ho! ho!\" roared the Captain, rapidly recovering his good humor;\n\"decidedly the best joke of the season! Ha! ha! ha! Of course you have\ncalculated the weight of a wire 240 thousand miles long?\"\n\n\"No matter about its weight!\" cried the Frenchman impetuously; \"we\nshould have laughed at its weight! We could have tripled the charge of\nthe Columbiad; we could have quadrupled it!--aye, quintupled it, if\nnecessary!\" he added in tones evidently increasing in loudness and\nviolence.\n\n\"Yes, friend Michael,\" observed Barbican; \"but there is a slight and\nunfortunately a fatal defect in your project. The Earth, by its\nrotation, would have wrapped our wire around herself, like thread around\na spool, and dragged us back almost with the speed of lightning!\"\n\n\"By the Nine gods of Porsena!\" cried Ardan, \"something is wrong with my\nhead to-day! My brain is out of joint, and I am making as nice a mess of\nthings as my friend Marston was ever capable of! By the bye--talking of\nMarston--if we never return to the Earth, what is to prevent him from\nfollowing us to the Moon?\"\n\n\"Nothing!\" replied Barbican; \"he is a faithful friend and a reliable\ncomrade. Besides, what is easier? Is not the Columbiad still at Stony\nHill? Cannot gun-cotton be readily manufactured on any occasion? Will\nnot the Moon again pass through the zenith of Florida? Eighteen years\nfrom now, will she not occupy exactly the same spot that she does\nto-day?\"\n\n\"Certainly!\" cried Ardan, with increasing enthusiasm, \"Marston will\ncome! and Elphinstone of the torpedo! and the gallant Bloomsbury, and\nBillsby the brave, and all our friends of the Baltimore Gun Club! And we\nshall receive them with all the honors! And then we shall establish\nprojectile trains between the Earth and the Moon! Hurrah for J.T.\nMarston!\"\n\n\"Hurrah for Secretary Marston!\" cried the Captain, with an enthusiasm\nalmost equal to Ardan's.\n\n\"Hurrah for my dear friend Marston!\" cried Barbican, hardly less\nexcited than his comrades.\n\nOur old acquaintance, Marston, of course could not have heard the joyous\nacclamations that welcomed his name, but at that moment he certainly\nmust have felt his ears most unaccountably tingling. What was he doing\nat the time? He was rattling along the banks of the Kansas River, as\nfast as an express train could take him, on the road to Long's Peak,\nwhere, by means of the great Telescope, he expected to find some traces\nof the Projectile that contained his friends. He never forgot them for a\nmoment, but of course he little dreamed that his name at that very time\nwas exciting their vividest recollections and their warmest applause.\n\nIn fact, their recollections were rather too vivid, and their applause\ndecidedly too warm. Was not the animation that prevailed among the\nguests of the Projectile of a very unusual character, and was it not\nbecoming more and more violent every moment? Could the wine have caused\nit? No; though not teetotallers, they never drank to excess. Could the\nMoon's proximity, shedding her subtle, mysterious influence over their\nnervous systems, have stimulated them to a degree that was threatening\nto border on frenzy? Their faces were as red as if they were standing\nbefore a hot fire; their breathing was loud, and their lungs heaved like\na smith's bellows; their eyes blazed like burning coals; their voices\nsounded as loud and harsh as that of a stump speaker trying to make\nhimself heard by an inattentive or hostile crowd; their words popped\nfrom their lips like corks from Champagne bottles; their gesticulating\nbecame wilder and in fact more alarming--considering the little room\nleft in the Projectile for muscular displays of any kind.\n\nBut the most extraordinary part of the whole phenomenon was that neither\nof them, not even Barbican, had the slightest consciousness of any\nstrange or unusual ebullition of spirits either on his own part or on\nthat of the others.\n\n\"See here, gentlemen!\" said the Captain in a quick imperious manner--the\nroughness of his old life on the Mississippi would still break out--\"See\nhere, gentlemen! It seems I'm not to know if we are to return from the\nMoon. Well!--Pass that for the present! But there is one thing I _must_\nknow!\"\n\n\"Hear! hear the Captain!\" cried Barbican, stamping with his foot, like\nan excited fencing master. \"There is one thing he _must_ know!\"\n\n\"I want to know what we're going to do when we get there!\"\n\n\"He wants to know what we're going to do when we get there! A sensible\nquestion! Answer it, Ardan!\"\n\n\"Answer it yourself, Barbican! You know more about the Moon than I do!\nYou know more about it than all the Nasmyths that ever lived!\"\n\n\"I'm blessed if I know anything at all about it!\" cried Barbican, with a\njoyous laugh. \"Ha, ha, ha! The first eastern shore Marylander or any\nother simpleton you meet in Baltimore, knows as much about the Moon as\nI do! Why we're going there, I can't tell! What we're going to do when\nwe get there, can't tell either! Ardan knows all about it! He can tell!\nHe's taking us there!\"\n\n\"Certainly I can tell! should I have offered to take you there without a\ngood object in view?\" cried Ardan, husky with continual roaring. \"Answer\nme that!\"\n\n\"No conundrums!\" cried the Captain, in a voice sourer and rougher than\never; \"tell us if you can in plain English, what the demon we have come\nhere for!\"\n\n\"I'll tell you if I feel like it,\" cried Ardan, folding his arms with an\naspect of great dignity; \"and I'll not tell you if I don't feel like\nit!\"\n\n\"What's that?\" cried Barbican. \"You'll not give us an answer when we ask\nyou a reasonable question?\"\n\n\"Never!\" cried Ardan, with great determination. \"I'll never answer a\nquestion reasonable or unreasonable, unless it is asked in a proper\nmanner!\"\n\n\"None of your French airs here!\" exclaimed M'Nicholl, by this time\nalmost completely out of himself between anger and excitement. \"I don't\nknow where I am; I don't know where I'm going; I don't know why I'm\ngoing; _you_ know all about it, Ardan, or at least you think you do!\nWell then, give me a plain answer to a plain question, or by the\nThirty-eight States of our glorious Union, I shall know what for!\"\n\n\"Listen, Ardan!\" cried Barbican, grappling with the Frenchman, and with\nsome difficulty restraining him from flying at M'Nicholl's throat; \"You\nought to tell him! It is only your duty! One day you found us both in\nSt. Helena woods, where we had no more idea of going to the Moon than of\nsailing to the South Pole! There you twisted us both around your finger,\nand induced us to follow you blindly on the most formidable journey ever\nundertaken by man! And now you refuse to tell us what it was all for!\"\n\n\"I don't refuse, dear old Barbican! To you, at least, I can't refuse\nanything!\" cried Ardan, seizing his friend's hands and wringing them\nviolently. Then letting them go and suddenly starting back, \"you wish to\nknow,\" he continued in resounding tones, \"why we have followed out the\ngrandest idea that ever set a human brain on fire! Why we have\nundertaken a journey that for length, danger, and novelty, for\nfascinating, soul-stirring and delirious sensations, for all that can\nattract man's burning heart, and satisfy the intensest cravings of his\nintellect, far surpasses the vividest realities of Dante's passionate\ndream! Well, I will tell you! It is to annex another World to the New\nOne! It is to take possession of the Moon in the name of the United\nStates of America! It is to add a thirty-ninth State to the glorious\nUnion! It is to colonize the lunar regions, to cultivate them, to people\nthem, to transport to them some of our wonders of art, science, and\nindustry! It is to civilize the Selenites, unless they are more\ncivilized already than we are ourselves! It is to make them all good\nRepublicans, if they are not so already!\"\n\n\"Provided, of course, that there are Selenites in existence!\" sneered\nthe Captain, now sourer than ever, and in his unaccountable excitement\ndoubly irritating.\n\n\"Who says there are no Selenites?\" cried Ardan fiercely, with fists\nclenched and brows contracted.\n\n\"I do!\" cried M'Nicholl stoutly; \"I deny the existence of anything of\nthe kind, and I denounce every one that maintains any such whim as a\nvisionary, if not a fool!\"\n\nArdan's reply to this taunt was a desperate facer, which, however,\nBarbican managed to stop while on its way towards the Captain's nose.\nM'Nicholl, seeing himself struck at, immediately assumed such a posture\nof defence as showed him to be no novice at the business. A battle\nseemed unavoidable; but even at this trying moment Barbican showed\nhimself equal to the emergency.\n\n\"Stop, you crazy fellows! you ninnyhammers! you overgrown babies!\" he\nexclaimed, seizing his companions by the collar, and violently swinging\nthem around with his vast strength until they stood back to back; \"what\nare you going to fight about? Suppose there are Lunarians in the Moon!\nIs that a reason why there should be Lunatics in the Projectile! But,\nArdan, why do you insist on Lunarians? Are we so shiftless that we can't\ndo without them when we get to the Moon?\"\n\n\"I don't insist on them!\" cried Ardan, who submitted to Barbican like a\nchild. \"Hang the Lunarians! Certainly, we can do without them! What do I\ncare for them? Down with them!\"\n\n\"Yes, down with the Lunarians!\" cried M'Nicholl as spitefully as if he\nhad even the slightest belief in their existence.\n\n\"We shall take possession of the Moon ourselves!\" cried Ardan.\n\"Lunarians or no Lunarians!\"\n\n\"We three shall constitute a Republic!\" cried M'Nicholl.\n\n\"I shall be the House!\" cried Ardan.\n\n\"And I the Senate!\" answered the Captain.\n\n\"And Barbican our first President!\" shrieked the Frenchman.\n\n\"Our first and last!\" roared M'Nicholl.\n\n\"No objections to a third term!\" yelled Ardan.\n\n\"He's welcome to any number of terms he pleases!\" vociferated M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Hurrah for President Barbican of the Lunatic--I mean of the Lunar\nRepublic!\" screamed Ardan.\n\n\"Long may he wave, and may his shadow never grow less!\" shouted Captain\nM'Nicholl, his eyes almost out of their sockets.\n\nThen with voices reminding you of sand fiercely blown against the window\npanes, the _President_ and the _Senate_ chanted the immortal _Yankee\nDoodle_, whilst the _House_ delivered itself of the _Marseillaise_, in a\nstyle which even the wildest Jacobins in Robespierre's day could hardly\nhave surpassed.\n\nBut long before either song was ended, all three broke out into a\ndance, wild, insensate, furious, delirious, paroxysmatical. No Orphic\nfestivals on Mount Cithaeron ever raged more wildly. No Bacchic revels\non Mount Parnassus were ever more corybantic. Diana, demented by the\nmaddening example, joined in the orgie, howling and barking frantically\nin her turn, and wildly jumping as high as the ceiling of the\nProjectile. Then came new accessions to the infernal din. Wings suddenly\nbegan to flutter, cocks to crow, hens to cluck; and five or six\nchickens, managing to escape out of their coop, flew backwards and\nforwards blindly, with frightened screams, dashing against each other\nand against the walls of the Projectile, and altogether getting up as\ndemoniacal a hullabaloo as could be made by ten thousand bats that you\nsuddenly disturbed in a cavern where they had slept through the winter.\n\nThen the three companions, no longer able to withstand the overpowering\ninfluence of the mysterious force that mastered them, intoxicated, more\nthan drunk, burned by the air that scorched their organs of respiration,\ndropped at last, and lay flat, motionless, senseless as dabs of clay, on\nthe floor of the Projectile.\n\n[Illustration: A DEMONIACAL HULLABALOO.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTHE NEUTRAL POINT.\n\n\nWhat had taken place? Whence proceeded this strange intoxication whose\nconsequences might have proved so disastrous? A little forgetfulness on\nArdan's part had done the whole mischief, but fortunately M'Nicholl was\nable to remedy it in time.\n\nAfter a regular fainting spell several minutes long, the Captain was the\nfirst man to return to consciousness and the full recovery of his\nintellectual faculties. His first feelings were far from pleasant. His\nstomach gnawed him as if he had not eaten for a week, though he had\ntaken breakfast only a few hours before; his eyes were dim, his brain\nthrobbing, and his limbs shaking. In short, he presented every symptom\nusually seen in a man dying of starvation. Picking himself up with much\ncare and difficulty, he roared out to Ardan for something to eat. Seeing\nthat the Frenchman was unable or unwilling to respond, he concluded to\nhelp himself, by beginning first of all to prepare a little tea. To do\nthis, fire was necessary; so, to light his lamp, he struck a match.\n\nBut what was his surprise at seeing the sulphur tip of the match blazing\nwith a light so bright and dazzling that his eyes could hardly bear it!\nTouching it to the gas burner, a stream of light flashed forth equal in\nits intensity to the flame of an electric lamp. Then he understood it\nall in an instant. The dazzling glare, his maddened brain, his gnawing\nstomach--all were now clear as the noon-day Sun.\n\n\"The oxygen!\" he cried, and, suddenly stooping down and examining the\ntap of the air apparatus, he saw that it had been only half turned off.\nConsequently the air was gradually getting more and more impregnated\nwith this powerful gas, colorless, odorless, tasteless, infinitely\nprecious, but, unless when strongly diluted with nitrogen, capable of\nproducing fatal disorders in the human system. Ardan, startled by\nM'Nicholl's question about the means of returning from the Moon, had\nturned the cock only half off.\n\nThe Captain instantly stopped the escape of the oxygen, but not one\nmoment too soon. It had completely saturated the atmosphere. A few\nminutes more and it would have killed the travellers, not like carbonic\nacid, by smothering them, but by burning them up, as a strong draught\nburns up the coals in a stove.\n\n[Illustration: \"THE OXYGEN!\" HE CRIED.]\n\nIt took nearly an hour for the air to become pure enough to allow the\nlungs their natural play. Slowly and by degrees, the travellers\nrecovered from their intoxication; they had actually to sleep off the\nfumes of the oxygen as a drunkard has to sleep off the effects of his\nbrandy. When Ardan learned that he was responsible for the whole\ntrouble, do you think the information disconcerted him? Not a bit of it.\nOn the contrary, he was rather proud of having done something\nstartling, to break the monotony of the journey; and to put a little\nlife, as he said, into old Barbican and the grim Captain, so as to get a\nlittle fun out of such grave philosophers.\n\nAfter laughing heartily at the comical figure cut by his two friends\ncapering like crazy students at the _Closerie des Lilas_, he went on\nmoralizing on the incident:\n\n\"For my part, I'm not a bit sorry for having partaken of this fuddling\ngas. It gives me an idea, dear boys. Would it not be worth some\nenterprising fellow's while to establish a sanatorium provided with\noxygen chambers, where people of a debilitated state of health could\nenjoy a few hours of intensely active existence! There's money in it, as\nyou Americans say. Just suppose balls or parties given in halls where\nthe air would be provided with an extra supply of this enrapturing gas!\nOr, theatres where the atmosphere would be maintained in a highly\noxygenated condition. What passion, what fire in the actors! What\nenthusiasm in the spectators! And, carrying the idea a little further,\nif, instead of an assembly or an audience, we should oxygenize towns,\ncities, a whole country--what activity would be infused into the whole\npeople! What new life would electrify a stagnant community! Out of an\nold used-up nation we could perhaps make a bran-new one, and, for my\npart, I know more than one state in old Europe where this oxygen\nexperiment might be attended with a decided advantage, or where, at all\nevents, it could do no harm!\"\n\nThe Frenchman spoke so glibly and gesticulated so earnestly that\nM'Nicholl once more gravely examined the stop-cock; but Barbican damped\nhis enthusiasm by a single observation.\n\n\"Friend Michael,\" said he, \"your new and interesting idea we shall\ndiscuss at a more favorable opportunity. At present we want to know\nwhere all these cocks and hens have come from.\"\n\n\"These cocks and hens?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nArdan threw a glance of comical bewilderment on half a dozen or so of\nsplendid barn-yard fowls that were now beginning to recover from the\neffects of the oxygen. For an instant he could not utter a word; then,\nshrugging his shoulders, he muttered in a low voice:\n\n\"Catastrophe prematurely exploded!\"\n\n\"What are you going to do with these chickens?\" persisted Barbican.\n\n\"Acclimatize them in the Moon, by Jove! what else?\" was the ready reply.\n\n\"Why conceal them then?\"\n\n\"A hoax, a poor hoax, dear President, which proves a miserable failure!\nI intended to let them loose on the Lunar Continent at the first\nfavorable opportunity. I often had a good laugh to myself, thinking of\nyour astonishment and the Captain's at seeing a lot of American poultry\nscratching for worms on a Lunar dunghill!\"\n\n\"Ah! wag, jester, incorrigible _farceur_!\" cried Barbican with a smile;\n\"you want no nitrous oxide to put a bee in your bonnet! He is always as\nbad as you and I were for a short time, M'Nicholl, under the laughing\ngas! He's never had a sensible moment in his life!\"\n\n\"I can't say the same of you,\" replied Ardan; \"you had at least one\nsensible moment in all your lives, and that was about an hour ago!\"\n\nTheir incessant chattering did not prevent the friends from at once\nrepairing the disorder of the interior of the Projectile. Cocks and hens\nwere put back in their cages. But while doing so, the friends were\nastonished to find that the birds, though good sized creatures, and now\npretty fat and plump, hardly felt heavier in their hands than if they\nhad been so many sparrows. This drew their interested attention to a new\nphenomenon.\n\nFrom the moment they had left the Earth, their own weight, and that of\nthe Projectile and the objects therein contained, had been undergoing a\nprogressive diminution. They might never be able to ascertain this fact\nwith regard to the Projectile, but the moment was now rapidly\napproaching when the loss of weight would become perfectly sensible,\nboth regarding themselves and the tools and instruments surrounding\nthem. Of course, it is quite clear, that this decrease could not be\nindicated by an ordinary scales, as the weight to balance the object\nwould have lost precisely as much as the object itself. But a spring\nbalance, for instance, in which the tension of the coil is independent\nof attraction, would have readily given the exact equivalent of the\nloss.\n\nAttraction or weight, according to Newton's well known law, acting in\ndirect proportion to the mass of the attracting body and in inverse\nproportion to the square of the distance, this consequence clearly\nfollows: Had the Earth been alone in space, or had the other heavenly\nbodies been suddenly annihilated, the further from the Earth the\nProjectile would be, the less weight it would have. However, it would\nnever _entirely_ lose its weight, as the terrestrial attraction would\nhave always made itself felt at no matter what distance. But as the\nEarth is not the only celestial body possessing attraction, it is\nevident that there may be a point in space where the respective\nattractions may be entirely annihilated by mutual counteraction. Of this\nphenomenon the present instance was a case in point. In a short time,\nthe Projectile and its contents would for a few moments be absolutely\nand completely deprived of all weight whatsoever.\n\nThe path described by the Projectile was evidently a line from the Earth\nto the Moon averaging somewhat less than 240,000 miles in length.\nAccording as the distance between the Projectile and the Earth was\nincreasing, the terrestrial attraction was diminishing in the ratio of\nthe square of the distance, and the lunar attraction was augmenting in\nthe same proportion.\n\nAs before observed, the point was not now far off where, the two\nattractions counteracting each other, the bullet would actually weigh\nnothing at all. If the masses of the Earth and the Moon had been equal,\nthis should evidently be found half way between the two bodies. But by\nmaking allowance for the difference of the respective masses, it was\neasy to calculate that this point would be situated at the 9/10 of the\ntotal distance, or, in round numbers, at something less than 216,000\nmiles from the Earth.\n\nAt this point, a body that possessed no energy or principle of movement\nwithin itself, would remain forever, relatively motionless, suspended\nlike Mahomet's coffin, being equally attracted by the two orbs and\nnothing impelling it in one direction rather than in the other.\n\nNow the Projectile at this moment was nearing this point; if it reached\nit, what would be the consequence?\n\nTo this question three answers presented themselves, all possible under\nthe circumstances, but very different in their results.\n\n1. Suppose the Projectile to possess velocity enough to pass the neutral\npoint. In such case, it would undoubtedly proceed onward to the Moon,\nbeing drawn thither by Lunar attraction.\n\n2. Suppose it lacked the requisite velocity for reaching the neutral\npoint. In such a case it would just as certainly fall back to the Earth,\nin obedience to the law of Terrestrial attraction.\n\n3. Suppose it to be animated by just sufficient velocity to reach the\nneutral point, but not to pass it. In that case, the Projectile would\nremain forever in the same spot, perfectly motionless as far as regards\nthe Earth and the Moon, though of course following them both in their\nannual orbits round the Sun.\n\nSuch was now the state of things, which Barbican tried to explain to his\nfriends, who, it need hardly be said, listened to his remarks with the\nmost intense interest. How were they to know, they asked him, the\nprecise instant at which the Projectile would reach the neutral point?\nThat would be an easy matter, he assured them. It would be at the very\nmoment when both themselves and all the other objects contained in the\nProjectile would be completely free from every operation of the law of\ngravity; in other words, when everything would cease to have weight.\n\nThis gradual diminution of the action of gravity, the travellers had\nbeen for some time noticing, but they had not yet witnessed its total\ncessation. But that very morning, about an hour before noon, as the\nCaptain was making some little experiment in Chemistry, he happened by\naccident to overturn a glass full of water. What was his surprise at\nseeing that neither the glass nor the water fell to the floor! Both\nremained suspended in the air almost completely motionless.\n\n\"The prettiest experiment I ever saw!\" cried Ardan; \"let us have more of\nit!\"\n\nAnd seizing the bottles, the arms, and the other objects in the\nProjectile, he arranged them around each other in the air with some\nregard to symmetry and proportion. The different articles, keeping\nstrictly each in its own place, formed a very attractive group wonderful\nto behold. Diana, placed in the apex of the pyramid, would remind you of\nthose marvellous suspensions in the air performed by Houdin, Herman, and\na few other first class wizards. Only being kept in her place without\nbeing hampered by invisible strings, the animal rather seemed to enjoy\nthe exhibition, though in all probability she was hardly conscious of\nany thing unusual in her appearance.\n\nOur travellers had been fully prepared for such a phenomenon, yet it\nstruck them with as much surprise as if they had never uttered a\nscientific reason to account for it. They saw that, no longer subject to\nthe ordinary laws of nature, they were now entering the realms of the\nmarvellous. They felt that their bodies were absolutely without weight.\nTheir arms, fully extended, no longer sought their sides. Their heads\noscillated unsteadily on their shoulders. Their feet no longer rested on\nthe floor. In their efforts to hold themselves straight, they looked\nlike drunken men trying to maintain the perpendicular. We have all read\nstories of some men deprived of the power of reflecting light and of\nothers who could not cast a shadow. But here reality, no fantastic\nstory, showed you men who, through the counteraction of attractive\nforces, could tell no difference between light substances and heavy\nsubstances, and who absolutely had no weight whatever themselves!\n\n\"Let us take graceful attitudes!\" cried Ardan, \"and imagine we are\nplaying _tableaux_! Let us, for instance, form a grand historical group\nof the three great goddesses of the nineteenth century. Barbican will\nrepresent Minerva or _Science_; the Captain, Bellona or _War_; while I,\nas Madre Natura, the newly born goddess of _Progress_, floating\ngracefully over you both, extend my hands so, fondly patronizing the\none, but grandly ordering off the other, to the regions of eternal\nnight! More on your toe, Captain! Your right foot a little higher! Look\nat Barbican's admirable pose! Now then, prepare to receive orders for a\nnew tableau! Form group _à la Jardin Mabille!_ Presto! Change!\"\n\nIn an instant, our travellers, changing attitudes, formed the new group\nwith tolerable success. Even Barbican, who had been to Paris in his\nyouth, yielding for a moment to the humor of the thing, acted the _naif\nAnglais_ to the life. The Captain was frisky enough to remind you of a\nmiddle-aged Frenchman from the provinces, on a hasty visit to the\ncapital for a few days' fun. Ardan was in raptures.\n\n\"Oh! if Raphael could only see us!\" he exclaimed in a kind of ecstasy.\n\"He would paint such a picture as would throw all his other masterpieces\nin the shade!\"\n\n\"Knock spots out of the best of them by fifty per cent!\" cried the\nCaptain, gesticulating well enough _à l'étudiant_, but rather mixing his\nmetaphors.\n\n[Illustration: A GROUP _A LA JARDIN MABILLE_.]\n\n\"He should be pretty quick in getting through the job,\" observed\nBarbican, the first as usual to recover tranquillity. \"As soon as the\nProjectile will have passed the neutral point--in half an hour at\nlongest--lunar attraction will draw us to the Moon.\"\n\n\"We shall have to crawl on the ceiling then like flies,\" said Ardan.\n\n\"Not at all,\" said the Captain; \"the Projectile, having its centre of\ngravity very low, will turn upside down by degrees.\"\n\n\"Upside down!\" cried Ardan. \"That will be a nice mess! everything\nhiggledy-piggledy!\"\n\n\"No danger, friend Michael,\" said M'Nicholl; \"there shall be no disorder\nwhatever; nothing will quit its place; the movement of the Projectile\nwill be effected by such slow degrees as to be imperceptible.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added Barbican, \"as soon as we shall have passed the neutral\npoint, the base of the Projectile, its heaviest part, will swing around\ngradually until it faces the Moon. Before this phenomenon, however, can\ntake place, we must of course cross the line.\"\n\n\"Cross the line!\" cried the Frenchman; \"then let us imitate the sailors\nwhen they do the same thing in the Atlantic Ocean! Splice the main\nbrace!\"\n\nA slight effort carried him sailing over to the side of the Projectile.\nOpening a cupboard and taking out a bottle and a few glasses, he placed\nthem on a tray. Then setting the tray itself in the air as on a table in\nfront of his companions, he filled the glasses, passed them around, and,\nin a lively speech interrupted with many a joyous hurrah, congratulated\nhis companions on their glorious achievement in being the first that\never crossed the lunar line.\n\nThis counteracting influence of the attractions lasted nearly an hour.\nBy that time the travellers could keep themselves on the floor without\nmuch effort. Barbican also made his companions remark that the conical\npoint of the Projectile diverged a little from the direct line to the\nMoon, while by an inverse movement, as they could notice through the\nwindow of the floor, the base was gradually turning away from the Earth.\nThe Lunar attraction was evidently getting the better of the\nTerrestrial. The fall towards the Moon, though still almost insensible,\nwas certainly beginning.\n\nIt could not be more than the eightieth part of an inch in the first\nsecond. But by degrees, as the attractive force would increase, the fall\nwould be more decided, and the Projectile, overbalanced by its base, and\npresenting its cone to the Earth, would descend with accelerated\nvelocity to the Lunar surface. The object of their daring attempt would\nthen be successfully attained. No further obstacle, therefore, being\nlikely to stand in the way of the complete success of the enterprise,\nthe Captain and the Frenchman cordially shook hands with Barbican, all\nkept congratulating each other on their good fortune as long as the\nbottle lasted.\n\nThey could not talk enough about the wonderful phenomenon lately\nwitnessed; the chief point, the neutralization of the law of gravity,\nparticularly, supplied them with an inexhaustible subject. The\nFrenchman, as usual, as enthusiastic in his fancy, as he was fanciful in\nhis enthusiasm, got off some characteristic remarks.\n\n\"What a fine thing it would be, my boys,\" he exclaimed, \"if on Earth we\ncould be so fortunate as we have been here, and get rid of that weight\nthat keeps us down like lead, that rivets us to it like an adamantine\nchain! Then should we prisoners become free! Adieu forever to all\nweariness of arms or feet! At present, in order to fly over the surface\nof the Earth by the simple exertion of our muscles or even to sustain\nourselves in the air, we require a muscular force fifty times greater\nthan we possess; but if attraction did not exist, the simplest act of\nthe will, our slightest whim even, would be sufficient to transport us\nto whatever part of space we wished to visit.\"\n\n\"Ardan, you had better invent something to kill attraction,\" observed\nM'Nicholl drily; \"you can do it if you try. Jackson and Morton have\nkilled pain by sulphuric ether. Suppose you try your hand on\nattraction!\"\n\n\"It would be worth a trial!\" cried Ardan, so full of his subject as not\nto notice the Captain's jeering tone; \"attraction once destroyed, there\nis an end forever to all loads, packs and burdens! How the poor omnibus\nhorses would rejoice! Adieu forever to all cranes, derricks, capstans,\njack-screws, and even hotel-elevators! We could dispense with all\nladders, door steps, and even stair-cases!\"\n\n\"And with all houses too,\" interrupted Barbican; \"or, at least, we\n_should_ dispense with them because we could not have them. If there was\nno weight, you could neither make a wall of bricks nor cover your house\nwith a roof. Even your hat would not stay on your head. The cars would\nnot stay on the railway nor the boats on the water. What do I say? We\ncould not have any water. Even the Ocean would leave its bed and float\naway into space. Nay, the atmosphere itself would leave us, being\ndetained in its place by terrestrial attraction and by nothing else.\"\n\n\"Too true, Mr. President,\" replied Ardan after a pause. \"It's a fact. I\nacknowledge the corn, as Marston says. But how you positive fellows do\nknock holes into our pretty little creations of fancy!\"\n\n\"Don't feel so bad about it, Ardan;\" observed M'Nicholl; \"though there\nmay be no orb from which gravity is excluded altogether, we shall soon\nland in one, where it is much less powerful than on the Earth.\"\n\n\"You mean the Moon!\"\n\n\"Yes, the Moon. Her mass being 1/89 of the Earth's, her attractive power\nshould be in the same proportion; that is, a boy 10 years old, whose\nweight on Earth is about 90 lbs., would weigh on the Moon only about 1\npound, if nothing else were to be taken into consideration. But when\nstanding on the surface of the Moon, he is relatively 4 times nearer to\nthe centre than when he is standing on the surface of the Earth. His\nweight, therefore, having to be increased by the square of the distance,\nmust be sixteen times greater. Now 16 times 1/89 being less than 1/5, it\nis clear that my weight of 150 pounds will be cut down to nearly 30 as\nsoon as we reach the Moon's surface.\"\n\n\"And mine?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"Yours will hardly reach 25 pounds, I should think,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Shall my muscular strength diminish in the same proportion?\" was the\nnext question.\n\n\"On the contrary, it will be relatively so much the more increased that\nyou can take a stride 15 feet in width as easily as you can now take one\nof ordinary length.\"\n\n\"We shall be all Samsons, then, in the Moon!\" cried Ardan.\n\n\"Especially,\" replied M'Nicholl, \"if the stature of the Selenites is in\nproportion to the mass of their globe.\"\n\n\"If so, what should be their height?\"\n\n\"A tall man would hardly be twelve inches in his boots!\"\n\n\"They must be veritable Lilliputians then!\" cried Ardan; \"and we are all\nto be Gullivers! The old myth of the Giants realized! Perhaps the Titans\nthat played such famous parts in the prehistoric period of our Earth,\nwere adventurers like ourselves, casually arrived from some great\nplanet!\"\n\n\"Not from such planets as _Mercury_, _Venus_ or _Mars_ anyhow, friend\nMichael,\" observed Barbican. \"But the inhabitants of _Jupiter_,\n_Saturn_, _Uranus,_ or _Neptune_, if they bear the same proportion to\ntheir planet that we do ours, must certainly be regular Brobdignagians.\"\n\n\"Let us keep severely away from all planets of the latter class then,\"\nsaid Ardan. \"I never liked to play the part of Lilliputian myself. But\nhow about the Sun, Barbican? I always had a hankering after the Sun!\"\n\n\"The Sun's volume is about 1-1/3 million times greater than that of the\nEarth, but his density being only about 1/4, the attraction on his\nsurface is hardly 30 times greater than that of our globe. Still, every\nproportion observed, the inhabitants of the Sun can't be much less than\n150 or 160 feet in height.\"\n\n\"_Mille tonnerres!_\" cried Ardan, \"I should be there like Ulysses among\nthe Cyclops! I'll tell you what it is, Barbican; if we ever decide on\ngoing to the Sun, we must provide ourselves before hand with a few of\nyour Rodman's Columbiads to frighten off the Solarians!\"\n\n\"Your Columbiads would not do great execution there,\" observed\nM'Nicholl; \"your bullet would be hardly out of the barrel when it would\ndrop to the surface like a heavy stone pushed off the wall of a house.\"\n\n\"Oh! I like that!\" laughed the incredulous Ardan.\n\n\"A little calculation, however, shows the Captain's remark to be\nperfectly just,\" said Barbican. \"Rodman's ordinary 15 inch Columbiad\nrequires a charge of 100 pounds of mammoth powder to throw a ball of\n500 pounds weight. What could such a charge do with a ball weighing 30\ntimes as much or 15,000 pounds? Reflect on the enormous weight\neverything must have on the surface of the Sun! Your hat, for instance,\nwould weigh 20 or 30 pounds. Your cigar nearly a pound. In short, your\nown weight on the Sun's surface would be so great, more than two tons,\nthat if you ever fell you should never be able to pick yourself up\nagain!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" added the Captain, \"and whenever you wanted to eat or drink you\nshould rig up a set of powerful machinery to hoist the eatables and\ndrinkables into your mouth.\"\n\n\"Enough of the Sun to-day, boys!\" cried Ardan, shrugging his shoulders;\n\"I don't contemplate going there at present. Let us be satisfied with\nthe Moon! There, at least, we shall be of some account!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nA LITTLE OFF THE TRACK.\n\n\nBarbican's mind was now completely at rest at least on one subject. The\noriginal force of the discharge had been great enough to send the\nProjectile beyond the neutral line. Therefore, there was no longer any\ndanger of its falling back to the Earth. Therefore, there was no longer\nany danger of its resting eternally motionless on the point of the\ncounteracting attractions. The next subject to engage his attention was\nthe question: would the Projectile, under the influence of lunar\nattraction, succeed in reaching its destination?\n\nThe only way in which it _could_ succeed was by falling through a space\nof nearly 24,000 miles and then striking the Moon's surface. A most\nterrific fall! Even taking the lunar attraction to be only the one-sixth\nof the Earth's, such a fall was simply bewildering to think of. The\ngreatest height to which a balloon ever ascended was seven miles\n(Glaisher, 1862). Imagine a fall from even that distance! Then imagine a\nfall from a height of four thousand miles!\n\nYet it was for a fall of this appalling kind on the surface of the Moon\nthat the travellers had now to prepare themselves. Instead of avoiding\nit, however, they eagerly desired it and would be very much\ndisappointed if they missed it. They had taken the best precautions they\ncould devise to guard against the terrific shock. These were mainly of\ntwo kinds: one was intended to counteract as much as possible the\nfearful results to be expected the instant the Projectile touched the\nlunar surface; the other, to retard the velocity of the fall itself, and\nthereby to render it less violent.\n\nThe best arrangement of the first kind was certainly Barbican's\nwater-contrivance for counteracting the shock at starting, which has\nbeen so fully described in our former volume. (See _Baltimore Gun Club_,\npage 353.) But unfortunately it could be no longer employed. Even if the\npartitions were in working order, the water--two thousand pounds in\nweight had been required--was no longer to be had. The little still left\nin the tanks was of no account for such a purpose. Besides, they had not\na single drop of the precious liquid to spare, for they were as yet\nanything but sanguine regarding the facility of finding water on the\nMoon's surface.\n\nFortunately, however, as the gentle reader may remember, Barbican,\nbesides using water to break the concussion, had provided the movable\ndisc with stout pillars containing a strong buffing apparatus, intended\nto protect it from striking the bottom too violently after the\ndestruction of the different partitions. These buffers were still good,\nand, gravity being as yet almost imperceptible, to put them once more in\norder and adjust them to the disc was not a difficult task.\n\nThe travellers set to work at once and soon accomplished it. The\ndifferent pieces were put together readily--a mere matter of bolts and\nscrews, with plenty of tools to manage them. In a short time the\nrepaired disc rested on its steel buffers, like a table on its legs, or\nrather like a sofa seat on its springs. The new arrangement was attended\nwith at least one disadvantage. The bottom light being covered up, a\nconvenient view of the Moon's surface could not be had as soon as they\nshould begin to fall in a perpendicular descent. This, however, was only\na slight matter, as the side lights would permit the adventurers to\nenjoy quite as favorable a view of the vast regions of the Moon as is\nafforded to balloon travellers when looking down on the Earth over the\nsides of their car.\n\nThe disc arrangement was completed in about an hour, but it was not till\npast twelve o'clock before things were restored to their usual order.\nBarbican then tried to make fresh observations regarding the inclination\nof the Projectile; but to his very decided chagrin he found that it had\nnot yet turned over sufficiently to commence the perpendicular fall: on\nthe contrary, it even seemed to be following a curve rather parallel\nwith that of the lunar disc. The Queen of the Stars now glittered with a\nlight more dazzling than ever, whilst from an opposite part of the sky\nthe glorious King of Day flooded her with his fires.\n\nThe situation began to look a little serious.\n\n\"Shall we ever get there!\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"Let us be prepared for getting there, any how,\" was Barbican's dubious\nreply.\n\n\"You're a pretty pair of suspenders,\" said Ardan cheerily (he meant of\ncourse doubting hesitators, but his fluent command of English sometimes\nled him into such solecisms). \"Certainly we shall get there--and perhaps\na little sooner than will be good for us.\"\n\nThis reply sharply recalled Barbican to the task he had undertaken, and\nhe now went to work seriously, trying to combine arrangements to break\nthe fall. The reader may perhaps remember Ardan's reply to the Captain\non the day of the famous meeting in Tampa.\n\n\"Your fall would be violent enough,\" the Captain had urged, \"to splinter\nyou like glass into a thousand fragments.\"\n\n\"And what shall prevent me,\" had been Ardan's ready reply, \"from\nbreaking my fall by means of counteracting rockets suitably disposed,\nand let off at the proper time?\"\n\nThe practical utility of this idea had at once impressed Barbican. It\ncould hardly be doubted that powerful rockets, fastened on the outside\nto the bottom of the Projectile, could, when discharged, considerably\nretard the velocity of the fall by their sturdy recoil. They could burn\nin a vacuum by means of oxygen furnished by themselves, as powder burns\nin the chamber of a gun, or as the volcanoes of the Moon continue their\naction regardless of the absence of a lunar atmosphere.\n\nBarbican had therefore provided himself with rockets enclosed in strong\nsteel gun barrels, grooved on the outside so that they could be screwed\ninto corresponding holes already made with much care in the bottom of\nthe Projectile. They were just long enough, when flush with the floor\ninside, to project outside by about six inches. They were twenty in\nnumber, and formed two concentric circles around the dead light. Small\nholes in the disc gave admission to the wires by which each of the\nrockets was to be discharged externally by electricity. The whole effect\nwas therefore to be confined to the outside. The mixtures having been\nalready carefully deposited in each barrel, nothing further need be done\nthan to take away the metallic plugs which had been screwed into the\nbottom of the Projectile, and replace them by the rockets, every one of\nwhich was found to fit its grooved chamber with rigid exactness.\n\nThis evidently should have been all done before the disc had been\nfinally laid on its springs. But as this had to be lifted up again in\norder to reach the bottom of the Projectile, more work was to be done\nthan was strictly necessary. Though the labor was not very hard,\nconsidering that gravity had as yet scarcely made itself felt, M'Nicholl\nand Ardan were not sorry to have their little joke at Barbican's\nexpense. The Frenchman began humming\n\n    \"_Aliquandoque bonus dormitat Homerus,_\"\n\nto a tune from _Orphée aux Enfers_, and the Captain said something\nabout the Philadelphia Highway Commissioners who pave a street one day,\nand tear it up the next to lay the gas pipes. But his friends' humor was\nall lost on Barbican, who was so wrapped up in his work that he probably\nnever heard a word they said.\n\nTowards three o'clock every preparation was made, every possible\nprecaution taken, and now our bold adventurers had nothing more to do\nthan watch and wait.\n\nThe Projectile was certainly approaching the Moon. It had by this time\nturned over considerably under the influence of attraction, but its own\noriginal motion still followed a decidedly oblique direction. The\nconsequence of these two forces might possibly be a tangent, line\napproaching the edge of the Moon's disc. One thing was certain: the\nProjectile had not yet commenced to fall directly towards her surface;\nits base, in which its centre of gravity lay, was still turned away\nconsiderably from the perpendicular.\n\nBarbican's countenance soon showed perplexity and even alarm. His\nProjectile was proving intractable to the laws of gravitation. The\n_unknown_ was opening out dimly before him, the great boundless unknown\nof the starry plains. In his pride and confidence as a scientist, he had\nflattered himself with having sounded the consequence of every possible\nhypothesis regarding the Projectile's ultimate fate: the return to the\nEarth; the arrival at the Moon; and the motionless dead stop at the\nneutral point. But here, a new and incomprehensible fourth hypothesis,\nbig with the terrors of the mystic infinite, rose up before his\ndisturbed mind, like a grim and hollow ghost. After a few seconds,\nhowever, he looked at it straight in the face without wincing. His\ncompanions showed themselves just as firm. Whether it was science that\nemboldened Barbican, his phlegmatic stoicism that propped up the\nCaptain, or his enthusiastic vivacity that cheered the irrepressible\nArdan, I cannot exactly say. But certainly they were all soon talking\nover the matter as calmly as you or I would discuss the advisability of\ntaking a sail on the lake some beautiful evening in July.\n\nTheir first remarks were decidedly peculiar and quite characteristic.\nOther men would have asked themselves where the Projectile was taking\nthem to. Do you think such a question ever occurred to them? Not a bit\nof it. They simply began asking each other what could have been the\ncause of this new and strange state of things.\n\n\"Off the track, it appears,\" observed Ardan. \"How's that?\"\n\n\"My opinion is,\" answered the Captain, \"that the Projectile was not\naimed true. Every possible precaution had been taken, I am well aware,\nbut we all know that an inch, a line, even the tenth part of a hair's\nbreadth wrong at the start would have sent us thousands of miles off our\ncourse by this time.\"\n\n\"What have you to say to that, Barbican?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"I don't think there was any error at the start,\" was the confident\nreply; \"not even so much as a line! We took too many tests proving the\nabsolute perpendicularity of the Columbiad, to entertain the slightest\ndoubt on that subject. Its direction towards the zenith being\nincontestable, I don't see why we should not reach the Moon when she\ncomes to the zenith.\"\n\n\"Perhaps we're behind time,\" suggested Ardan.\n\n\"What have you to say to that, Barbican?\" asked the Captain. \"You know\nthe Cambridge men said the journey had to be done in 97 hours 13 minutes\nand 20 seconds. That's as much as to say that if we're not up to time we\nshall miss the Moon.\"\n\n\"Correct,\" said Barbican. \"But we _can't_ be behind time. We started,\nyou know, on December 1st, at 13 minutes and 20 seconds before 11\no'clock, and we were to arrive four days later at midnight precisely.\nTo-day is December 5th Gentlemen, please examine your watches. It is now\nhalf past three in the afternoon. Eight hours and a half are sufficient\nto take us to our journey's end. Why should we not arrive there?\"\n\n\"How about being ahead of time?\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"Just so!\" said Ardan. \"You know we have discovered the initial velocity\nto have been greater than was expected.\"\n\n\"Not at all! not at all!\" cried Barbican \"A slight excess of velocity\nwould have done no harm whatever had the direction of the Projectile\nbeen perfectly true. No. There must have been a digression. We must have\nbeen switched off!\"\n\n\"Switched off? By what?\" asked both his listeners in one breath.\n\n\"I can't tell,\" said Barbican curtly.\n\n\"Well!\" said Ardan; \"if Barbican can't tell, there is an end to all\nfurther talk on the subject. We're switched off--that's enough for me.\nWhat has done it? I don't care. Where are we going to? I don't care.\nWhat is the use of pestering our brains about it? We shall soon find\nout. We are floating around in space, and we shall end by hauling up\nsomewhere or other.\"\n\nBut in this indifference Barbican was far from participating. Not that\nhe was not prepared to meet the future with a bold and manly heart. It\nwas his inability to answer his own question that rendered him uneasy.\nWhat _had_ switched them off? He would have given worlds for an answer,\nbut his brain sorely puzzled sought one in vain.\n\nIn the mean time, the Projectile continued to turn its side rather than\nits base towards the Moon; that is, to assume a lateral rather than a\ndirect movement, and this movement was fully participated in by the\nmultitude of the objects that had been thrown outside. Barbican could\neven convince himself by sighting several points on the lunar surface,\nby this time hardly more than fifteen or eighteen thousand miles\ndistant, that the velocity of the Projectile instead of accelerating was\nbecoming more and more uniform. This was another proof that there was\nno perpendicular fall. However, though the original impulsive force was\nstill superior to the Moon's attraction, the travellers were evidently\napproaching the lunar disc, and there was every reason to hope that they\nwould at last reach a point where, the lunar attraction at last having\nthe best of it, a decided fall should be the result.\n\nThe three friends, it need hardly be said, continued to make their\nobservations with redoubled interest, if redoubled interest were\npossible. But with all their care they could as yet determine nothing\nregarding the topographical details of our radiant satellite. Her\nsurface still reflected the solar rays too dazzlingly to show the relief\nnecessary for satisfactory observation.\n\nOur travellers kept steadily on the watch looking out of the side\nlights, till eight o'clock in the evening, by which time the Moon had\ngrown so large in their eyes that she covered up fully half the sky. At\nthis time the Projectile itself must have looked like a streak of light,\nreflecting, as it did, the Sun's brilliancy on the one side and the\nMoon's splendor on the other.\n\nBarbican now took a careful observation and calculated that they could\nnot be much more than 2,000 miles from the object of their journey. The\nvelocity of the Projectile he calculated to be about 650 feet per second\nor 450 miles an hour. They had therefore still plenty of time to reach\nthe Moon in about four hours. But though the bottom of the Projectile\ncontinued to turn towards the lunar surface in obedience to the law of\ncentripetal force, the centrifugal force was still evidently strong\nenough to change the path which it followed into some kind of curve, the\nexact nature of which would be exceedingly difficult to calculate.\n\nThe careful observations that Barbican continued to take did not however\nprevent him from endeavoring to solve his difficult problem. What _had_\nswitched them off? The hours passed on, but brought no result. That the\nadventurers were approaching the Moon was evident, but it was just as\nevident that they should never reach her. The nearest point the\nProjectile could ever possibly attain would only be the result of two\nopposite forces, the attractive and the repulsive, which, as was now\nclear, influenced its motion. Therefore, to land in the Moon was an\nutter impossibility, and any such idea was to be given up at once and\nfor ever.\n\n\"_Quand même_! What of it!\" cried Ardan; after some moments' silence.\n\"We're not to land in the Moon! Well! let us do the next best\nthing--pass close enough to discover her secrets!\"\n\nBut M'Nicholl could not accept the situation so coolly. On the contrary,\nhe decidedly lost his temper, as is occasionally the case with even\nphlegmatic men. He muttered an oath or two, but in a voice hardly loud\nenough to reach Barbican's ear. At last, impatient of further restraint,\nhe burst out:\n\n\"Who the deuce cares for her secrets? To the hangman with her secrets!\nWe started to land in the Moon! That's what's got to be done! That I\nwant or nothing! Confound the darned thing, I say, whatever it was,\nwhether on the Earth or off it, that shoved us off the track!\"\n\n\"On the Earth or off it!\" cried Barbican, striking his head suddenly;\n\"now I see it! You're right, Captain! Confound the bolide that we met\nthe first night of our journey!\"\n\n\"Hey?\" cried Ardan.\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked M'Nicholl.\n\n\"I mean,\" replied Barbican, with a voice now perfectly calm, and in a\ntone of quiet conviction, \"that our deviation is due altogether to that\nwandering meteor.\"\n\n\"Why, it did not even graze us!\" cried Ardan.\n\n\"No matter for that,\" replied Barbican. \"Its mass, compared to ours, was\nenormous, and its attraction was undoubtedly sufficiently great to\ninfluence our deviation.\"\n\n\"Hardly enough to be appreciable,\" urged M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Right again, Captain,\" observed Barbican. \"But just remember an\nobservation of your own made this very afternoon: an inch, a line, even\nthe tenth part of a hair's breadth wrong at the beginning, in a journey\nof 240 thousand miles, would be sufficient to make us miss the Moon!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nTHE OBSERVERS OF THE MOON.\n\n\nBarbican's happy conjecture had probably hit the nail on the head. The\ndivergency even of a second may amount to millions of miles if you only\nhave your lines long enough. The Projectile had certainly gone off its\ndirect course; whatever the cause, the fact was undoubted. It was a\ngreat pity. The daring attempt must end in a failure due altogether to a\nfortuitous accident, against which no human foresight could have\npossibly taken precaution. Unless in case of the occurrence of some\nother most improbable accident, reaching the Moon was evidently now\nimpossible. To failure, therefore, our travellers had to make up their\nminds.\n\nBut was nothing to be gained by the trip? Though missing actual contact\nwith the Moon, might they not pass near enough to solve several problems\nin physics and geology over which scientists had been for a long time\npuzzling their brains in vain? Even this would be some compensation for\nall their trouble, courage, and intelligence. As to what was to be their\nown fate, to what doom were themselves to be reserved--they never\nappeared to think of such a thing. They knew very well that in the midst\nof those infinite solitudes they should soon find themselves without\nair. The slight supply that kept them from smothering could not\npossibly last more than five or six days longer. Five or six days! What\nof that? _Quand même_! as Ardan often exclaimed. Five or six days were\ncenturies to our bold adventurers! At present every second was a year in\nevents, and infinitely too precious to be squandered away in mere\npreparations for possible contingencies. The Moon could never be\nreached, but was it not possible that her surface could be carefully\nobserved? This they set themselves at once to find out.\n\nThe distance now separating them from our Satellite they estimated at\nabout 400 miles. Therefore relatively to their power of discovering the\ndetails of her disc, they were still farther off from the Moon than some\nof our modern astronomers are to-day, when provided with their powerful\ntelescopes.\n\nWe know, for example, that Lord Rosse's great telescope at Parsonstown,\npossessing a power of magnifying 6000 times, brings the Moon to within\n40 miles of us; not to speak of Barbican's great telescope on the summit\nof Long's Peak, by which the Moon, magnified 48,000 times, was brought\nwithin 5 miles of the Earth, where it therefore could reveal with\nsufficient distinctness every object above 40 feet in diameter.\n\nTherefore our adventurers, though at such a comparatively small\ndistance, could not make out the topographical details of the Moon with\nany satisfaction by their unaided vision. The eye indeed could easily\nenough catch the rugged outline of these vast depressions improperly\ncalled \"Seas,\" but it could do very little more. Its powers of\nadjustability seemed to fail before the strange and bewildering scene.\nThe prominence of the mountains vanished, not only through the\nforeshortening, but also in the dazzling radiation produced by the\ndirect reflection of the solar rays. After a short time therefore,\ncompletely foiled by the blinding glare, the eye turned itself\nunwillingly away, as if from a furnace of molten silver.\n\nThe spherical surface, however, had long since begun to reveal its\nconvexity. The Moon was gradually assuming the appearance of a gigantic\negg with the smaller end turned towards the Earth. In the earlier days\nof her formation, while still in a state of mobility, she had been\nprobably a perfect sphere in shape, but, under the influence of\nterrestrial gravity operating for uncounted ages, she was drawn at last\nso much towards the centre of attraction as to resemble somewhat a\nprolate spheriod. By becoming a satellite, she had lost the native\nperfect regularity of her outline; her centre of gravity had shifted\nfrom her real centre; and as a result of this arrangement, some\nscientists have drawn the conclusion that the Moon's air and water have\nbeen attracted to that portion of her surface which is always invisible\nto the inhabitants of the Earth.\n\nThe convexity of her outline, this bulging prominence of her surface,\nhowever, did not last long. The travellers were getting too near to\nnotice it. They were beginning to survey the Moon as balloonists survey\nthe Earth. The Projectile was now moving with great rapidity--with\nnothing like its initial velocity, but still eight or nine times faster\nthan an express train. Its line of movement, however, being oblique\ninstead of direct, was so deceptive as to induce Ardan to flatter\nhimself that they might still reach the lunar surface. He could never\npersuade himself to believe that they should get so near their aim and\nstill miss it. No; nothing might, could, would or should induce him to\nbelieve it, he repeated again and again. But Barbican's pitiless logic\nleft him no reply.\n\n\"No, dear friend, no. We can reach the Moon only by a fall, and we don't\nfall. Centripetal force keeps us at least for a while under the lunar\ninfluence, but centrifugal force drives us away irresistibly.\"\n\nThese words were uttered in a tone that killed Ardan's last and fondest\nhope.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe portion of the Moon they were now approaching was her northern\nhemisphere, found usually in the lower part of lunar maps. The lens of a\ntelescope, as is well known, gives only the inverted image of the\nobject; therefore, when an upright image is required, an additional\nglass must be used. But as every additional glass is an additional\nobstruction to the light, the object glass of a Lunar telescope is\nemployed without a corrector; light is thereby saved, and in viewing the\nMoon, as in viewing a map, it evidently makes very little difference\nwhether we see her inverted or not. Maps of the Moon therefore, being\ndrawn from the image formed by the telescope, show the north in the\nlower part, and _vice versa_. Of this kind was the _Mappa\nSelenographica_, by Beer and Maedler, so often previously alluded to and\nnow carefully consulted by Barbican. The northern hemisphere, towards\nwhich they were now rapidly approaching, presented a strong contrast\nwith the southern, by its vast plains and great depressions, checkered\nhere and there by very remarkable isolated mountains.[A]\n\nAt midnight the Moon was full. This was the precise moment at which the\ntravellers would have landed had not that unlucky bolide drawn them off\nthe track. The Moon was therefore strictly up to time, arriving at the\ninstant rigidly determined by the Cambridge Observatory. She occupied\nthe exact point, to a mathematical nicety, where our 28th parallel\ncrossed the perigee. An observer posted in the bottom of the Columbiad\nat Stony Hill, would have found himself at this moment precisely under\nthe Moon. The axis of the enormous gun, continued upwards vertically,\nwould have struck the orb of night exactly in her centre.\n\nIt is hardly necessary to tell our readers that, during this memorable\nnight of the 5th and 6th of December, the travellers had no desire to\nclose their eyes. Could they do so, even if they had desired? No! All\ntheir faculties, thoughts, and desires, were concentrated in one single\nword: \"Look!\" Representatives of the Earth, and of all humanity past and\npresent, they felt that it was with their eyes that the race of man\ncontemplated the lunar regions and penetrated the secrets of our\nsatellite! A certain indescribable emotion therefore, combined with an\nundefined sense of responsibility, held possession of their hearts, as\nthey moved silently from window to window.\n\nTheir observations, recorded by Barbican, were vigorously remade,\nrevised, and re-determined, by the others. To make them, they had\ntelescopes which they now began to employ with great advantage. To\nregulate and investigate them, they had the best maps of the day.\n\nWhilst occupied in this silent work, they could not help throwing a\nshort retrospective glance on the former Observers of the Moon.\n\nThe first of these was Galileo. His slight telescope magnified only\nthirty times, still, in the spots flecking the lunar surface, like the\neyes checkering a peacock's tail, he was the first to discover mountains\nand even to measure their heights. These, considering the difficulties\nunder which he labored, were wonderfully accurate, but unfortunately he\nmade no map embodying his observations.\n\nA few years afterwards, Hevel of Dantzic, (1611-1688) a Polish\nastronomer--more generally known as Hevelius, his works being all\nwritten in Latin--undertook to correct Galileo's measurements. But as\nhis method could be strictly accurate only twice a month--the periods of\nthe first and second quadratures--his rectifications could be hardly\ncalled successful.\n\nStill it is to the labors of this eminent astronomer, carried on\nuninterruptedly for fifty years in his own observatory, that we owe the\nfirst map of the Moon. It was published in 1647 under the name of\n_Selenographia_. He represented the circular mountains by open spots\nsomewhat round in shape, and by shaded figures he indicated the vast\nplains, or, as he called them, the _seas_, that occupied so much of her\nsurface. These he designated by names taken from our Earth. His map\nshows you a _Mount Sinai_ the midst of an _Arabia_, an _Ætna_ in the\ncentre of a _Sicily_, _Alps_, _Apennines_, _Carpathians_, a\n_Mediterranean_, a _Palus Mæolis_, a _Pontus Euxinus_, and a _Caspian\nSea_. But these names seem to have been given capriciously and at\nrandom, for they never recall any resemblance existing between\nthemselves and their namesakes on our globe. In the wide open spot, for\ninstance, connected on the south with vast continents and terminating in\na point, it would be no easy matter to recognize the reversed image of\nthe _Indian Peninsula_, the _Bay of Bengal_, and _Cochin China_.\nNaturally, therefore, these names were nearly all soon dropped; but\nanother system of nomenclature, proposed by an astronomer better\nacquainted with the human heart, met with a success that has lasted to\nthe present day.\n\nThis was Father Riccioli, a Jesuit, and (1598-1671) a contemporary of\nHevelius. In his _Astronomia Reformata_, (1665), he published a rough\nand incorrect map of the Moon, compiled from observations made by\nGrimaldi of Ferrara; but in designating the mountains, he named them\nafter eminent astronomers, and this idea of his has been carefully\ncarried out by map makers of later times.\n\nA third map of the Moon was published at Rome in 1666 by Dominico\nCassini of Nice (1625-1712), the famous discoverer of Saturn's\nsatellites. Though somewhat incorrect regarding measurements, it was\nsuperior to Riccioli's in execution, and for a long time it was\nconsidered a standard work. Copies of this map are still to be found,\nbut Cassini's original copper-plate, preserved for a long time at the\n_Imprimerie Royale_ in Paris, was at last sold to a brazier, by no less\na personage than the Director of the establishment himself, who,\naccording to Arago, wanted to get rid of what he considered useless\nlumber!\n\nLa Hire (1640-1718), professor of astronomy in the _Collège de France_,\nand an accomplished draughtsman, drew a map of the Moon which was\nthirteen feet in diameter. This map could be seen long afterwards in the\nlibrary of St. Genevieve, Paris, but it was never engraved.\n\nAbout 1760, Mayer, a famous German astronomer and the director of the\nobservatory of Göttingen, began the publication of a magnificent map of\nthe Moon, drawn after lunar measurements all rigorously verified by\nhimself. Unfortunately his death in 1762 interrupted a work which would\nhave surpassed in accuracy every previous effort of the kind.\n\nNext appears Schroeter of Erfurt (1745-1816), a fine observer (he first\ndiscovered the Lunar _Rills_), but a poor draughtsman: his maps are\ntherefore of little value. Lohrman of Dresden published in 1838 an\nexcellent map of the Moon, 15 inches in diameter, accompanied by\ndescriptive text and several charts of particular portions on a larger\nscale.\n\nBut this and all other maps were thrown completely into the shade by\nBeer and Maedler's famous _Mappa Selenographica_, so often alluded to in\nthe course of this work. This map, projected orthographically--that is,\none in which all the rays proceeding from the surface to the eye are\nsupposed to be parallel to each other--gives a reproduction of the lunar\ndisc exactly as it appears. The representation of the mountains and\nplains is therefore correct only in the central portion; elsewhere,\nnorth, south, east, or west, the features, being foreshortened, are\ncrowded together, and cannot be compared in measurement with those in\nthe centre. It is more than three feet square; for convenient reference\nit is divided into four parts, each having a very full index; in short,\nthis map is in all respects a master piece of lunar cartography.[B]\n\nAfter Beer and Maedler, we should allude to Julius Schmitt's (of Athens)\nexcellent selenographic reliefs: to Doctor Draper's, and to Father\nSecchi's successful application of photography to lunar representation;\nto De La Rue's (of London) magnificent stereographs of the Moon, to be\nhad at every optician's; to the clear and correct map prepared by\nLecouturier and Chapuis in 1860; to the many beautiful pictures of the\nMoon in various phases of illumination obtained by the Messrs. Bond of\nHarvard University; to Rutherford's (of New York) unparalleled lunar\nphotographs; and finally to Nasmyth and Carpenter's wonderful work on\nthe Moon, illustrated by photographs of her surface in detail, prepared\nfrom models at which they had been laboring for more than a quarter of\nthe century.\n\nOf all these maps, pictures, and projections, Barbican had provided\nhimself with only two--Beer and Maedler's in German, and Lecouturier and\nChapuis' in French. These he considered quite sufficient for all\npurposes, and certainly they considerably simplified his labors as an\nobserver.\n\nHis best optical instruments were several excellent marine telescopes,\nmanufactured especially under his direction. Magnifying the object a\nhundred times, on the surface of the Earth they would have brought the\nMoon to within a distance of somewhat less than 2400 miles. But at the\npoint to which our travellers had arrived towards three o'clock in the\nmorning, and which could hardly be more than 12 or 1300 miles from the\nMoon, these telescopes, ranging through a medium disturbed by no\natmosphere, easily brought the lunar surface to within less than 13\nmiles' distance from the eyes of our adventurers.\n\nTherefore they should now see objects in the Moon as clearly as people\ncan see the opposite bank of a river that is about 12 miles wide.\n\n[Footnote A: In our Map of the Moon, prepared expressly for this work,\nwe have so far improved on Beer and Maedler as to give her surface as it\nappears to the naked eye: that is, the north is in the north; only we\nmust always remember that the west is and must be on the _right hand_.]\n\n[Footnote B: In our Map the _Mappa Selenographica_ is copied as closely\nand as fully as is necessary for understanding the details of the story.\nFor further information the reader is referred to Nasmyth's late\nmagnificent work: the MOON.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nFACT AND FANCY.\n\n\n\"Have you ever seen the Moon?\" said a teacher ironically one day in\nclass to one of his pupils.\n\n\"No, sir;\" was the pert reply; \"but I think I can safely say I've heard\nit spoken about.\"\n\nThough saying what he considered a smart thing, the pupil was probably\nperfectly right. Like the immense majority of his fellow beings, he had\nlooked at the Moon, heard her talked of, written poetry about her, but,\nin the strict sense of the term, he had probably never seen her--that\nis--scanned her, examined her, surveyed her, inspected her, reconnoitred\nher--even with an opera glass! Not one in a thousand, not one in ten\nthousand, has ever examined even the map of our only Satellite. To guard\nour beloved and intelligent reader against this reproach, we have\nprepared an excellent reduction of Beer and Maedler's _Mappa_, on which,\nfor the better understanding of what is to follow, we hope he will\noccasionally cast a gracious eye.\n\nWhen you look at any map of the Moon, you are struck first of all with\none peculiarity. Contrary to the arrangement prevailing in Mars and on\nour Earth, the continents occupy principally the southern hemisphere of\nthe lunar orb. Then these continents are far from presenting such sharp\nand regular outlines as distinguish the Indian Peninsula, Africa, and\nSouth America. On the contrary, their coasts, angular, jagged, and\ndeeply indented, abound in bays and peninsulas. They remind you of the\ncoast of Norway, or of the islands in the Sound, where the land seems to\nbe cut up into endless divisions. If navigation ever existed on the\nMoon's surface, it must have been of a singularly difficult and\ndangerous nature, and we can scarcely say which of the two should be\nmore pitied--the sailors who had to steer through these dangerous and\ncomplicated passes, or the map-makers who had to designate them on their\ncharts.\n\nYou will also remark that the southern pole of the Moon is much more\n_continental_ than the northern. Around the latter, there exists only a\nslight fringe of lands separated from the other continents by vast\n\"seas.\" This word \"seas\"--a term employed by the first lunar map\nconstructors--is still retained to designate those vast depressions on\nthe Moon's surface, once perhaps covered with water, though they are now\nonly enormous plains. In the south, the continents cover nearly the\nwhole hemisphere. It is therefore possible that the Selenites have\nplanted their flag on at least one of their poles, whereas the Parrys\nand Franklins of England, the Kanes and the Wilkeses of America, the\nDumont d'Urvilles and the Lamberts of France, have so far met with\nobstacles completely insurmountable, while in search of those unknown\npoints of our terrestrial globe.\n\nThe islands--the next feature on the Moon's surface--are exceedingly\nnumerous. Generally oblong or circular in shape and almost as regular in\noutline as if drawn with a compass, they form vast archipelagoes like\nthe famous group lying between Greece and Asia Minor, which mythology\nhas made the scene of her earliest and most charming legends. As we gaze\nat them, the names of Naxos, Tenedos, Milo, and Carpathos rise up before\nour mind's eye, and we begin looking around for the Trojan fleet and\nJason's Argo. This, at least, was Ardan's idea, and at first his eyes\nwould see nothing on the map but a Grecian archipelago. But his\ncompanions, sound practical men, and therefore totally devoid of\nsentiment, were reminded by these rugged coasts of the beetling cliffs\nof New Brunswick and Nova Scotia; so that, where the Frenchman saw the\ntracks of ancient heroes, the Americans saw only commodious shipping\npoints and favorable sites for trading posts--all, of course, in the\npurest interest of lunar commerce and industry.\n\nTo end our hasty sketch of the continental portion of the Moon, we must\nsay a few words regarding her orthography or mountain systems. With a\nfair telescope you can distinguish very readily her mountain chains, her\nisolated mountains, her circuses or ring formations, and her rills,\ncracks and radiating streaks. The character of the whole lunar relief is\ncomprised in these divisions. It is a surface prodigiously reticulated,\nupheaved and depressed, apparently without the slightest order or\nsystem. It is a vast Switzerland, an enormous Norway, where everything\nis the result of direct plutonic action. This surface, so rugged, craggy\nand wrinkled, seems to be the result of successive contractions of the\ncrust, at an early period of the planet's existence. The examination of\nthe lunar disc is therefore highly favorable for the study of the great\ngeological phenomena of our own globe. As certain astronomers have\nremarked, the Moon's surface, though older than the Earth's, has\nremained younger. That is, it has undergone less change. No water has\nbroken through its rugged elevations, filled up its scowling cavities,\nand by incessant action tended continuously to the production of a\ngeneral level. No atmosphere, by its disintegrating, decomposing\ninfluence has softened off the rugged features of the plutonic\nmountains. Volcanic action alone, unaffected by either aqueous or\natmospheric forces, can here be seen in all its glory. In other words\nthe Moon looks now as our Earth did endless ages ago, when \"she was void\nand empty and when darkness sat upon the face of the deep;\" eons of ages\nago, long before the tides of the ocean and the winds of the atmosphere\nhad begun to strew her rough surface with sand and clay, rock and coal,\nforest and meadow, gradually preparing it, according to the laws of our\nbeneficent Creator, to be at last the pleasant though the temporary\nabode of Man!\n\nHaving wandered over vast continents, your eye is attracted by the\n\"seas\" of dimensions still vaster. Not only their shape, situation, and\nlook, remind us of our own oceans, but, again like them, they occupy\nthe greater part of the Moon's surface. The \"seas,\" or, more correctly,\nplains, excited our travellers' curiosity to a very high degree, and\nthey set themselves at once to examine their nature.\n\nThe astronomer who first gave names to those \"seas\" in all probability\nwas a Frenchman. Hevelius, however, respected them, even Riccioli did\nnot disturb them, and so they have come down to us. Ardan laughed\nheartily at the fancies which they called up, and said the whole thing\nreminded him of one of those \"maps of matrimony\" that he had once seen\nor read of in the works of Scudéry or Cyrano de Bergerac.\n\n\"However,\" he added, \"I must say that this map has much more reality in\nit than could be found in the sentimental maps of the 17th century. In\nfact, I have no difficulty whatever in calling it the _Map of Life!_\nvery neatly divided into two parts, the east and the west, the masculine\nand the feminine. The women on the right, and the men on the left!\"\n\nAt such observations, Ardan's companions only shrugged their shoulders.\nA map of the Moon in their eyes was a map of the Moon, no more, no less;\ntheir romantic friend might view it as he pleased. Nevertheless, their\nromantic friend was not altogether wrong. Judge a little for yourselves.\n\nWhat is the first \"sea\" you find in the hemisphere on the left? The\n_Mare Imbrium_ or the Rainy Sea, a fit emblem of our human life, beaten\nby many a pitiless storm. In a corresponding part of the southern\nhemisphere you see _Mare Nubium_, the Cloudy Sea, in which our poor\nhuman reason so often gets befogged. Close to this lies _Mare Humorum_,\nthe Sea of Humors, where we sail about, the sport of each fitful breeze,\n\"everything by starts and nothing long.\" Around all, embracing all, lies\n_Oceanus Procellarum_, the Ocean of Tempests, where, engaged in one\ncontinuous struggle with the gusty whirlwinds, excited by our own\npassions or those of others, so few of us escape shipwreck. And, when\ndisgusted by the difficulties of life, its deceptions, its treacheries\nand all the other miseries \"that flesh is heir to,\" where do we too\noften fly to avoid them? To the _Sinus Iridium_ or the _Sinus Roris_,\nthat is Rainbow Gulf and Dewy Gulf whose glittering lights, alas! give\nforth no real illumination to guide our stumbling feet, whose sun-tipped\npinnacles have less substance than a dream, whose enchanting waters all\nevaporate before we can lift a cup-full to our parched lips! Showers,\nstorms, fogs, rainbows--is not the whole mortal life of man comprised in\nthese four words?\n\nNow turn to the hemisphere on the right, the women's side, and you also\ndiscover \"seas,\" more numerous indeed, but of smaller dimensions and\nwith gentler names, as more befitting the feminine temperament. First\ncomes _Mare Serenitatis_, the Sea of Serenity, so expressive of the\ncalm, tranquil soul of an innocent maiden. Near it is _Lacus Somniorum_,\nthe Lake of Dreams, in which she loves to gaze at her gilded and rosy\nfuture. In the southern division is seen _Mare Nectaris_, the Sea of\nNectar, over whose soft heaving billows she is gently wafted by Love's\ncaressing winds, \"Youth on the prow and Pleasure at the helm.\" Not far\noff is _Mare Fecunditatis_, the Sea of Fertility, in which she becomes\nthe happy mother of rejoicing children. A little north is _Mare\nCrisium_, the Sea of Crises where her life and happiness are sometimes\nexposed to sudden, and unexpected dangers which fortunately, however,\nseldom end fatally. Far to the left, near the men's side, is _Mare\nVaporum_, the Sea of Vapors, into which, though it is rather small, and\nfull of sunken rocks, she sometimes allows herself to wander, moody, and\npouting, and not exactly knowing where she wants to go or what she wants\nto do. Between the two last expands the great _Mare Tranquillitatis_,\nthe Sea of Tranquillity, into whose quiet depths are at last absorbed\nall her simulated passions, all her futile aspirations, all her\nunglutted desires, and whose unruffled waters are gliding on forever in\nnoiseless current towards _Lacus Mortis_, the Lake of Death, whose misty\nshores\n\n    \"In ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods are girt.\"\n\nSo at least Ardan mused as he stooped over Beer and Maedler's map. Did\nnot these strange successive names somewhat justify his flights of\nfancy? Surely they had a wonderful variety of meaning. Was it by\naccident or by forethought deep that the two hemispheres of the Moon had\nbeen thus so strangely divided, yet, as man to woman, though divided\nstill united, and thus forming even in the cold regions of space a\nperfect image of our terrestrial existence? Who can say that our\nromantic French friend was altogether wrong in thus explaining the\nastute fancies of the old astronomers?\n\nHis companions, however, it need hardly be said, never saw the \"seas\" in\nthat light. They looked on them not with sentimental but with\ngeographical eyes. They studied this new world and tried to get it by\nheart, working at it like a school boy at his lessons. They began by\nmeasuring its angles and diameters.\n\nTo their practical, common sense vision _Mare Nubium_, the Cloudy Sea,\nwas an immense depression of the surface, sprinkled here and there with\na few circular mountains. Covering a great portion of that part of the\nsouthern hemisphere which lies east of the centre, it occupied a space\nof about 270 thousand square miles, its central point lying in 15° south\nlatitude and 20° east longitude. Northeast from this lay _Oceanus\nProcellarum_, the Ocean of Tempests, the most extensive of all the\nplains on the lunar disc, embracing a surface of about half a million of\nsquare miles, its centre being in 10° north and 45° east. From its bosom\nthose wonderful mountains _Kepler_ and _Aristarchus_ lifted their vast\nramparts glittering with innumerable streaks radiating in all\ndirections.\n\nTo the north, in the direction of _Mare Frigoris_, extends _Mare\nImbrium_, the Sea of Rains, its central point in 35° north and 20°\neast. It is somewhat circular in shape, and it covers a space of about\n300 thousand square miles. South of _Oceanus Procellarum_ and separated\nfrom _Mare Nubium_ by a goodly number of ring mountains, lies the little\nbasin of _Mare Humorum_, the Sea of Humors, containing only about 66\nthousand square miles, its central point having a latitude of 25° south\nand a longitude of 40° east.\n\nOn the shores of these great seas three \"Gulfs\" are easily found: _Sinus\nAestuum_, the Gulf of the Tides, northeast of the centre; _Sinus\nIridium_, the Gulf of the Rainbows, northeast of the _Mare Imbrium_; and\n_Sinus Roris_, the Dewy Gulf, a little further northeast. All seem to be\nsmall plains enclosed between chains of lofty mountains.\n\nThe western hemisphere, dedicated to the ladies, according to Ardan, and\ntherefore naturally more capricious, was remarkable for \"seas\" of\nsmaller dimensions, but much more numerous. These were principally:\n_Mare Serenitatis_, the Sea of Serenity, 25° north and 20° west,\ncomprising a surface of about 130 thousand square miles; _Mare Crisium_,\nthe Sea of Crises, a round, well defined, dark depression towards the\nnorthwestern edge, 17° north 55° west, embracing a surface of 60\nthousand square miles, a regular Caspian Sea in fact, only that the\nplateau in which it lies buried is surrounded by a girdle of much higher\nmountains. Then towards the equator, with a latitude of 5° north and a\nlongitude of 25° west, appears _Mare Tranquillitatis_, the Sea of\nTranquillity, occupying about 180 thousand square miles. This\ncommunicates on the south with _Mare Nectaris_, the Sea of Nectar,\nembracing an extent of about 42 thousand square miles, with a mean\nlatitude of 15° south and a longitude of 35° west. Southwest from _Mare\nTranquillitatis_, lies _Mare Fecunditatis_, the Sea of Fertility, the\ngreatest in this hemisphere, as it occupies an extent of more than 300\nthousand square miles, its latitude being 3° south and its longitude 50°\nwest. For away to the north, on the borders of the _Mare Frigoris_, or\nIcy Sea, is seen the small _Mare Humboldtianum_, or Humboldt Sea, with a\nsurface of about 10 thousand square miles. Corresponding to this in the\nsouthern hemisphere lies the _Mare Australe_, or South Sea, whose\nsurface, as it extends along the western rim, is rather difficult to\ncalculate. Finally, right in the centre of the lunar disc, where the\nequator intersects the first meridian, can be seen _Sinus Medii_, the\nCentral Gulf, the common property therefore of all the hemispheres, the\nnorthern and southern, as well as of the eastern and western.\n\nInto these great divisions the surface of our satellite resolved itself\nbefore the eyes of Barbican and M'Nicholl. Adding up the various\nmeasurements, they found that the surface of her visible hemisphere was\nabout 7-1/2 millions of square miles, of which about the two thirds\ncomprised the volcanoes, the mountain chains, the rings, the islands--in\nshort, the land portion of the lunar surface; the other third comprised\nthe \"seas,\" the \"lakes,\" the \"marshes,\" the \"bays\" or \"gulfs,\" and the\nother divisions usually assigned to water.\n\nTo all this deeply interesting information, though the fruit of\nobservation the closest, aided and confirmed by calculation the\nprofoundest, Ardan listened with the utmost indifference. In fact, even\nhis French politeness could not suppress two or three decided yawns,\nwhich of course the mathematicians were too absorbed to notice.\n\nIn their enthusiasm they tried to make him understand that though the\nMoon is 13-1/2 times smaller than our Earth, she can show more than 50\nthousand craters, which astronomers have already counted and designated\nby specific names.\n\n\"To conclude this portion of our investigation therefore,\" cried\nBarbican, clearing his throat, and occupying Aldan's right ear,--\"the\nMoon's surface is a honey combed, perforated, punctured--\"\n\n\"A fistulous, a rugose, salebrous,--\" cut in the Captain, close on the\nleft.\n\n--\"And highly cribriform superficies--\" cried Barbican.\n\n--\"A sieve, a riddle, a colander--\" shouted the Captain.\n\n--\"A skimming dish, a buckwheat cake, a lump of green cheese--\" went on\nBarbican--.\n\n--In fact, there is no knowing how far they would have proceeded with\ntheir designations, comparisons, and scientific expressions, had not\nArdan, driven to extremities by Barbican's last profanity, suddenly\njumped up, broken away from his companions, and clapped a forcible\nextinguisher on their eloquence by putting his hands on their lips and\nkeeping them there awhile. Then striking a grand attitude, he looked\ntowards the Moon and burst out in accents of thrilling indignation:\n\n\"Pardon, O beautiful Diana of the Ephesians! Pardon, O Phoebe, thou\npearl-faced goddess of night beloved of Greece! O Isis, thou sympathetic\nqueen of Nile-washed cities! O Astarte, thou favorite deity of the\nSyrian hills! O Artemis, thou symbolical daughter of Jupiter and Latona,\nthat is of light and darkness! O brilliant sister of the radiant Apollo!\nenshrined in the enchanting strains of Virgil and Homer, which I only\nhalf learned at college, and therefore unfortunately forget just now!\nOtherwise what pleasure I should have had in hurling them at the heads\nof Barbican, M'Nicholl, and every other barbarous iconoclast of the\nnineteenth century!--\"\n\nHere he stopped short, for two reasons: first he was out of breath;\nsecondly, he saw that the irrepressible scientists had been too busy\nmaking observations of their own to hear a single word of what he had\nuttered, and were probably totally unconscious that he had spoken at\nall. In a few seconds his breath came back in full blast, but the idea\nof talking when only deaf men were listening was so disconcerting as to\nleave him actually unable to get off another syllable.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nA BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF THE LUNAR MOUNTAINS.\n\n\nI am rather inclined to believe myself that not one word of Ardan's\nrhapsody had been ever heard by Barbican or M'Nicholl. Long before he\nhad spoken his last words, they had once more become mute as statues,\nand now were both eagerly watching, pencil in hand, spyglass to eye, the\nnorthern lunar hemisphere towards which they were rapidly but indirectly\napproaching. They had fully made up their minds by this time that they\nwere leaving far behind them the central point which they would have\nprobably reached half an hour ago if they had not been shunted off their\ncourse by that inopportune bolide.\n\nAbout half past twelve o'clock, Barbican broke the dead silence by\nsaying that after a careful calculation they were now only about 875\nmiles from the Moon's surface, a distance two hundred miles less in\nlength than the lunar radius, and which was still to be diminished as\nthey advanced further north. They were at that moment ten degrees north\nof the equator, almost directly over the ridge lying between the _Mare\nSerenitatis_ and the _Mare Tranquillitatis_. From this latitude all the\nway up to the north pole the travellers enjoyed a most satisfactory view\nof the Moon in all directions and under the most favorable conditions.\nBy means of their spyglasses, magnifying a hundred times, they cut down\nthis distance of 875 miles to about 9. The great telescope of the Rocky\nMountains, by its enormous magnifying power of 48,000, brought the Moon,\nit is true, within a distance of 5 miles, or nearly twice as near; but\nthis advantage of nearness was considerably more than counterbalanced by\na want of clearness, resulting from the haziness and refractiveness of\nthe terrestrial atmosphere, not to mention those fatal defects in the\nreflector that the art of man has not yet succeeded in remedying.\nAccordingly, our travellers, armed with excellent telescopes--of just\npower enough to be no injury to clearness,--and posted on unequalled\nvantage ground, began already to distinguish certain details that had\nprobably never been noticed before by terrestrial observers. Even Ardan,\nby this time quite recovered from his fit of sentiment and probably\ninfected a little by the scientific enthusiasm of his companions, began\nto observe and note and observe and note, alternately, with all the\n_sangfroid_ of a veteran astronomer.\n\n\"Friends,\" said Barbican, again interrupting a silence that had lasted\nperhaps ten minutes, \"whither we are going I can't say; if we shall ever\nrevisit the Earth, I can't tell. Still, it is our duty so to act in all\nrespects as if these labors of ours were one day to be of service to our\nfellow-creatures. Let us keep our souls free from every distraction. We\nare now astronomers. We see now what no mortal eye has ever gazed on\nbefore. This Projectile is simply a work room of the great Cambridge\nObservatory lifted into space. Let us take observations!\"\n\nWith these words, he set to work with a renewed ardor, in which his\ncompanions fully participated. The consequence was that they soon had\nseveral of the outline maps covered with the best sketches they could\nmake of the Moon's various aspects thus presented under such favorable\ncircumstances. They could now remark not only that they were passing the\ntenth degree of north latitude, but that the Projectile followed almost\ndirectly the twentieth degree of east longitude.\n\n\"One thing always puzzled me when examining maps of the Moon,\" observed\nArdan, \"and I can't say that I see it yet as clearly as if I had thought\nover the matter. It is this. I could understand, when looking through a\nlens at an object, why we get only its reversed image--a simple law of\noptics explains _that_. Therefore, in a map of the Moon, as the bottom\nmeans the north and the top the south, why does not the right mean the\nwest and the left the east? I suppose I could have made this out by a\nlittle thought, but thinking, that is reflection, not being my forte, it\nis the last thing I ever care to do. Barbican, throw me a word or two on\nthe subject.\"\n\n\"I can see what troubles you,\" answered Barbican, \"but I can also see\nthat one moment's reflection would have put an end to your perplexity.\nOn ordinary maps of the Earth's surface when the north is the top, the\nright hand must be the east, the left hand the west, and so on. That is\nsimply because we look _down_ from _above_. And such a map seen through\na lens will appear reversed in all respects. But in looking at the Moon,\nthat is _up_ from _down_, we change our position so far that our right\nhand points west and our left east. Consequently, in our reversed map,\nthough the north becomes south, the right remains east, and--\"\n\n\"Enough said! I see it at a glance! Thank you, Barbican. Why did not\nthey make you a professor of astronomy? Your hint will save me a world\nof trouble.\"[C]\n\nAided by the _Mappa Selenographica_, the travellers could easily\nrecognize the different portions of the Moon over which they were now\nmoving. An occasional glance at our reduction of this map, given as a\nfrontispiece, will enable the gentle reader to follow the travellers on\nthe line in which they moved and to understand the remarks and\nobservations in which they occasionally indulged.\n\n\"Where are we now?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"Over the northern shores of the _Mare Nubium_,\" replied Barbican. \"But\nwe are still too far off to see with any certainty what they are like.\nWhat is the _Mare_ itself? A sea, according to the early astronomers? a\nplain of solid sand, according to later authority? or an immense forest,\naccording to De la Rue of London, so far the Moon's most successful\nphotographer? This gentleman's authority, Ardan, would have given you\ndecided support in your famous dispute with the Captain at the meeting\nnear Tampa, for he says very decidedly that the Moon has an atmosphere,\nvery low to be sure but very dense. This, however, we must find out for\nourselves; and in the meantime let us affirm nothing until we have good\ngrounds for positive assertion.\"\n\n_Mare Nubium_, though not very clearly outlined on the maps, is easily\nrecognized by lying directly east of the regions about the centre. It\nwould appear as if this vast plain were sprinkled with immense lava\nblocks shot forth from the great volcanoes on the right, _Ptolemaeus_,\n_Alphonse_, _Alpetragius_ and _Arzachel_. But the Projectile advanced so\nrapidly that these mountains soon disappeared, and the travellers were\nnot long before they could distinguish the great peaks that closed the\n\"Sea\" on its northern boundary. Here a radiating mountain showed a\nsummit so dazzling with the reflection of the solar rays that Ardan\ncould not help crying out:\n\n\"It looks like one of the carbon points of an electric light projected\non a screen! What do you call it, Barbican?\"\n\n\"_Copernicus_,\" replied the President. \"Let us examine old\n_Copernicus_!\"\n\nThis grand crater is deservedly considered one of the greatest of the\nlunar wonders. It lifts its giant ramparts to upwards of 12,000 feet\nabove the level of the lunar surface. Being quite visible from the Earth\nand well situated for observation, it is a favorite object for\nastronomical study; this is particularly the case during the phase\nexisting between Last Quarter and the New Moon, when its vast shadows,\nprojected boldly from the east towards the west, allow its prodigious\ndimensions to be measured.\n\nAfter _Tycho_, which is situated in the southern hemisphere,\n_Copernicus_ forms the most important radiating mountain in the lunar\ndisc. It looms up, single and isolated, like a gigantic light-house, on\nthe peninsula separating _Mare Nubium_ from _Oceanus Procellarum_ on one\nside and from _Mare Imbrium_ on the other; thus illuminating with its\nsplendid radiation three \"Seas\" at a time. The wonderful complexity of\nits bright streaks diverging on all sides from its centre presented a\nscene alike splendid and unique. These streaks, the travellers thought,\ncould be traced further north than in any other direction: they fancied\nthey could detect them even in the _Mare Imbrium_, but this of course\nmight be owing to the point from which they made their observations. At\none o'clock in the morning, the Projectile, flying through space, was\nexactly over this magnificent mountain.\n\nIn spite of the brilliant sunlight that was blazing around them, the\ntravellers could easily recognize the peculiar features of _Copernicus_.\nIt belongs to those ring mountains of the first class called Circuses.\nLike _Kepler_ and _Aristarchus_, who rule over _Oceanus Procellarum_,\n_Copernicus_, when viewed through our telescopes, sometimes glistens so\nbrightly through the ashy light of the Moon that it has been frequently\ntaken for a volcano in full activity. Whatever it may have been once,\nhowever, it is certainly nothing more now than, like all the other\nmountains on the visible side of the Moon, an extinct volcano, only with\na crater of such exceeding grandeur and sublimity as to throw utterly\ninto the shade everything like it on our Earth. The crater of Etna is at\nmost little more than a mile across. The crater of _Copernicus_ has a\ndiameter of at least 50 miles. Within it, the travellers could easily\ndiscover by their glasses an immense number of terraced ridges, probably\nlandslips, alternating with stratifications resulting from successive\neruptions. Here and there, but particularly in the southern side, they\ncaught glimpses of shadows of such intense blackness, projected across\nthe plateau and lying there like pitch spots, that they could not tell\nthem from yawning chasms of incalculable depth. Outside the crater the\nshadows were almost as deep, whilst on the plains all around,\nparticularly in the west, so many small craters could be detected that\nthe eye in vain attempted to count them.\n\n\"Many circular mountains of this kind,\" observed Barbican, \"can be seen\non the lunar surface, but _Copernicus_, though not one of the greatest,\nis one of the most remarkable on account of those diverging streaks of\nbright light that you see radiating from its summit. By looking\nsteadily into its crater, you can see more cones than mortal eye ever\nlit on before. They are so numerous as to render the interior plateau\nquite rugged, and were formerly so many openings giving vent to fire and\nvolcanic matter. A curious and very common arrangement of this internal\nplateau of lunar craters is its lying at a lower level than the external\nplains, quite the contrary to a terrestrial crater, which generally has\nits bottom much higher than the level of the surrounding country. It\nfollows therefore that the deep lying curve of the bottom of these ring\nmountains would give a sphere with a diameter somewhat smaller than the\nMoon's.\"\n\n\"What can be the cause of this peculiarity?\" asked M'Nicholl.\n\n\"I can't tell;\" answered Barbican, \"but, as a conjecture, I should say\nthat it is probably to the comparatively smaller area of the Moon and\nthe more violent character of her volcanic action that the extremely\nrugged character of her surface is mainly due.\"\n\n\"Why, it's the _Campi Phlegraei_ or the Fire Fields of Naples over\nagain!\" cried Ardan suddenly. \"There's _Monte Barbaro_, there's the\n_Solfatara_, there is the crater of _Astroni_, and there is the _Monte\nNuovo_, as plain as the hand on my body!\"\n\n\"The great resemblance between the region you speak of and the general\nsurface of the Moon has been often remarked;\" observed Barbican, \"but\nit is even still more striking in the neighborhood of _Theophilus_ on\nthe borders of _Mare Nectaris_.\"\n\n\"That's _Mare Nectaris_, the gray spot over there on the southwest,\nisn't it?\" asked M'Nicholl; \"is there any likelihood of our getting a\nbetter view of it?\"\n\n\"Not the slightest,\" answered Barbican, \"unless we go round the Moon and\nreturn this way, like a satellite describing its orbit.\"\n\nBy this time they had arrived at a point vertical to the mountain\ncentre. _Copernicus's_ vast ramparts formed a perfect circle or rather a\npair of concentric circles. All around the mountain extended a dark\ngrayish plain of savage aspect, on which the peak shadows projected\nthemselves in sharp relief. In the gloomy bottom of the crater, whose\ndimensions are vast enough to swallow Mont Blanc body and bones, could\nbe distinguished a magnificent group of cones, at least half a mile in\nheight and glittering like piles of crystal. Towards the north several\nbreaches could be seen in the ramparts, due probably to a caving in of\nimmense masses accumulated on the summit of the precipitous walls.\n\nAs already observed, the surrounding plains were dotted with numberless\ncraters mostly of small dimensions, except _Gay Lussac_ on the north,\nwhose crater was about 12 miles in diameter. Towards the southwest and\nthe immediate east, the plain appeared to be very flat, no protuberance,\nno prominence of any kind lifting itself above the general dead level.\nTowards the north, on the contrary, as far as where the peninsula\njutted on _Oceanus Procellarum_, the plain looked like a sea of lava\nwildly lashed for a while by a furious hurricane and then, when its\nwaves and breakers and driving ridges were at their wildest, suddenly\nfrozen into solidity. Over this rugged, rumpled, wrinkled surface and in\nall directions, ran the wonderful streaks whose radiating point appeared\nto be the summit of _Copernicus_. Many of them appeared to be ten miles\nwide and hundreds of miles in length.\n\nThe travellers disputed for some time on the origin of these strange\nradii, but could hardly be said to have arrived at any conclusion more\nsatisfactory than that already reached by some terrestrial observers.\n\nTo M'Nicholl's question:\n\n\"Why can't these streaks be simply prolonged mountain crests reflecting\nthe sun's rays more vividly by their superior altitude and comparative\nsmoothness?\"\n\nBarbican readily replied:\n\n\"These streaks _can't_ be mountain crests, because, if they were, under\ncertain conditions of solar illumination they should project\n_shadows_--a thing which they have never been known to do under any\ncircumstances whatever. In fact, it is only during the period of the\nfull Moon that these streaks are seen at all; as soon as the sun's rays\nbecome oblique, they disappear altogether--a proof that their appearance\nis due altogether to peculiar advantages in their surface for the\nreflection of light.\"\n\n\"Dear boys, will you allow me to give my little guess on the subject?\"\nasked Ardan.\n\nHis companions were profuse in expressing their desire to hear it.\n\n\"Well then,\" he resumed, \"seeing that these bright streaks invariably\nstart from a certain point to radiate in all directions, why not suppose\nthem to be streams of lava issuing from the crater and flowing down the\nmountain side until they cooled?\"\n\n\"Such a supposition or something like it has been put forth by\nHerschel,\" replied Barbican; \"but your own sense will convince you that\nit is quite untenable when you consider that lava, however hot and\nliquid it may be at the commencement of its journey, cannot flow on for\nhundreds of miles, up hills, across ravines, and over plains, all the\ntime in streams of almost exactly equal width.\"\n\n\"That theory of yours holds no more water than mine, Ardan,\" observed\nM'Nicholl.\n\n\"Correct, Captain,\" replied the Frenchman; \"Barbican has a trick of\nknocking the bottom out of every weaker vessel. But let us hear what he\nhas to say on the subject himself. What is your theory. Barbican?\"\n\n\"My theory,\" said Barbican, \"is pretty much the same as that lately\npresented by an English astronomer, Nasmyth, who has devoted much study\nand reflection to lunar matters. Of course, I only formulate my theory,\nI don't affirm it. These streaks are cracks, made in the Moon's surface\nby cooling or by shrinkage, through which volcanic matter has been\nforced up by internal pressure. The sinking ice of a frozen lake, when\nmeeting with some sharp pointed rock, cracks in a radiating manner:\nevery one of its fissures then admits the water, which immediately\nspreads laterally over the ice pretty much as the lava spreads itself\nover the lunar surface. This theory accounts for the radiating nature of\nthe streaks, their great and nearly equal thickness, their immense\nlength, their inability to cast a shadow, and their invisibility at any\ntime except at or near the Full Moon. Still it is nothing but a theory,\nand I don't deny that serious objections may be brought against it.\"\n\n\"Do you know, dear boys,\" cried Ardan, led off as usual by the slightest\nfancy, \"do you know what I am thinking of when I look down on the great\nrugged plains spread out beneath us?\"\n\n\"I can't say, I'm sure,\" replied Barbican, somewhat piqued at the little\nattention he had secured for his theory.\n\n\"Well, what are you thinking of?\" asked M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Spillikins!\" answered Ardan triumphantly.\n\n\"Spillikins?\" cried his companions, somewhat surprised.\n\n\"Yes, Spillikins! These rocks, these blocks, these peaks, these streaks,\nthese cones, these cracks, these ramparts, these escarpments,--what are\nthey but a set of spillikins, though I acknowledge on a grand scale? I\nwish I had a little hook to pull them one by one!\"\n\n[Illustration: AN IMMENSE BATTLEFIELD.]\n\n\"Oh, do be serious, Ardan!\" cried Barbican, a little impatiently.\n\n\"Certainly,\" replied Ardan. \"Let us be serious, Captain, since\nseriousness best befits the subject in hand. What do you think of\nanother comparison? Does not this plain look like an immense battle\nfield piled with the bleaching bones of myriads who had slaughtered each\nother to a man at the bidding of some mighty Caesar? What do you think\nof that lofty comparison, hey?\"\n\n\"It is quite on a par with the other,\" muttered Barbican.\n\n\"He's hard to please, Captain,\" continued Ardan, \"but let us try him\nagain! Does not this plain look like--?\"\n\n\"My worthy friend,\" interrupted Barbican, quietly, but in a tone to\ndiscourage further discussion, \"what you think the plain _looks like_ is\nof very slight import, as long as you know no more than a child what it\nreally _is_!\"\n\n\"Bravo, Barbican! well put!\" cried the irrepressible Frenchman. \"Shall I\never realize the absurdity of my entering into an argument with a\nscientist!\"\n\nBut this time the Projectile, though advancing northward with a pretty\nuniform velocity, had neither gained nor lost in its nearness to the\nlunar disc. Each moment altering the character of the fleeting landscape\nbeneath them, the travellers, as may well be imagined, never thought of\ntaking an instant's repose. At about half past one, looking to their\nright on the west, they saw the summits of another mountain; Barbican,\nconsulting his map, recognized _Eratosthenes_.\n\nThis was a ring mountain, about 33 miles in diameter, having, like\n_Copernicus_, a crater of immense profundity containing central cones.\nWhilst they were directing their glasses towards its gloomy depths,\nBarbican mentioned to his friends Kepler's strange idea regarding the\nformation of these ring mountains. \"They must have been constructed,\" he\nsaid, \"by mortal hands.\"\n\n\"With what object?\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"A very natural one,\" answered Barbican. \"The Selenites must have\nundertaken the immense labor of digging these enormous pits at places of\nrefuge in which they could protect themselves against the fierce solar\nrays that beat against them for 15 days in succession!\"\n\n\"Not a bad idea, that of the Selenites!\" exclaimed Ardan.\n\n\"An absurd idea!\" cried M'Nicholl. \"But probably Kepler never knew the\nreal dimensions of these craters. Barbican knows the trouble and time\nrequired to dig a well in Stony Hill only nine hundred feet deep. To dig\nout a single lunar crater would take hundreds and hundreds of years, and\neven then they should be giants who would attempt it!\"\n\n\"Why so?\" asked Ardan. \"In the Moon, where gravity is six times less\nthan on the Earth, the labor of the Selenites can't be compared with\nthat of men like us.\"\n\n\"But suppose a Selenite to be six times smaller than a man like us!\"\nurged M'Nicholl.\n\n\"And suppose a Selenite never had an existence at all!\" interposed\nBarbican with his usual success in putting an end to the argument. \"But\nnever mind the Selenites now. Observe _Eratosthenes_ as long as you have\nthe opportunity.\"\n\n\"Which will not be very long,\" said M'Nicholl. \"He is already sinking\nout of view too far to the right to be carefully observed.\"\n\n\"What are those peaks beyond him?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"The _Apennines_,\" answered Barbican; \"and those on the left are the\n_Carpathians_.\"\n\n\"I have seen very few mountain chains or ranges in the Moon,\" remarked\nArdan, after some minutes' observation.\n\n\"Mountains chains are not numerous in the Moon,\" replied Barbican, \"and\nin that respect her oreographic system presents a decided contrast with\nthat of the Earth. With us the ranges are many, the craters few; in the\nMoon the ranges are few and the craters innumerable.\"\n\nBarbican might have spoken of another curious feature regarding the\nmountain ranges: namely, that they are chiefly confined to the northern\nhemisphere, where the craters are fewest and the \"seas\" the most\nextensive.\n\nFor the benefit of those interested, and to be done at once with this\npart of the subject, we give in the following little table a list of the\nchief lunar mountain chains, with their latitude, and respective\nheights in English feet.\n\n              _Name._          _Degrees of Latitude._      _Height._\n\n            { _Altai Mountains_     17° to 28              13,000ft.\nSouthern    { _Cordilleras_         10  to 20              12,000\nHemisphere. { _Pyrenees_             8  to 18              12,000\n            { _Riphean_              5  to 10               2,600\n\n            { _Haemus_              10  to 20               6,300\n            { _Carpathian_          15  to 19               6,000\n            { _Apennines_           14  to 27              18,000\nNorthern    { _Taurus_              25  to 34               8,500\nHemisphere. { _Hercynian_           17  to 29               3,400\n            { _Caucasus_            33  to 40              17,000\n            { _Alps_                42  to 30              10,000\n\nOf these different chains, the most important is that of the\n_Apennines_, about 450 miles long, a length, however, far inferior to\nthat of many of the great mountain ranges of our globe. They skirt the\nwestern shores of the _Mare Imbrium_, over which they rise in immense\ncliffs, 18 or 20 thousand feet in height, steep as a wall and casting\nover the plain intensely black shadows at least 90 miles long. Of Mt.\n_Huyghens_, the highest in the group, the travellers were just barely\nable to distinguish the sharp angular summit in the far west. To the\neast, however, the _Carpathians_, extending from the 18th to 30th\ndegrees of east longitude, lay directly under their eyes and could be\nexamined in all the peculiarities of their distribution.\n\nBarbican proposed a hypothesis regarding the formation of those\nmountains, which his companions thought at least as good as any other.\nLooking carefully over the _Carpathians_ and catching occasional\nglimpses of semi-circular formations and half domes, he concluded that\nthe chain must have formerly been a succession of vast craters. Then had\ncome some mighty internal discharge, or rather the subsidence to which\n_Mare Imbrium_ is due, for it immediately broke off or swallowed up one\nhalf of those mountains, leaving the other half steep as a wall on one\nside and sloping gently on the other to the level of the surrounding\nplains. The _Carpathians_ were therefore pretty nearly in the same\ncondition as the crater mountains _Ptolemy_, _Alpetragius_ and\n_Arzachel_ would find themselves in, if some terrible cataclysm, by\ntearing away their eastern ramparts, had turned them into a chain of\nmountains whose towering cliffs would nod threateningly over the western\nshores of _Mare Nubium_. The mean height of the _Carpathians_ is about\n6,000 feet, the altitude of certain points in the Pyrenees such as the\n_Port of Pineda_, or _Roland's Breach_, in the shadow of _Mont Perdu_.\nThe northern slopes of the _Carpathians_ sink rapidly towards the shores\nof the vast _Mare Imbrium_.\n\nTowards two o'clock in the morning, Barbican calculated the Projectile\nto be on the 20th northern parallel, and therefore almost immediately\nover the little ring mountain called _Pytheas_, about 4600 feet in\nheight. The distance of the travellers from the Moon at this point\ncould not be more than about 750 miles, reduced to about 7 by means of\ntheir excellent telescopes.\n\n_Mare Imbrium_, the Sea of Rains here revealed itself in all its\nvastness to the eyes of the travellers, though it must be acknowledged\nthat the immense depression so called, did not afford them a very clear\nidea regarding its exact boundaries. Right ahead of them rose _Lambert_\nabout a mile in height; and further on, more to the left, in the\ndirection of _Oceanus Procellarum_, _Euler_ revealed itself by its\nglittering radiations. This mountain, of about the same height as\n_Lambert_, had been the object of very interesting calculations on the\npart of Schroeter of Erfurt. This keen observer, desirous of inquiring\ninto the probable origin of the lunar mountains, had proposed to himself\nthe following question: Does the volume of the crater appear to be equal\nto that of the surrounding ramparts? His calculations showing him that\nthis was generally the case, he naturally concluded that these ramparts\nmust therefore have been the product of a single eruption, for\nsuccessive eruptions of volcanic matter would have disturbed this\ncorrelation. _Euler_ alone, he found, to be an exception to this general\nlaw, as the volume of its crater appeared to be twice as great as that\nof the mass surrounding it. It must therefore have been formed by\nseveral eruptions in succession, but in that case what had become of the\nejected matter?\n\nTheories of this nature and all manner of scientific questions were, of\ncourse, perfectly permissible to terrestrial astronomers laboring under\nthe disadvantage of imperfect instruments. But Barbican could not think\nof wasting his time in any speculation of the kind, and now, seeing that\nhis Projectile perceptibly approached the lunar disc, though he\ndespaired of ever reaching it, he was more sanguine than ever of being\nsoon able to discover positively and unquestionably some of the secrets\nof its formation.\n\n[Footnote C: We must again remind our readers that, in our map, though\nevery thing is set down as it appears to the eye not as it is reversed\nby the telescope, still, for the reason made so clear by Barbican, the\nright hand side must be the west and the left the east.]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nLUNAR LANDSCAPES\n\n\nAt half past two in the morning of December 6th, the travellers crossed\nthe 30th northern parallel, at a distance from the lunar surface of 625\nmiles, reduced to about 6 by their spy-glasses. Barbican could not yet\nsee the least probability of their landing at any point of the disc. The\nvelocity of the Projectile was decidedly slow, but for that reason\nextremely puzzling. Barbican could not account for it. At such a\nproximity to the Moon, the velocity, one would think, should be very\ngreat indeed to be able to counteract the lunar attraction. Why did it\nnot fall? Barbican could not tell; his companions were equally in the\ndark. Ardan said he gave it up. Besides they had no time to spend in\ninvestigating it. The lunar panorama was unrolling all its splendors\nbeneath them, and they could not bear to lose one of its slightest\ndetails.\n\nThe lunar disc being brought within a distance of about six miles by the\nspy-glasses, it is a fair question to ask, what _could_ an aeronaut at\nsuch an elevation from our Earth discover on its surface? At present\nthat question can hardly be answered, the most remarkable balloon\nascensions never having passed an altitude of five miles under\ncircumstances favorable for observers. Here, however, is an account,\ncarefully transcribed from notes taken on the spot, of what Barbican and\nhis companions _did_ see from their peculiar post of observation.\n\nVarieties of color, in the first place, appeared here and there upon the\ndisc. Selenographers are not quite agreed as to the nature of these\ncolors. Not that such colors are without variety or too faint to be\neasily distinguished. Schmidt of Athens even says that if our oceans on\nearth were all evaporated, an observer in the Moon would hardly find the\nseas and continents of our globe even so well outlined as those of the\nMoon are to the eye of a terrestrial observer. According to him, the\nshade of color distinguishing those vast plains known as \"seas\" is a\ndark gray dashed with green and brown,--a color presented also by a few\nof the great craters.\n\nThis opinion of Schmidt's, shared by Beer and Maedler, Barbican's\nobservations now convinced him to be far better founded than that of\ncertain astronomers who admit of no color at all being visible on the\nMoon's surface but gray. In certain spots the greenish tint was quite\ndecided, particularly in _Mare Serenitatis_ and _Mare Humorum,_ the very\nlocalities where Schmidt had most noticed it. Barbican also remarked\nthat several large craters, of the class that had no interior cones,\nreflected a kind of bluish tinge, somewhat like that given forth by a\nfreshly polished steel plate. These tints, he now saw enough to convince\nhim, proceeded really from the lunar surface, and were not due, as\ncertain astronomers asserted, either to the imperfections of the\nspy-glasses, or to the interference of the terrestrial atmosphere. His\nsingular opportunity for correct observation allowed him to entertain no\ndoubt whatever on the subject. Hampered by no atmosphere, he was free\nfrom all liability to optical illusion. Satisfied therefore as to the\nreality of these tints, he considered such knowledge a positive gain to\nscience. But that greenish tint--to what was it due? To a dense tropical\nvegetation maintained by a low atmosphere, a mile or so in thickness?\nPossibly. But this was another question that could not be answered at\npresent.\n\nFurther on he could detect here and there traces of a decidedly ruddy\ntint. Such a shade he knew had been already detected in the _Palus\nSomnii_, near _Mare Crisium_, and in the circular area of _Lichtenberg_,\nnear the _Hercynian Mountains_, on the eastern edge of the Moon. To what\ncause was this tint to be attributed? To the actual color of the surface\nitself? Or to that of the lava covering it here and there? Or to the\ncolor resulting from the mixture of other colors seen at a distance too\ngreat to allow of their being distinguished separately? Impossible to\ntell.\n\nBarbican and his companions succeeded no better at a new problem that\nsoon engaged their undivided attention. It deserves some detail.\n\nHaving passed _Lambert_, being just over _Timocharis_, all were\nattentively gazing at the magnificent crater of _Archimedes_ with a\ndiameter of 52 miles across and ramparts more than 5000 feet in height,\nwhen Ardan startled his companions by suddenly exclaiming:\n\n\"Hello! Cultivated fields as I am a living man!\"\n\n\"What do you mean by your cultivated fields?\" asked M'Nicholl sourly,\nwiping his glasses and shrugging his shoulders.\n\n\"Certainly cultivated fields!\" replied Ardan. \"Don't you see the\nfurrows? They're certainly plain enough. They are white too from\nglistening in the sun, but they are quite different from the radiating\nstreaks of _Copernicus_. Why, their sides are perfectly parallel!\"\n\n\"Where are those furrows?\" asked M'Nicholl, putting his glasses to his\neye and adjusting the focus.\n\n\"You can see them in all directions,\" answered Ardan; \"but two are\nparticularly visible: one running north from _Archimedes_, the other\nsouth towards the _Apennines_.\"\n\nM'Nicholl's face, as he gazed, gradually assumed a grin which soon\ndeveloped into a snicker, if not a positive laugh, as he observed to\nArdan:\n\n\"Your Selenites must be Brobdignagians, their oxen Leviathans, and their\nploughs bigger than Marston's famous cannon, if these are furrows!\"\n\n\"How's that, Barbican?\" asked Ardan doubtfully, but unwilling to submit\nto M'Nicholl.\n\n\"They're not furrows, dear friend,\" said Barbican, \"and can't be,\neither, simply on account of their immense size. They are what the\nGerman astronomers called _Rillen_; the French, _rainures_, and the\nEnglish, _grooves_, _canals_, _clefts_, _cracks_, _chasms_, or\n_fissures_.\"\n\n\"You have a good stock of names for them anyhow,\" observed Ardan, \"if\nthat does any good.\"\n\n\"The number of names given them,\" answered Barbican, \"shows how little\nis really known about them. They have been observed in all the level\nportion of the Moon's surface. Small as they appear to us, a little\ncalculation must convince you that they are in some places hundreds of\nmiles in length, a mile in width and probably in many points several\nmiles in depth. Their width and depth, however, vary, though their\nsides, so far as observed, are always rigorously parallel. Let us take a\ngood look at them.\"\n\nPutting the glass to his eye, Barbican examined the clefts for some time\nwith close attention. He saw that their banks were sharp edged and\nextremely steep. In many places they were of such geometrical regularity\nthat he readily excused Gruithuysen's idea of deeming them to be\ngigantic earthworks thrown up by the Selenite engineers. Some of them\nwere as straight as if laid out with a line, others were curved a little\nhere and there, though still maintaining the strict parallelism of their\nsides. These crossed each other; those entered craters and came out at\nthe other side. Here, they furrowed annular plateaus, such as\n_Posidonius_ or _Petavius_. There, they wrinkled whole seas, for\ninstance, _Mare Serenitatis_.\n\nThese curious peculiarities of the lunar surface had interested the\nastronomic mind to a very high degree at their first discovery, and have\nproved to be very perplexing problems ever since. The first observers do\nnot seem to have noticed them. Neither Hevelius, nor Cassini, nor La\nHire, nor Herschel, makes a single remark regarding their nature.\n\nIt was Schroeter, in 1789, who called the attention of scientists to\nthem for the first time. He had only 11 to show, but Lohrmann soon\nrecorded 75 more. Pastorff, Gruithuysen, and particularly Beer and\nMaedler were still more successful, but Julius Schmidt, the famous\nastronomer of Athens, has raised their number up to 425, and has even\npublished their names in a catalogue. But counting them is one thing,\ndetermining their nature is another. They are not fortifications,\ncertainly: and cannot be ancient beds of dried up rivers, for two very\ngood and sufficient reasons: first, water, even under the most favorable\ncircumstances on the Moon's surface, could have never ploughed up such\nvast channels; secondly, these chasms often traverse lofty craters\nthrough and through, like an immense railroad cutting.\n\nAt these details, Ardan's imagination became unusually excited and of\ncourse it was not without some result. It even happened that he hit on\nan idea that had already suggested itself to Schmidt of Athens.\n\n\"Why not consider them,\" he asked, \"to be the simple phenomena of\nvegetation?\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" asked Barbican.\n\n\"Rows of sugar cane?\" suggested M'Nicholl with a snicker.\n\n\"Not exactly, my worthy Captain,\" answered Ardan quietly, \"though you\nwere perhaps nearer to the mark than you expected. I don't mean exactly\nrows of sugar cane, but I do mean vast avenues of trees--poplars, for\ninstance--planted regularly on each side of a great high road.\"\n\n\"Still harping on vegetation!\" said the Captain. \"Ardan, what a splendid\nhistorian was spoiled in you! The less you know about your facts, the\nreadier you are to account for them.\"\n\n\"_Ma foi_,\" said Ardan simply, \"I do only what the greatest of your\nscientific men do--that is, guess. There is this difference however\nbetween us--I call my guesses, guesses, mere conjecture;--they dignify\ntheirs as profound theories or as astounding discoveries!\"\n\n\"Often the case, friend Ardan, too often the case,\" said Barbican.\n\n\"In the question under consideration, however,\" continued the Frenchman,\n\"my conjecture has this advantage over some others: it explains why\nthese rills appear and seem to disappear at regular intervals.\"\n\n\"Let us hear the explanation,\" said the Captain.\n\n\"They become invisible when the trees lose their leaves, and they\nreappear when they resume them.\"\n\n\"His explanation is not without ingenuity,\" observed Barbican to\nM'Nicholl, \"but, my dear friend,\" turning to Ardan, \"it is hardly\nadmissible.\"\n\n\"Probably not,\" said Ardan, \"but why not?\"\n\n\"Because as the Sun is nearly always vertical to the lunar equator, the\nMoon can have no change of seasons worth mentioning; therefore her\nvegetation can present none of the phenomena that you speak of.\"\n\nThis was perfectly true. The slight obliquity of the Moon's axis, only\n1-1/2°, keeps the Sun in the same altitude the whole year around. In the\nequatorial regions he is always vertical, and in the polar he is never\nhigher than the horizon. Therefore, there can be no change of seasons;\naccording to the latitude, it is a perpetual winter, spring, summer, or\nautumn the whole year round. This state of things is almost precisely\nsimilar to that which prevails in Jupiter, who also stands nearly\nupright in his orbit, the inclination of his axis being only about 3°.\n\nBut how to account for the _grooves_? A very hard nut to crack. They\nmust certainly be a later formation than the craters and the rings, for\nthey are often found breaking right through the circular ramparts.\nProbably the latest of all lunar features, the results of the last\ngeological epochs, they are due altogether to expansion or shrinkage\nacting on a large scale and brought about by the great forces of nature,\noperating after a manner altogether unknown on our earth. Such at least\nwas Barbican's idea.\n\n\"My friends,\" he quietly observed, \"without meaning to put forward any\npretentious claims to originality, but by simply turning to account some\nadvantages that have never before befallen contemplative mortal eye, why\nnot construct a little hypothesis of our own regarding the nature of\nthese grooves and the causes that gave them birth? Look at that great\nchasm just below us, somewhat to the right. It is at least fifty or\nsixty miles long and runs along the base of the _Apennines_ in a line\nalmost perfectly straight. Does not its parallelism with the mountain\nchain suggest a causative relation? See that other mighty _rill_, at\nleast a hundred and fifty miles long, starting directly north of it and\npursuing so true a course that it cleaves _Archimedes_ almost cleanly\ninto two. The nearer it lies to the mountain, as you perceive, the\ngreater its width; as it recedes in either direction it grows narrower.\nDoes not everything point out to one great cause of their origin? They\nare simple crevasses, like those so often noticed on Alpine glaciers,\nonly that these tremendous cracks in the surface are produced by the\nshrinkage of the crust consequent on cooling. Can we point out some\nanalogies to this on the Earth? Certainly. The defile of the Jordan,\nterminating in the awful depression of the Dead Sea, no doubt occurs to\nyou on the moment. But the _Yosemite Valley_, as I saw it ten years ago,\nis an apter comparison. There I stood on the brink of a tremendous chasm\nwith perpendicular walls, a mile in width, a mile in depth and eight\nmiles in length. Judge if I was astounded! But how should we feel it,\nwhen travelling on the lunar surface, we should suddenly find ourselves\non the brink of a yawning chasm two miles wide, fifty miles long, and so\nfathomless in sheer vertical depth as to leave its black profundities\nabsolutely invisible in spite of the dazzling sunlight!\"\n\n\"I feel my flesh already crawling even in the anticipation!\" cried\nArdan.\n\n\"I shan't regret it much if we never get to the Moon,\" growled\nM'Nicholl; \"I never hankered after it anyhow!\"\n\nBy this time the Projectile had reached the fortieth degree of lunar\nlatitude, and could hardly be further than five hundred miles from the\nsurface, a distance reduced to about 5 miles by the travellers' glasses.\nAway to their left appeared _Helicon_, a ring mountain about 1600 feet\nhigh; and still further to the left the eye could catch a glimpse of the\ncliffs enclosing a semi-elliptical portion of _Mare Imbrium_, called the\n_Sinus Iridium_, or Bay of the Rainbows.\n\nIn order to allow astronomers to make complete observations on the lunar\nsurface, the terrestrial atmosphere should possess a transparency\nseventy times greater than its present power of transmission. But in the\nvoid through which the Projectile was now floating, no fluid whatever\ninterposed between the eye of the observer and the object observed.\nBesides, the travellers now found themselves at a distance that had\nnever before been reached by the most powerful telescopes, including\neven Lord Rosse's and the great instrument on the Rocky Mountains.\nBarbican was therefore in a condition singularly favorable to resolve\nthe great question concerning the Moon's inhabitableness. Nevertheless,\nthe solution still escaped him. He could discover nothing around him but\na dreary waste of immense plains, and towards the north, beneath him,\nbare mountains of the aridest character.\n\nNot the slightest vestige of man's work could be detected over the vast\nexpanse. Not the slightest sign of a ruin spoke of his ever having been\nthere. Nothing betrayed the slightest trace of the development of animal\nlife, even in an inferior degree. No movement. Not the least glimpse of\nvegetation. Of the three great kingdoms that hold dominion on the\nsurface of the globe, the mineral, the vegetable and the animal, one\nalone was represented on the lunar sphere: the mineral, the whole\nmineral, and nothing but the mineral.\n\n\"Why!\" exclaimed Ardan, with a disconcerted look, after a long and\nsearching examination, \"I can't find anybody. Everything is as\nmotionless as a street in Pompeii at 4 o'clock in the morning!\"\n\n[Illustration: THE SOLUTION STILL ESCAPED HIM.]\n\n\"Good comparison, friend Ardan;\" observed M'Nicholl. \"Lava, slag,\nvolcanic eminences, vitreous matter glistening like ice, piles of\nscoria, pitch black shadows, dazzling streaks, like rivers of light\nbreaking over jagged rocks--these are now beneath my eye--these alone I\ncan detect--not a man--not an animal--not a tree. The great American\nDesert is a land of milk and honey in comparison with the joyless orb\nover which we are now moving. However, even yet we can predicate\nnothing positive. The atmosphere may have taken refuge in the depths of\nthe chasms, in the interior of the craters, or even on the opposite side\nof the Moon, for all we know!\"\n\n\"Still we must remember,\" observed Barbican, \"that even the sharpest eye\ncannot detect a man at a distance greater than four miles and a-half,\nand our glasses have not yet brought us nearer than five.\"\n\n\"Which means to say,\" observed Ardan, \"that though we can't see the\nSelenites, they can see our Projectile!\"\n\nBut matters had not improved much when, towards four o'clock in the\nmorning, the travellers found themselves on the 50th parallel, and at a\ndistance of only about 375 miles from the lunar surface. Still no trace\nof the least movement, or even of the lowest form of life.\n\n\"What peaked mountain is that which we have just passed on our right?\"\nasked Ardan. \"It is quite remarkable, standing as it does in almost\nsolitary grandeur in the barren plain.\"\n\n\"That is _Pico_,\" answered Barbican. \"It is at least 8000 feet high and\nis well known to terrestrial astronomers as well by its peculiar shadow\nas on account of its comparative isolation. See the collection of\nperfectly formed little craters nestling around its base.\"\n\n\"Barbican,\" asked M'Nicholl suddenly, \"what peak is that which lies\nalmost directly south of _Pico_? I see it plainly, but I can't find it\non my map.\"\n\n\"I have remarked that pyramidal peak myself,\" replied Barbican; \"but I\ncan assure you that so far it has received no name as yet, although it\nis likely enough to have been distinguished by the terrestrial\nastronomers. It can't be less than 4000 feet in height.\"\n\n\"I propose we called it _Barbican_!\" cried Ardan enthusiastically.\n\n\"Agreed!\" answered M'Nicholl, \"unless we can find a higher one.\"\n\n\"We must be before-hand with Schmidt of Athens!\" exclaimed Ardan. \"He\nwill leave nothing unnamed that his telescope can catch a glimpse of.\"\n\n\"Passed unanimously!\" cried M'Nicholl.\n\n\"And officially recorded!\" added the Frenchman, making the proper entry\non his map.\n\n\"_Salve, Mt. Barbican!_\" then cried both gentlemen, rising and taking\noff their hats respectfully to the distant peak.\n\n\"Look to the west!\" interrupted Barbican, watching, as usual, while his\ncompanions were talking, and probably perfectly unconscious of what they\nwere saying; \"directly to the west! Now tell me what you see!\"\n\n\"I see a vast valley!\" answered M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Straight as an arrow!\" added Ardan.\n\n\"Running through lofty mountains!\" cried M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Cut through with a pair of saws and scooped out with a chisel!\" cried\nArdan.\n\n\"See the shadows of those peaks!\" cried M'Nicholl catching fire at the\nsight. \"Black, long, and sharp as if cast by cathedral spires!\"\n\n\"Oh! ye crags and peaks!\" burst forth Ardan; \"how I should like to catch\neven a faint echo of the chorus you could chant, if a wild storm roared\nover your beetling summits! The pine forests of Norwegian mountains\nhowling in midwinter would not be an accordeon in comparison!\"\n\n\"Wonderful instance of subsidence on a grand scale!\" exclaimed the\nCaptain, hastily relapsing into science.\n\n\"Not at all!\" cried the Frenchman, still true to his colors; \"no\nsubsidence there! A comet simply came too close and left its mark as it\nflew past.\"\n\n\"Fanciful exclamations, dear friends,\" observed Barbican; \"but I'm not\nsurprised at your excitement. Yonder is the famous _Valley of the Alps_,\na standing enigma to all selenographers. How it could have been formed,\nno one can tell. Even wilder guesses than yours, Ardan, have been\nhazarded on the subject. All we can state positively at present\nregarding this wonderful formation, is what I have just recorded in my\nnote-book: the _Valley of the Alps_ is about 5 mile wide and 70 or 80\nlong: it is remarkably flat and free from _debris_, though the mountains\non each side rise like walls to the height of at least 10,000\nfeet.--Over the whole surface of our Earth I know of no natural\nphenomenon that can be at all compared with it.\"\n\n\"Another wonder almost in front of us!\" cried Ardan. \"I see a vast lake\nblack as pitch and round as a crater; it is surrounded by such lofty\nmountains that their shadows reach clear across, rendering the interior\nquite invisible!\"\n\n\"That's _Plato_;\" said M'Nicholl; \"I know it well; it's the darkest spot\non the Moon: many a night I gazed at it from my little observatory in\nBroad Street, Philadelphia.\"\n\n\"Right, Captain,\" said Barbican; \"the crater _Plato_, is, indeed,\ngenerally considered the blackest spot on the Moon, but I am inclined to\nconsider the spots _Grimaldi_ and _Riccioli_ on the extreme eastern edge\nto be somewhat darker. If you take my glass, Ardan, which is of somewhat\ngreater power than yours, you will distinctly see the bottom of the\ncrater. The reflective power of its plateau probably proceeds from the\nexceedingly great number of small craters that you can detect there.\"\n\n\"I think I see something like them now,\" said Ardan. \"But I am sorry the\nProjectile's course will not give us a vertical view.\"\n\n\"Can't be helped!\" said Barbican; \"we must go where it takes us. The day\nmay come when man can steer the projectile or the balloon in which he is\nshut up, in any way he pleases, but that day has not come yet!\"\n\nTowards five in the morning, the northern limit of _Mare Imbrium_ was\nfinally passed, and _Mare Frigoris_ spread its frost-colored plains\nfar to the right and left. On the east the travellers could easily see\nthe ring-mountain _Condamine_, about 4000 feet high, while a little\nahead on the right they could plainly distinguish _Fontenelle_ with an\naltitude nearly twice as great. _Mare Frigoris_ was soon passed, and the\nwhole lunar surface beneath the travellers, as far as they could see in\nall directions, now bristled with mountains, crags, and peaks. Indeed,\nat the 70th parallel the \"Seas\" or plains seem to have come to an end.\nThe spy-glasses now brought the surface to within about three miles, a\ndistance less than that between the hotel at Chamouni and the summit of\nMont Blanc. To the left, they had no difficulty in distinguishing the\nramparts of _Philolaus_, about 12,000 feet high, but though the crater\nhad a diameter of nearly thirty miles, the black shadows prevented the\nslightest sign of its interior from being seen. The Sun was now sinking\nvery low, and the illuminated surface of the Moon was reduced to a\nnarrow rim.\n\nBy this time, too, the bird's eye view to which the observations had so\nfar principally confined, decidedly altered its character. They could\nnow look back at the lunar mountains that they had been just sailing\nover--a view somewhat like that enjoyed by a tourist standing on the\nsummit of Mt. St. Gothard as he sees the sun setting behind the peaks of\nthe Bernese Oberland. The lunar landscapes however, though seen under\nthese new and ever varying conditions, \"hardly gained much by the\nchange,\" according to Ardan's expression. On the contrary, they looked,\nif possible, more dreary and inhospitable than before.\n\nThe Moon having no atmosphere, the benefit of this gaseous envelope in\nsoftening off and nicely shading the approaches of light and darkness,\nheat and cold, is never felt on her surface. There, no twilight ever\nsoftly ushers in the brilliant sun, or sweetly heralds the near approach\nof night's dark shadow. Night follows day, and day night, with the\nstartling suddenness of a match struck or a lamp extinguished in a\ncavern. Nor can it present any gradual transition from either extreme of\ntemperature. Hot jumps to cold, and cold jumps to hot. A moment after a\nglacial midnight, it is a roasting noon. Without an instant's warning\nthe temperature falls from 212° Fahrenheit to the icy winter of\ninterstellar space. The surface is all dazzling glare, or pitchy gloom.\nWherever the direct rays of the sun do not fall, darkness reigns\nsupreme. What we call diffused light on Earth, the grateful result of\nrefraction, the luminous matter held in suspension by the air, the\nmother of our dawns and our dusks, of our blushing mornings and our dewy\neyes, of our shades, our penumbras, our tints and all the other magical\neffects of _chiaro-oscuro_--this diffused light has absolutely no\nexistence on the surface of the Moon. Nothing is there to break the\ninexorable contrast between intense white and intense black. At mid-day,\nlet a Selenite shade his eyes and look at the sky: it will appear to him\nas black as pitch, while the stars still sparkle before him as vividly\nas they do to us on the coldest and darkest night in winter.\n\nFrom this you can judge of the impression made on our travellers by\nthose strange lunar landscapes. Even their decided novelty and very\nstrange character produced any thing but a pleasing effect on the organs\nof sight. With all their enthusiasm, the travellers felt their eyes \"get\nout of gear,\" as Ardan said, like those of a man blind from his birth\nand suddenly restored to sight. They could not adjust them so as to be\nable to realize the different plains of vision. All things seemed in a\nheap. Foreground and background were indistinguishably commingled. No\npainter could ever transfer a lunar landscape to his canvas.\n\n\"Landscape,\" Ardan said; \"what do you mean by a landscape? Can you call\na bottle of ink intensely black, spilled over a sheet of paper intensely\nwhite, a landscape?\"\n\nAt the eightieth degree, when the Projectile was hardly 100 miles\ndistant from the Moon, the aspect of things underwent no improvement. On\nthe contrary, the nearer the travellers approached the lunar surface,\nthe drearier, the more inhospitable, and the more _unearthly_,\neverything seem to look. Still when five o'clock in the morning brought\nour travellers to within 50 miles of _Mount Gioja_--which their\nspy-glasses rendered as visible as if it was only about half a mile off,\nArdan could not control himself.\n\n\"Why, we're there\" he exclaimed; \"we can touch her with our hands! Open\nthe windows and let me out! Don't mind letting me go by myself. It is\nnot very inviting quarters I admit. But as we are come to the jumping\noff place, I want to see the whole thing through. Open the lower window\nand let me out. I can take care of myself!\"\n\n\"That's what's more than any other man can do,\" said M'Nicholl drily,\n\"who wants to take a jump of 50 miles!\"\n\n\"Better not try it, friend Ardan,\" said Barbican grimly: \"think of\nSatellite! The Moon is no more attainable by your body than by our\nProjectile. You are far more comfortable in here than when floating\nabout in empty space like a bolide.\"\n\nArdan, unwilling to quarrel with his companions, appeared to give in;\nbut he secretly consoled himself by a hope which he had been\nentertaining for some time, and which now looked like assuming the\nappearance of a certainty. The Projectile had been lately approaching\nthe Moon's surface so rapidly that it at last seemed actually impossible\nnot to finally touch it somewhere in the neighborhood of the north pole,\nwhose dazzling ridges now presented themselves in sharp and strong\nrelief against the black sky. Therefore he kept silent, but quietly\nbided his time.\n\nThe Projectile moved on, evidently getting nearer and nearer to the\nlunar surface. The Moon now appeared to the travellers as she does to us\ntowards the beginning of her Second Quarter, that is as a bright\ncrescent instead of a hemisphere. On one side, glaring dazzling light;\non the other, cavernous pitchy darkness. The line separating both was\nbroken into a thousand bits of protuberances and concavities, dented,\nnotched, and jagged.\n\nAt six o'clock the travellers found themselves exactly over the north\npole. They were quietly gazing at the rapidly shifting features of the\nwondrous view unrolling itself beneath them, and were silently wondering\nwhat was to come next, when, suddenly, the Projectile passed the\ndividing line. The Sun and Moon instantly vanished from view. The next\nmoment, without the slightest warning the travellers found themselves\nplunged in an ocean of the most appalling darkness!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nA NIGHT OF FIFTEEN DAYS.\n\n\nThe Projectile being not quite 30 miles from the Moon's north pole when\nthe startling phenomenon, recorded in our last chapter, took place, a\nfew seconds were quite sufficient to launch it at once from the\nbrightest day into the unknown realms of night. The transition was so\nabrupt, so unexpected, without the slightest shading off, from dazzling\neffulgence to Cimmerian gloom, that the Moon seemed to have been\nsuddenly extinguished like a lamp when the gas is turned off.\n\n\"Where's the Moon?\" cried Ardan in amazement.\n\n\"It appears as if she had been wiped out of creation!\" cried M'Nicholl.\n\nBarbican said nothing, but observed carefully. Not a particle, however,\ncould he see of the disc that had glittered so resplendently before his\neyes a few moments ago. Not a shadow, not a gleam, not the slightest\nvestige could he trace of its existence. The darkness being profound,\nthe dazzling splendor of the stars only gave a deeper blackness to the\npitchy sky. No wonder. The travellers found themselves now in a night\nthat had plenty of time not only to become black itself, but to steep\neverything connected with it in palpable blackness. This was the night\n354-1/4 hours long, during which the invisible face of the Moon is\nturned away from the Sun. In this black darkness the Projectile now\nfully participated. Having plunged into the Moon's shadow, it was as\neffectually cut off from the action of the solar rays as was every point\non the invisible lunar surface itself.\n\nThe travellers being no longer able to see each other, it was proposed\nto light the gas, though such an unexpected demand on a commodity at\nonce so scarce and so valuable was certainly disquieting. The gas, it\nwill be remembered, had been intended for heating alone, not\nillumination, of which both Sun and Moon had promised a never ending\nsupply. But here both Sun and Moon, in a single instant vanished from\nbefore their eyes and left them in Stygian darkness.\n\n\"It's all the Sun's fault!\" cried Ardan, angrily trying to throw the\nblame on something, and, like every angry man in such circumstances,\nbound to be rather nonsensical.\n\n\"Put the saddle on the right horse, Ardan,\" said M'Nicholl\npatronizingly, always delighted at an opportunity of counting a point\noff the Frenchman. \"You mean it's all the Moon's fault, don't you, in\nsetting herself like a screen between us and the Sun?\"\n\n\"No, I don't!\" cried Ardan, not at all soothed by his friend's\npatronizing tone, and sticking like a man to his first assertion right\nor wrong. \"I know what I say! It will be all the Sun's fault if we use\nup our gas!\"\n\n\"Nonsense!\" said M'Nicholl. \"It's the Moon, who by her interposition has\ncut off the Sun's light.\"\n\n\"The Sun had no business to allow it to be cut off,\" said Ardan, still\nangry and therefore decidedly loose in his assertions.\n\nBefore M'Nicholl could reply, Barbican interposed, and his even voice\nwas soon heard pouring balm on the troubled waters.\n\n\"Dear friends,\" he observed, \"a little reflection on either side would\nconvince you that our present situation is neither the Moon's fault nor\nthe Sun's fault. If anything is to be blamed for it, it is our\nProjectile which, instead of rigidly following its allotted course, has\nawkwardly contrived to deviate from it. However, strict justice must\nacquit even the Projectile. It only obeyed a great law of nature in\nshifting its course as soon as it came within the sphere of that\ninopportune bolide's influence.\"\n\n\"All right!\" said Ardan, as usual in the best of humor after Barbican\nhad laid down the law. \"I have no doubt it is exactly as you say; and,\nnow that all is settled, suppose we take breakfast. After such a hard\nnight spent in work, a little refreshment would not be out of place!\"\n\nSuch a proposition being too reasonable even for M'Nicholl to oppose,\nArdan turned on the gas, and had everything ready for the meal in a few\nminutes. But, this time, breakfast was consumed in absolute silence. No\ntoasts were offered, no hurrahs were uttered. A painful uneasiness had\nseized the hearts of the daring travellers. The darkness into which\nthey were so suddenly plunged, told decidedly on their spirits. They\nfelt almost as if they had been suddenly deprived of their sight. That\nthick, dismal savage blackness, which Victor Hugo's pen is so fond of\noccasionally revelling in, surrounded them on all sides and crushed them\nlike an iron shroud.\n\nIt was felt worse than ever when, breakfast being over, Ardan carefully\nturned off the gas, and everything within the Projectile was as dark as\nwithout. However, though they could not see each other's faces, they\ncould hear each other's voices, and therefore they soon began to talk.\nThe most natural subject of conversation was this terrible night 354\nhours long, which the laws of nature have imposed on the Lunar\ninhabitants. Barbican undertook to give his friends some explanation\nregarding the cause of the startling phenomenon, and the consequences\nresulting from it.\n\n\"Yes, startling is the word for it,\" observed Barbican, replying to a\nremark of Ardan's; \"and still more so when we reflect that not only are\nboth lunar hemispheres deprived, by turns, of sun light for nearly 15\ndays, but that also the particular hemisphere over which we are at this\nmoment floating is all that long night completely deprived of\nearth-light. In other words, it is only one side of the Moon's disc that\never receives any light from the Earth. From nearly every portion of one\nside of the Moon, the Earth is always as completely absent as the Sun is\nfrom us at midnight. Suppose an analogous case existed on the Earth;\nsuppose, for instance, that neither in Europe, Asia or North America\nwas the Moon ever visible--that, in fact, it was to be seen only at our\nantipodes. With what astonishment should we contemplate her for the\nfirst time on our arrival in Australia or New Zealand!\"\n\n\"Every man of us would pack off to Australia to see her!\" cried Ardan.\n\n\"Yes,\" said M'Nicholl sententiously; \"for a visit to the South Sea a\nTurk would willingly forego Mecca; and a Bostonian would prefer Sidney\neven to Paris.\"\n\n\"Well,\" resumed Barbican, \"this interesting marvel is reserved for the\nSelenite that inhabits the side of the Moon which is always turned away\nfrom our globe.\"\n\n\"And which,\" added the Captain, \"we should have had the unspeakable\nsatisfaction of contemplating if we had only arrived at the period when\nthe Sun and the Earth are not at the same side of the Moon--that is, 15\ndays sooner or later than now.\"\n\n\"For my part, however,\" continued Barbican, not heeding these\ninterruptions, \"I must confess that, notwithstanding the magnificent\nsplendor of the spectacle when viewed for the first time by the Selenite\nwho inhabits the dark side of the Moon, I should prefer to be a resident\non the illuminated side. The former, when his long, blazing, roasting,\ndazzling day is over, has a night 354 hours long, whose darkness, like\nthat, just now surrounding us, is ever unrelieved save by the cold\ncheerless rays of the stars. But the latter has hardly seen his fiery\nsun sinking on one horizon when he beholds rising on the opposite one an\norb, milder, paler, and colder indeed than the Sun, but fully as large\nas thirteen of our full Moons, and therefore shedding thirteen times as\nmuch light. This would be our Earth. It would pass through all its\nphases too, exactly like our Satellite. The Selenites would have their\nNew Earth, Full Earth, and Last Quarter. At midnight, grandly\nilluminated, it would shine with the greatest glory. But that is almost\nas much as can be said for it. Its futile heat would but poorly\ncompensate for its superior radiance. All the calorie accumulated in the\nlunar soil during the 354 hours day would have by this time radiated\ncompletely into space. An intensity of cold would prevail, in comparison\nto which a Greenland winter is tropical. The temperature of interstellar\nspace, 250° below zero, would be reached. Our Selenite, heartily tired\nof the cold pale Earth, would gladly see her sink towards the horizon,\nwaning as she sank, till at last she appeared no more than half full.\nThen suddenly a faint rim of the solar orb reveals itself on the edge of\nthe opposite sky. Slowly, more than 14 times more slowly than with us,\ndoes the Sun lift himself above the lunar horizon. In half an hour, only\nhalf his disc is revealed, but that is more than enough to flood the\nlunar landscape with a dazzling intensity of light, of which we have no\ncounterpart on Earth. No atmosphere refracts it, no hazy screen softens\nit, no enveloping vapor absorbs it, no obstructing medium colors it. It\nbreaks on the eye, harsh, white, dazzling, blinding, like the electric\nlight seen a few yards off. As the hours wear away, the more blasting\nbecomes the glare; and the higher he rises in the black sky, but slowly,\nslowly. It takes him seven of our days to reach the meridian. By that\ntime the heat has increased from an arctic temperature to double the\nboiling water point, from 250° below zero to 500° above it, or the point\nat which tin melts. Subjected to these extremes, the glassy rocks crack,\nshiver and crumble away; enormous land slides occur; peaks topple over;\nand tons of debris, crashing down the mountains, are swallowed up\nforever in the yawing chasms of the bottomless craters.\"\n\n\"Bravo!\" cried Ardan, clapping his hands softly: \"our President is\nsublime! He reminds me of the overture of _Guillaume Tell_!\"\n\n\"Souvenir de Marston!\" growled M'Nicholl.\n\n\"These phenomena,\" continued Barbican, heedless of interruption and his\nvoice betraying a slight glow of excitement, \"these phenomena going on\nwithout interruption from month to month, from year to year, from age to\nage, from _eon_ to _eon_, have finally convinced me that--what?\" he\nasked his hearers, interrupting himself suddenly.\n\n--\"That the existence at the present time--\" answered M'Nicholl.\n\n--\"Of either animal or vegetable life--\" interrupted Ardan.\n\n--\"In the Moon is hardly possible!\" cried both in one voice.\n\n\"Besides?\" asked Barbican: \"even if there _is_ any life--?\"\n\n--\"That to live on the dark side would be much more inconvenient than on\nthe light side!\" cried M'Nicholl promptly.\n\n--\"That there is no choice between them!\" cried Ardan just as ready.\n\"For my part, I should think a residence on Mt. Erebus or in Grinnell\nLand a terrestrial paradise in comparison to either. The _Earth shine_\nmight illuminate the light side of the Moon a little during the long\nnight, but for any practical advantage towards heat or life, it would be\nperfectly useless!\"\n\n\"But there is another serious difference between the two sides,\" said\nBarbican, \"in addition to those enumerated. The dark side is actually\nmore troubled with excessive variations of temperature than the light\none.\"\n\n\"That assertion of our worthy President,\" interrupted Ardan, \"with all\npossible respect for his superior knowledge, I am disposed to question.\"\n\n\"It's as clear as day!\" said Barbican.\n\n\"As clear as mud, you mean, Mr. President;\" interrupted Ardan, \"the\ntemperature of the light side is excited by two objects at the same\ntime, the Earth and the Sun, whereas--\"\n\n--\"I beg your pardon, Ardan--\" said Barbican.\n\n--\"Granted, dear boy--granted with the utmost pleasure!\" interrupted the\nFrenchman.\n\n\"I shall probably have to direct my observations altogether to you,\nCaptain,\" continued Barbican; \"friend Michael interrupts me so often\nthat I'm afraid he can hardly understand my remarks.\"\n\n\"I always admired your candor, Barbican,\" said Ardan; \"it's a noble\nquality, a grand quality!\"\n\n\"Don't mention it,\" replied Barbican, turning towards M'Nicholl, still\nin the dark, and addressing him exclusively; \"You see, my dear Captain,\nthe period at which the Moon's invisible side receives at once its light\nand heat is exactly the period of her _conjunction_, that is to say,\nwhen she is lying between the Earth and the Sun. In comparison therefore\nwith the place which she had occupied at her _opposition_, or when her\nvisible side was fully illuminated, she is nearer to the Sun by double\nher distance from the Earth, or nearly 480 thousand miles. Therefore, my\ndear Captain, you can see how when the invisible side of the Moon is\nturned towards the Sun, she is nearly half a million of miles nearer to\nhim than she had been before. Therefore, her heat should be so much the\ngreater.\"\n\n\"I see it at a glance,\" said the Captain.\n\n\"Whereas--\" continued Barbican.\n\n\"One moment!\" cried Ardan.\n\n\"Another interruption!\" exclaimed Barbican; \"What is the meaning of it,\nSir?\"\n\n\"I ask my honorable friend the privilege of the floor for one moment,\"\ncried Ardan.\n\n\"What for?\"\n\n\"To continue the explanation.\"\n\n\"Why so?\"\n\n\"To show that I can understand as well as interrupt!\"\n\n\"You have the floor!\" exclaimed Barbican, in a voice no longer showing\nany traces of ill humor.\n\n\"I expected no less from the honorable gentleman's well known courtesy,\"\nreplied Ardan. Then changing his manner and imitating to the life\nBarbican's voice, articulation, and gestures, he continued: \"Whereas,\nyou see, my dear Captain, the period at which the Moon's visible side\nreceives at once its light and heat, is exactly the period of her\n_opposition_, that is to say, when she is lying on one side of the Earth\nand the Sun at the other. In comparison therefore with the point which\nshe had occupied in _conjunction_, or when her invisible side was fully\nilluminated, she is farther from the Sun by double her distance from the\nEarth, or nearly 480,000 miles. Therefore, my dear Captain, you can\nreadily see how when the Moon's invisible side is turned _from_ the Sun,\nshe is nearly half a million miles further from him than she had been\nbefore. Therefore her heat should be so much the less.\"\n\n\"Well done, friend Ardan!\" cried Barbican, clapping his hands with\npleasure. \"Yes, Captain, he understood it as well as either of us the\nwhole time. Intelligence, not indifference, caused him to interrupt.\nWonderful fellow!\"\n\n\"That's the kind of a man I am!\" replied Ardan, not without some degree\nof complacency. Then he added simply: \"Barbican, my friend, if I\nunderstand your explanations so readily, attribute it all to their\nastonishing lucidity. If I have any faculity, it is that of being able\nto scent common sense at the first glimmer. Your sentences are so\nsteeped in it that I catch their full meaning long before you end\nthem--hence my apparent inattention. But we're not yet done with the\nvisible face of the Moon: it seems to me you have not yet enumerated all\nthe advantages in which it surpasses the other side.\"\n\n\"Another of these advantages,\" continued Barbican, \"is that it is from\nthe visible side alone that eclipses of the Sun can be seen. This is\nself-evident, the interposition of the Earth being possible only between\nthis visible face and the Sun. Furthermore, such eclipses of the Sun\nwould be of a far more imposing character than anything of the kind to\nbe witnessed from our Earth. This is chiefly for two reasons: first,\nwhen we, terrestrians, see the Sun eclipsed, we notice that, the discs\nof the two orbs being of about the same apparent size, one cannot hide\nthe other except for a short time; second, as the two bodies are moving\nin opposite directions, the total duration of the eclipse, even under\nthe most favorable circumstances, can't last longer than 7 minutes.\nWhereas to a Selenite who sees the Earth eclipse the Sun, not only does\nthe Earth's disc appear four times larger than the Sun's, but also, as\nhis day is 14 times longer than ours, the two heavenly bodies must\nremain several hours in contact. Besides, notwithstanding the apparent\nsuperiority of the Earth's disc, the refracting power of the atmosphere\nwill never allow the Sun to be eclipsed altogether. Even when completely\nscreened by the Earth, he would form a beautiful circle around her of\nyellow, red, and crimson light, in which she would appear to float like\na vast sphere of jet in a glowing sea of gold, rubies, sparkling\ncarbuncles and garnets.\"\n\n\"It seems to me,\" said M'Nicholl, \"that, taking everything into\nconsideration, the invisible side has been rather shabbily treated.\"\n\n\"I know I should not stay there very long,\" said Ardan; \"the desire of\nseeing such a splendid sight as that eclipse would be enough to bring me\nto the visible side as soon as possible.\"\n\n\"Yes, I have no doubt of that, friend Michael,\" pursued Barbican; \"but\nto see the eclipse it would not be necessary to quit the dark hemisphere\naltogether. You are, of course, aware that in consequence of her\nlibrations, or noddings, or wobblings, the Moon presents to the eyes of\nthe Earth a little more than the exact half of her disc. She has two\nmotions, one on her path around the Earth, and the other a shifting\naround on her own axis by which she endeavors to keep the same side\nalways turned towards our sphere. This she cannot always do, as while\none motion, the latter, is strictly uniform, the other being eccentric,\nsometimes accelerating her and sometimes retarding, she has not time to\nshift herself around completely and with perfect correspondence of\nmovement. At her perigee, for instance, she moves forward quicker than\nshe can shift, so that we detect a portion of her western border before\nshe has time to conceal it. Similarly, at her apogee, when her rate of\nmotion is comparatively slow, she shifts a little too quickly for her\nvelocity, and therefore cannot help revealing a certain portion of her\neastern border. She shows altogether about 8 degrees of the dark side,\nabout 4 at the east and 4 at the west, so that, out of her 360 degrees,\nabout 188, in other words, a little more than 57 per cent., about 4/7 of\nthe entire surface, becomes visible to human eyes. Consequently a\nSelenite could catch an occasional glimpse of our Earth, without\naltogether quitting the dark side.\"\n\n\"No matter for that!\" cried Ardan; \"if we ever become Selenites we must\ninhabit the visible side. My weak point is light, and that I must have\nwhen it can be got.\"\n\n\"Unless, as perhaps in this case, you might be paying too dear for it,\"\nobserved M'Nicholl. \"How would you like to pay for your light by the\nloss of the atmosphere, which, according to some philosophers, is piled\naway on the dark side?\"\n\n\"Ah! In that case I should consider a little before committing myself,\"\nreplied Ardan, \"I should like to hear your opinion regarding such a\nnotion, Barbican. Hey! Do your hear? Have astronomers any valid reasons\nfor supposing the atmosphere to have fled to the dark side of the Moon?\"\n\n\"Defer that question till some other time, Ardan,\" whispered M'Nicholl;\n\"Barbican is just now thinking out something that interests him far more\ndeeply than any empty speculation of astronomers. If you are near the\nwindow, look out through it towards the Moon. Can you see anything?\"\n\n\"I can feel the window with my hand; but for all I can see, I might as\nwell be over head and ears in a hogshead of ink.\"\n\nThe two friends kept up a desultory conversation, but Barbican did not\nhear them. One fact, in particular, troubled him, and he sought in vain\nto account for it. Having come so near the Moon--about 30 miles--why had\nnot the Projectile gone all the way? Had its velocity been very great,\nthe tendency to fall could certainly be counteracted. But the velocity\nbeing undeniably very moderate, how explain such a decided resistance to\nLunar attraction? Had the Projectile come within the sphere of some\nstrange unknown influence? Did the neighborhood of some mysterious body\nretain it firmly imbedded in ether? That it would never reach the Moon,\nwas now beyond all doubt; but where was it going? Nearer to her or\nfurther off? Or was it rushing resistlessly into infinity on the wings\nof that pitchy night? Who could tell, know, calculate--who could even\nguess, amid the horror of this gloomy blackness? Questions, like these,\nleft Barbican no rest; in vain he tried to grapple with them; he felt\nlike a child before them, baffled and almost despairing.\n\nIn fact, what could be more tantalizing? Just outside their windows,\nonly a few leagues off, perhaps only a few miles, lay the radiant planet\nof the night, but in every respect as far off from the eyes of himself\nand his companions as if she was hiding at the other side of Jupiter!\nAnd to their ears she was no nearer. Earthquakes of the old Titanic type\nmight at that very moment be upheaving her surface with resistless\nforce, crashing mountain against mountain as fiercely as wave meets wave\naround the storm-lashed cliffs of Cape Horn. But not the faintest far\noff murmur even of such a mighty tumult could break the dead brooding\nsilence that surrounded the travellers. Nay, the Moon, realizing the\nweird fancy of the Arabian poet, who calls her a \"giant stiffening into\ngranite, but struggling madly against his doom,\" might shriek, in a\nspasm of agony, loudly enough to be heard in Sirius. But our travellers\ncould not hear it. Their ears no sound could now reach. They could no\nmore detect the rending of a continent than the falling of a feather.\nAir, the propagator and transmitter of sound, was absent from her\nsurface. Her cries, her struggles, her groans, were all smothered\nbeneath the impenetrable tomb of eternal silence!\n\nThese were some of the fanciful ideas by which Ardan tried to amuse his\ncompanions in the present unsatisfactory state of affairs. His efforts,\nhowever well meant, were not successful. M'Nicholl's growls were more\nsavage than usual, and even Barbican's patience was decidedly giving\nway. The loss of the other face they could have easily borne--with most\nof its details they had been already familiar. But, no, it must be the\ndark face that now escaped their observation! The very one that for\nnumberless reasons they were actually dying to see! They looked out of\nthe windows once more at the black Moon beneath them.\n\nThere it lay below them, a round black spot, hiding the sweet faces of\nthe stars, but otherwise no more distinguishable by the travellers than\nif they were lying in the depths of the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky. And\njust think. Only fifteen days before, that dark face had been splendidly\nilluminated by the solar beams, every crater lustrous, every peak\nsparkling, every streak glistening under the vertical ray. In fifteen\ndays later, a day light the most brilliant would have replaced a\nmidnight the most Cimmerian. But in fifteen days later, where would the\nProjectile be? In what direction would it have been drawn by the forces\ninnumerable of attractions incalculable? To such a question as this,\neven Ardan would reply only by an ominous shake of the head.\n\nWe know already that our travellers, as well as astronomers generally,\njudging from that portion of the dark side occasionally revealed by the\nMoon's librations, were _pretty certain_ that there is no great\ndifference between her two sides, as far as regards their physical\nconstitutions. This portion, about the seventh part, shows plains and\nmountains, circles and craters, all of precisely the same nature as\nthose already laid down on the chart. Judging therefore from analogy,\nthe other three-sevenths are, in all probability a world in every\nrespect exactly like the visible face--that is, arid, desert, dead. But\nour travellers also knew that _pretty certain_ is far from _quite\ncertain_, and that arguing merely from analogy may enable you to give a\ngood guess, but can never lead you to an undoubted conclusion. What if\nthe atmosphere had really withdrawn to this dark face? And if air, why\nnot water? Would not this be enough to infuse life into the whole\ncontinent? Why should not vegetation flourish on its plains, fish in its\nseas, animals in its forests, and man in every one of its zones that\nwere capable of sustaining life? To these interesting questions, what a\nsatisfaction it would be to be able to answer positively one way or\nanother! For thousands of difficult problems a mere glimpse at this\nhemisphere would be enough to furnish a satisfactory reply. How glorious\nit would be to contemplate a realm on which the eye of man has never yet\nrested!\n\nGreat, therefore, as you may readily conceive, was the depression of our\ntravellers' spirits, as they pursued their way, enveloped in a veil of\ndarkness the most profound. Still even then Ardan, as usual, formed\nsomewhat of an exception. Finding it impossible to see a particle of the\nLunar surface, he gave it up for good, and tried to console himself by\ngazing at the stars, which now fairly blazed in the spangled heavens.\nAnd certainly never before had astronomer enjoyed an opportunity for\ngazing at the heavenly bodies under such peculiar advantages. How Fraye\nof Paris, Chacornac of Lyons, and Father Secchi of Rome would have\nenvied him!\n\nFor, candidly and truly speaking, never before had mortal eye revelled\non such a scene of starry splendor. The black sky sparkled with lustrous\nfires, like the ceiling of a vast hall of ebony encrusted with flashing\ndiamonds. Ardan's eye could take in the whole extent in an easy sweep\nfrom the _Southern Cross_ to the _Little Bear_, thus embracing within\none glance not only the two polar stars of the present day, but also\n_Campus_ and _Vega_, which, by reason of the _precession of the\nEquinoxes_, are to be our polar stars 12,000 years hence. His\nimagination, as if intoxicated, reeled wildly through these sublime\ninfinitudes and got lost in them. He forgot all about himself and all\nabout his companions. He forgot even the strangeness of the fate that\nhad sent them wandering through these forbidden regions, like a\nbewildered comet that had lost its way. With what a soft sweet light\nevery star glowed! No matter what its magnitude, the stream that flowed\nfrom it looked calm and holy. No twinkling, no scintillation, no\nnictitation, disturbed their pure and lambent gleam. No atmosphere here\ninterposed its layers of humidity or of unequal density to interrupt the\nstately majesty of their effulgence. The longer he gazed upon them, the\nmore absorbing became their attraction. He felt that they were great\nkindly eyes looking down even yet with benevolence and protection on\nhimself and his companions now driving wildly through space, and lost\nin the pathless depths of the black ocean of infinity!\n\nHe soon became aware that his friends, following his example, had\ninterested themselves in gazing at the stars, and were now just as\nabsorbed as himself in the contemplation of the transcendent spectacle.\nFor a long time all three continued to feast their eyes on all the\nglories of the starry firmament; but, strange to say, the part that\nseemed to possess the strangest and weirdest fascination for their\nwandering glances was the spot where the vast disc of the Moon showed\nlike an enormous round hole, black and soundless, and apparently deep\nenough to permit a glance into the darkest mysteries of the infinite.\n\nA disagreeable sensation, however, against which they had been for some\ntime struggling, at last put an end to their contemplations, and\ncompelled them to think of themselves. This was nothing less than a\npretty sharp cold, at first somewhat endurable, but which soon covered\nthe inside surface of the window panes with a thick coating of ice. The\nfact was that, the Sun's direct rays having no longer an opportunity of\nwarming up the Projectile, the latter began to lose rapidly by radiation\nwhatever heat it had stored away within its walls. The consequence was a\nvery decided falling of the thermometer, and so thick a condensation of\nthe internal moisture on the window glasses as to soon render all\nexternal observations extremely difficult, if not actually impossible.\n\nThe Captain, as the oldest man in the party, claimed the privilege of\nsaying he could stand it no longer. Striking a light, he consulted the\nthermometer and cried out:\n\n\"Seventeen degrees below zero, centigrade! that is certainly low enough\nto make an old fellow like me feel rather chilly!\"\n\n\"Just one degree and a half above zero, Fahrenheit!\" observed Barbican;\n\"I really had no idea that it was so cold.\"\n\nHis teeth actually chattered so much that he could hardly articulate;\nstill he, as well as the others, disliked to entrench on their short\nsupply of gas.\n\n\"One feature of our journey that I particularly admire,\" said Ardan,\ntrying to laugh with freezing lips, \"is that we can't complain of\nmonotony. At one time we are frying with the heat and blinded with the\nlight, like Indians caught on a burning prairie; at another, we are\nfreezing in the pitchy darkness of a hyperborean winter, like Sir John\nFranklin's merry men in the Bay of Boothia. _Madame La Nature_, you\ndon't forget your devotees; on the contrary, you overwhelm us with your\nattentions!\"\n\n\"Our external temperature may be reckoned at how much?\" asked the\nCaptain, making a desperate effort to keep up the conversation.\n\n\"The temperature outside our Projectile must be precisely the same as\nthat of interstellar space in general,\" answered Barbican.\n\n\"Is not this precisely the moment then,\" interposed Ardan, quickly,\n\"for making an experiment which we could never have made as long as we\nwere in the sunshine?\"\n\n\"That's so!\" exclaimed Barbican; \"now or never! I'm glad you thought of\nit, Ardan. We are just now in the position to find out the temperature\nof space by actual experiment, and so see whose calculations are right,\nFourier's or Pouillet's.\"\n\n\"Let's see,\" asked Ardan, \"who was Fourier, and who was Pouillet?\"\n\n\"Baron Fourier, of the French Academy, wrote a famous treatise on\n_Heat_, which I remember reading twenty years ago in Penington's book\nstore,\" promptly responded the Captain; \"Pouillet was an eminent\nprofessor of Physics at the Sorbonne, where he died, last year, I\nthink.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Captain,\" said Ardan; \"the cold does not injure your memory,\nthough it is decidedly on the advance. See how thick the ice is already\non the window panes! Let it only keep on and we shall soon have our\nbreaths falling around us in flakes of snow.\"\n\n\"Let us prepare a thermometer,\" said Barbican, who had already set\nhimself to work in a business-like manner.\n\nA thermometer of the usual kind, as may be readily supposed, would be of\nno use whatever in the experiment that was now about to be made. In an\nordinary thermometer Mercury freezes hard when exposed to a temperature\nof 40° below zero. But Barbican had provided himself with a _Minimum_,\n_self-recording_ thermometer, of a peculiar nature, invented by\nWolferdin, a friend of Arago's, which could correctly register\nexceedingly low degrees of temperature. Before beginning the experiment,\nthis instrument was tested by comparison with one of the usual kind, and\nthen Barbican hesitated a few moments regarding the best means of\nemploying it.\n\n\"How shall we start this experiment?\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"Nothing simpler,\" answered Ardan, always ready to reply; \"you just open\nyour windows, and fling out your thermometer. It follows your\nProjectile, as a calf follows her mother. In a quarter of an hour you\nput out your hand--\"\n\n\"Put out your hand!\" interrupted Barbican.\n\n\"Put out your hand--\" continued Ardan, quietly.\n\n\"You do nothing of the kind,\" again interrupted Barbican; \"that is,\nunless you prefer, instead of a hand, to pull back a frozen stump,\nshapeless, colorless and lifeless!\"\n\n\"I prefer a hand,\" said Ardan, surprised and interested.\n\n\"Yes,\" continued Barbican, \"the instant your hand left the Projectile,\nit would experience the same terrible sensations as is produced by\ncauterizing it with an iron bar white hot. For heat, whether rushing\nrapidly out of our bodies or rapidly entering them, is identically the\nsame force and does the same amount of damage. Besides I am by no means\ncertain that we are still followed by the objects that we flung out of\nthe Projectile.\"\n\n\"Why not?\" asked M'Nicholl; \"we saw them all outside not long ago.\"\n\n\"But we can't see them outside now,\" answered Barbican; \"that may be\naccounted for, I know, by the darkness, but it may be also by the fact\nof their not being there at all. In a case like this, we can't rely on\nuncertainties. Therefore, to make sure of not losing our thermometer, we\nshall fasten it with a string and easily pull it in whenever we like.\"\n\nThis advice being adopted, the window was opened quickly, and the\ninstrument was thrown out at once by M'Nicholl, who held it fastened by\na short stout cord so that it could be pulled in immediately. The window\nhad hardly been open for longer than a second, yet that second had been\nenough to admit a terrible icy chill into the interior of the\nProjectile.\n\n\"Ten thousand ice-bergs!\" cried Ardan, shivering all over; \"it's cold\nenough to freeze a white bear!\"\n\nBarbican waited quietly for half an hour; that time he considered quite\nlong enough to enable the instrument to acquire the temperature of the\ninterstellar space. Then he gave the signal, and it was instantly pulled\nin.\n\nIt took him a few moments to calculate the quantity of mercury that had\nescaped into the little diaphragm attached to the lower part of the\ninstrument; then he said:\n\n\"A hundred and forty degrees, centigrade, below zero!\"\n\n[Illustration: IT'S COLD ENOUGH TO FREEZE A WHITE BEAR.]\n\n\"Two hundred and twenty degrees, Fahrenheit, below zero!\" cried\nM'Nicholl; \"no wonder that we should feel a little chilly!\"\n\n\"Pouillet is right, then,\" said Barbican, \"and Fourier wrong.\"\n\n\"Another victory for Sorbonne over the Academy!\" cried Ardan. \"_Vive la\nSorbonne!_ Not that I'm a bit proud of finding myself in the midst of a\ntemperature so very _distingué_--though it is more than three times\ncolder than Hayes ever felt it at Humboldt Glacier or Nevenoff at\nYakoutsk. If Madame the Moon becomes as cold as this every time that her\nsurface is withdrawn from the sunlight for fourteen days, I don't think,\nboys, that her hospitality is much to hanker after!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nGLIMPSES AT THE INVISIBLE.\n\n\nIn spite of the dreadful condition in which the three friends now found\nthemselves, and the still more dreadful future that awaited them, it\nmust be acknowledged that Ardan bravely kept up his spirits. And his\ncompanions were just as cheerful. Their philosophy was quite simple and\nperfectly intelligible. What they could bear, they bore without\nmurmuring. When it became unbearable, they only complained, if\ncomplaining would do any good. Imprisoned in an iron shroud, flying\nthrough profound darkness into the infinite abysses of space, nearly a\nquarter million of miles distant from all human aid, freezing with the\nicy cold, their little stock not only of gas but of _air_ rapidly\nrunning lower and lower, a near future of the most impenetrable\nobscurity looming up before them, they never once thought of wasting\ntime in asking such useless questions as where they were going, or what\nfate was about to befall them. Knowing that no good could possibly\nresult from inaction or despair, they carefully kept their wits about\nthem, making their experiments and recording their observations as\ncalmly and as deliberately as if they were working at home in the quiet\nretirement of their own cabinets.\n\nAny other course of action, however, would have been perfectly absurd\non their part, and this no one knew better than themselves. Even if\ndesirous to act otherwise, what could they have done? As powerless over\nthe Projectile as a baby over a locomotive, they could neither clap\nbrakes to its movement nor switch off its direction. A sailor can turn\nhis ship's head at pleasure; an aeronaut has little trouble, by means of\nhis ballast and his throttle-valve, in giving a vertical movement to his\nballoon. But nothing of this kind could our travellers attempt. No helm,\nor ballast, or throttle-valve could avail them now. Nothing in the world\ncould be done to prevent things from following their own course to the\nbitter end.\n\nIf these three men would permit themselves to hazard an expression at\nall on the subject, which they didn't, each could have done it by his\nown favorite motto, so admirably expressive of his individual nature.\n\"_Donnez tête baissée!_\" (Go it baldheaded!) showed Ardan's\nuncalculating impetuosity and his Celtic blood. \"_Fata quocunque\nvocant!_\" (To its logical consequence!) revealed Barbican's\nimperturbable stoicism, culture hardening rather than loosening the\noriginal British phlegm. Whilst M'Nicholl's \"Screw down the valve and\nlet her rip!\" betrayed at once his unconquerable Yankee coolness and his\nold experiences as a Western steamboat captain.\n\nWhere were they now, at eight o'clock in the morning of the day called\nin America the sixth of December? Near the Moon, very certainly; near\nenough, in fact, for them to perceive easily in the dark the great round\nscreen which she formed between themselves and the Projectile on one\nside, and the Earth, Sun, and stars on the other. But as to the exact\ndistance at which she lay from them--they had no possible means of\ncalculating it. The Projectile, impelled and maintained by forces\ninexplicable and even incomprehensible, had come within less than thirty\nmiles from the Moon's north pole. But during those two hours of\nimmersion in the dark shadow, had this distance been increased or\ndiminished? There was evidently no stand-point whereby to estimate\neither the Projectile's direction or its velocity. Perhaps, moving\nrapidly away from the Moon, it would be soon out of her shadow\naltogether. Perhaps, on the contrary, gradually approaching her surface,\nit might come into contact at any moment with some sharp invisible peak\nof the Lunar mountains--a catastrophe sure to put a sudden end to the\ntrip, and the travellers too.\n\nAn excited discussion on this subject soon sprang up, in which all\nnaturally took part. Ardan's imagination as usual getting the better of\nhis reason, he maintained very warmly that the Projectile, caught and\nretained by the Moon's attraction, could not help falling on her\nsurface, just as an aerolite cannot help falling on our Earth.\n\n\"Softly, dear boy, softly,\" replied Barbican; \"aerolites _can_ help\nfalling on the Earth, and the proof is, that few of them _do_ fall--most\nof them don't. Therefore, even granting that we had already assumed the\nnature of an aerolite, it does not necessarily follow that we should\nfall on the Moon.\"\n\n\"But,\" objected Ardan, \"if we approach only near enough, I don't see how\nwe can help--\"\n\n\"You don't see, it may be,\" said Barbican, \"but you can see, if you only\nreflect a moment. Have you not often seen the November meteors, for\ninstance, streaking the skies, thousands at a time?\"\n\n\"Yes; on several occasions I was so fortunate.\"\n\n\"Well, did you ever see any of them strike the Earth's surface?\" asked\nBarbican.\n\n\"I can't say I ever did,\" was the candid reply, \"but--\"\n\n\"Well, these shooting stars,\" continued Barbican, \"or rather these\nwandering particles of matter, shine only from being inflamed by the\nfriction of the atmosphere. Therefore they can never be at a greater\ndistance from the Earth than 30 or 40 miles at furthest, and yet they\nseldom fall on it. So with our Projectile. It may go very close to the\nMoon without falling into it.\"\n\n\"But our roving Projectile must pull up somewhere in the long run,\"\nreplied Ardan, \"and I should like to know where that somewhere can be,\nif not in the Moon.\"\n\n\"Softly again, dear boy,\" said Barbican; \"how do you know that our\nProjectile must pull up somewhere?\"\n\n\"It's self-evident,\" replied Ardan; \"it can't keep moving for ever.\"\n\n\"Whether it can or it can't depends altogether on which one of two\nmathematical curves it has followed in describing its course. According\nto the velocity with which it was endowed at a certain moment, it must\nfollow either the one or the other; but this velocity I do not consider\nmyself just now able to calculate.\"\n\n\"Exactly so,\" chimed in M'Nicholl; \"it must describe and keep on\ndescribing either a parabola or a hyperbola.\"\n\n\"Precisely,\" said Barbican; \"at a certain velocity it would take a\nparabolic curve; with a velocity considerably greater it should describe\na hyperbolic curve.\"\n\n\"I always did like nice corpulent words,\" said Ardan, trying to laugh;\n\"bloated and unwieldy, they express in a neat handy way exactly what you\nmean. Of course, I know all about the high--high--those high curves, and\nthose low curves. No matter. Explain them to me all the same. Consider\nme most deplorably ignorant on the nature of these curves.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Captain, a little bumptiously, \"a parabola is a curve\nof the second order, formed by the intersection of a cone by a plane\nparallel to one of its sides.\"\n\n\"You don't say so!\" cried Ardan, with mouth agape. \"Do tell!\"\n\n\"It is pretty nearly the path taken by a shell shot from a mortar.\"\n\n\"Well now!\" observed Ardan, apparently much surprised; \"who'd have\nthought it? Now for the high--high--bully old curve!\"\n\n\"The hyperbola,\" continued the Captain, not minding Ardan's antics, \"the\nhyperbola is a curve of the second order, formed from the intersection\nof a cone by a plane parallel to its axis, or rather parallel to its two\n_generatrices_, constituting two separate branches, extending\nindefinitely in both directions.\"\n\n\"Oh, what an accomplished scientist I'm going to turn out, if only left\nlong enough at your feet, illustrious _maestro_!\" cried Ardan, with\neffusion. \"Only figure it to yourselves, boys; before the Captain's\nlucid explanations, I fully expected to hear something about the high\ncurves and the low curves in the back of an Ancient Thomas! Oh, Michael,\nMichael, why didn't you know the Captain earlier?\"\n\nBut the Captain was now too deeply interested in a hot discussion with\nBarbican to notice that the Frenchman was only funning him. Which of the\ntwo curves had been the one most probably taken by the Projectile?\nBarbican maintained it was the parabolic; M'Nicholl insisted that it was\nthe hyperbolic. Their tempers were not improved by the severe cold, and\nboth became rather excited in the dispute. They drew so many lines on\nthe table, and crossed them so often with others, that nothing was left\nat last but a great blot. They covered bits of paper with _x_'s and\n_y_'s, which they read out like so many classic passages, shouting them,\ndeclaiming them, drawing attention to the strong points by gesticulation\nso forcible and voice so loud that neither of the disputants could hear\na word that the other said. Possibly the very great difference in\ntemperature between the external air in contact with their skin and the\nblood coursing through their veins, had given rise to magnetic currents\nas potential in their effects as a superabundant supply of oxygen. At\nall events, the language they soon began to employ in the enforcement of\ntheir arguments fairly made the Frenchman's hair stand on end.\n\n\"You probably forget the important difference between a _directrix_ and\nan _axis_,\" hotly observed Barbican.\n\n\"I know what an _abscissa_ is, any how!\" cried the Captain. \"Can you say\nas much?\"\n\n\"Did you ever understand what is meant by a _double ordinate_?\" asked\nBarbican, trying to keep cool.\n\n\"More than you ever did about a _transverse_ and a _conjugate!_\" replied\nthe Captain, with much asperity.\n\n\"Any one not convinced at a glance that this _eccentricity_ is equal to\n_unity_, must be blind as a bat!\" exclaimed Barbican, fast losing his\nordinary urbanity.\n\n\"_Less_ than _unity_, you mean! If you want spectacles, here are mine!\"\nshouted the Captain, angrily tearing them off and offering them to his\nadversary.\n\n\"Dear boys!\" interposed Ardan--\n\n--\"The _eccentricity_ is _equal_ to _unity_!\" cried Barbican.\n\n--\"The _eccentricity_ is _less_ than _unity_!\" screamed M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Talking of eccentricity--\" put in Ardan.\n\n--\"Therefore it's a _parabola_, and must be!\" cried Barbican,\ntriumphantly.\n\n--\"Therefore it's _hyperbola_ and nothing shorter!\" was the Captain's\nquite as confident reply.\n\n\"For gracious sake!--\" resumed Ardan.\n\n\"Then produce your _asymptote_!\" exclaimed Barbican, with an angry\nsneer.\n\n\"Let us see the _symmetrical point_!\" roared the Captain, quite\nsavagely.\n\n\"Dear boys! old fellows!--\" cried Ardan, as loud as his lungs would let\nhim.\n\n\"It's useless to argue with a Mississippi steamboat Captain,\" ejaculated\nBarbican; \"he never gives in till he blows up!\"\n\n\"Never try to convince a Yankee schoolmaster,\" replied M'Nicholl; \"he\nhas one book by heart and don't believe in any other!\"\n\n\"Here, friend Michael, get me a cord, won't you? It's the only way to\nconvince him!\" cried Barbican, hastily turning to the Frenchman.\n\n\"Hand me over that ruler, Ardan!\" yelled the Captain. \"The heavy one!\nIt's the only way now left to bring him to reason!\"\n\n\"Look here, Barbican and M'Nicholl!\" cried Ardan, at last making himself\nheard, and keeping a tight hold both on the cord and the ruler. \"This\nthing has gone far enough! Come. Stop your talk, and answer me a few\nquestions. What do you want of this cord, Barbican?\"\n\n\"To describe a parabolic curve!\"\n\n\"And what are you going to do with the ruler, M'Nicholl!\"\n\n\"To help draw a true hyperbola!\"\n\n\"Promise me, Barbican, that you're not going to lasso the Captain!\"\n\n\"Lasso the Captain! Ha! ha! ha!\"\n\n\"You promise, M'Nicholl, that you're not going to brain the President!\"\n\n\"I brain the President! Ho! ho! ho!\"\n\n\"I want merely to convince him that it is a parabola!\"\n\n\"I only want to make it clear as day that it is hyperbola!\"\n\n\"Does it make any real difference whether it is one or the other?\"\nyelled Ardan.\n\n\"The greatest possible difference--in the Eye of Science.\"\n\n\"A radical and incontrovertible difference--in the Eye of Science!\"\n\n\"Oh! Hang the Eye of Science--will either curve take us to the Moon?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Will either take us back to the Earth?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Will either take us anywhere that you know of?\"\n\n\"No!\"\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"Because they are both _open_ curves, and therefore can never end!\"\n\n\"Is it of the slightest possible importance which of the two curves\ncontrols the Projectile?\"\n\n\"Not the slightest--except in the Eye of Science!\"\n\n\"Then let the Eye of Science and her parabolas and hyperbolas, and\nconjugates, and asymptotes, and the rest of the confounded nonsensical\nfarrago, all go to pot! What's the use of bothering your heads about\nthem here! Have you not enough to trouble you otherwise? A nice pair of\nscientists you are? 'Stanislow' scientists, probably. Do _real_\nscientists lose their tempers for a trifle? Am I ever to see my ideal of\na true scientific man in the flesh? Barbican came very near realizing my\nidea perfectly; but I see that Science just has as little effect as\nCulture in driving the Old Adam out of us! The idea of the only\nsimpleton in the lot having to lecture the others on propriety of\ndeportment! I thought they were going to tear each other's eyes out! Ha!\nHa! Ha! It's _impayable_! Give me that cord, Michael! Hand me the heavy\nruler, Ardan! It's the only way to bring him to reason! Ho! Ho! Ho! It's\ntoo good! I shall never get over it!\" and he laughed till his sides\nached and his cheeks streamed.\n\nHis laughter was so contagious, and his merriment so genuine, that there\nwas really no resisting it, and the next few minutes witnessed nothing\nbut laughing, and handshaking and rib-punching in the Projectile--though\nHeaven knows there was very little for the poor fellows to be merry\nabout. As they could neither reach the Moon nor return to the Earth,\nwhat _was_ to befall them? The immediate outlook was the very reverse of\nexhilarating. If they did not die of hunger, if they did not die of\nthirst, the reason would simply be that, in a few days, as soon as their\ngas was exhausted, they would die for want of air, unless indeed the icy\ncold had killed them beforehand!\n\nBy this time, in fact, the temperature had become so exceedingly cold\nthat a further encroachment on their little stock of gas could be put\noff no longer. The light, of course, they could manage to do without;\nbut a little heat was absolutely necessary to prevent them from freezing\nto death. Fortunately, however, the caloric developed by the Reiset and\nRegnault process for purifying the air, raised the internal temperature\nof the Projectile a little, so that, with an expenditure of gas much\nless than they had expected, our travellers were able to maintain it at\na degree capable of sustaining human life.\n\nBy this time, also, all observations through the windows had become\nexceedingly difficult. The internal moisture condensed so thick and\ncongealed so hard on the glass that nothing short of continued friction\ncould keep up its transparency. But this friction, however laborious\nthey might regard it at other times, they thought very little of just\nnow, when observation had become far more interesting and important than\never.\n\nIf the Moon had any atmosphere, our travellers were near enough now to\nstrike any meteor that might be rushing through it. If the Projectile\nitself were floating in it, as was possible, would not such a good\nconductor of sound convey to their ears the reflexion of some lunar\necho, the roar of some storm raging among the mountains, the rattling of\nsome plunging avalanche, or the detonations of some eructating volcano?\nAnd suppose some lunar Etna or Vesuvius was flashing out its fires, was\nit not even possible that their eye could catch a glimpse of the lurid\ngleam? One or two facts of this kind, well attested, would singularly\nelucidate the vexatious question of a lunar atmosphere, which is still\nso far from being decided. Full of such thoughts and intensely\ninterested in them, Barbican, M'Nicholl and Ardan, patient as\nastronomers at a transit of Venus, watched steadily at their windows,\nand allowed nothing worth noticing to escape their searching gaze.\n\nArdan's patience first gave out. He showed it by an observation natural\nenough, for that matter, to a mind unaccustomed to long stretches of\ncareful thought:\n\n\"This darkness is absolutely killing! If we ever take this trip again,\nit must be about the time of the New Moon!\"\n\n\"There I agree with you, Ardan,\" observed the Captain. \"That would be\njust the time to start. The Moon herself, I grant, would be lost in the\nsolar rays and therefore invisible all the time of our trip, but in\ncompensation, we should have the Full Earth in full view. Besides--and\nthis is your chief point, no doubt, Ardan--if we should happen to be\ndrawn round the Moon, just as we are at the present moment, we should\nenjoy the inestimable advantage of beholding her invisible side\nmagnificently illuminated!\"\n\n\"My idea exactly, Captain,\" said Ardan. \"What is your opinion on this\npoint, Barbican?\"\n\n\"My opinion is as follows:\" answered Barbican, gravely. \"If we ever\nrepeat this journey, we shall start precisely at the same time and under\nprecisely the same circumstances. You forget that our only object is to\nreach the Moon. Now suppose we had really landed there, as we expected\nto do yesterday, would it not have been much more agreeable to behold\nthe lunar continents enjoying the full light of day than to find them\nplunged in the dismal obscurity of night? Would not our first\ninstallation of discovery have been under circumstances decidedly\nextremely favorable? Your silence shows that you agree with me. As to\nthe invisible side, once landed, we should have the power to visit it\nwhen we pleased, and therefore we could always choose whatever time\nwould best suit our purpose. Therefore, if we wanted to land in the\nMoon, the period of the Full Moon was the best period to select. The\nperiod was well chosen, the time was well calculated, the force was well\napplied, the Projectile was well aimed, but missing our way spoiled\neverything.\"\n\n\"That's sound logic, no doubt,\" said Ardan; \"still I can't help thinking\nthat all for want of a little light we are losing, probably forever, a\nsplendid opportunity of seeing the Moon's invisible side. How about the\nother planets, Barbican? Do you think that their inhabitants are as\nignorant regarding their satellites as we are regarding ours?\"\n\n\"On that subject,\" observed M'Nicholl, \"I could venture an answer\nmyself, though, of course, without pretending to speak dogmatically on\nany such open question. The satellites of the other planets, by their\ncomparative proximity, must be much easier to study than our Moon. The\nSaturnians, the Uranians, the Jovians, cannot have had very serious\ndifficulty in effecting some communication with their satellites.\nJupiter's four moons, for instance, though on an average actually 2-1/2\ntimes farther from their planet's centre than the Moon is from us, are\ncomparatively four times nearer to him on account of his radius being\neleven times greater than the Earth's. With Saturn's eight moons, the\ncase is almost precisely similar. Their average distance is nearly three\ntimes greater than that of our Moon; but as Saturn's diameter is about 9\ntimes greater than the Earth's, his bodyguards are really between 3 and\n4 times nearer to their principal than ours is to us. As to Uranus, his\nfirst satellite, _Ariel_, half as far from him as our Moon is from the\nEarth, is comparatively, though not actually, eight times nearer.\"\n\n\"Therefore,\" said Barbican, now taking up the subject, \"an experiment\nanalogous to ours, starting from either of these three planets, would\nhave encountered fewer difficulties. But the whole question resolves\nitself into this. _If_ the Jovians and the rest have been able to quit\ntheir planets, they have probably succeeded in discovering the invisible\nsides of their satellites. But if they have _not_ been able to do so,\nwhy, they're not a bit wiser than ourselves--But what's the matter with\nthe Projectile? It's certainly shifting!\"\n\nShifting it certainly was. While the path it described as it swung\nblindly through the darkness, could not be laid down by any chart for\nwant of a starting point, Barbican and his companions soon became aware\nof a decided modification of its relative position with regard to the\nMoon's surface. Instead of its side, as heretofore, it now presented its\nbase to the Moon's disc, and its axis had become rigidly vertical to the\nlunar horizon. Of this new feature in their journey, Barbican had\nassured himself by the most undoubted proof towards four o'clock in the\nmorning. What was the cause? Gravity, of course. The heavier portion of\nthe Projectile gravitated towards the Moon's centre exactly as if they\nwere falling towards her surface.\n\nBut _were_ they falling? Were they at last, contrary to all\nexpectations, about to reach the goal that they had been so ardently\nwishing for? No! A sight-point, just discovered by M'Nicholl, very soon\nconvinced Barbican that the Projectile was as far as ever from\napproaching the Moon, but was moving around it in a curve pretty near\nconcentric.\n\nM'Nicholl's discovery, a luminous gleam flickering on the distant verge\nof the black disc, at once engrossed the complete attention of our\ntravellers and set them to divining its course. It could not possibly be\nconfounded with a star. Its glare was reddish, like that of a distant\nfurnace on a dark night; it kept steadily increasing in size and\nbrightness, thus showing beyond a doubt how the Projectile was\nmoving--in the direction of the luminous point, and _not_ vertically\nfalling towards the Moon's surface.\n\n\"It's a volcano!\" cried the Captain, in great excitement; \"a volcano in\nfull blast! An outlet of the Moon's internal fires! Therefore she can't\nbe a burnt out cinder!\"\n\n\"It certainly looks like a volcano,\" replied Barbican, carefully\ninvestigating this new and puzzling phenomenon with his night-glass. \"If\nit is not one, in fact, what can it be?\"\n\n\"To maintain combustion,\" commenced Ardan syllogistically and\nsententiously, \"air is necessary. An undoubted case of combustion lies\nbefore us. Therefore, this part of the Moon _must_ have an atmosphere!\"\n\n\"Perhaps so,\" observed Barbican, \"but not necessarily so. The volcano,\nby decomposing certain substances, gunpowder for instance, may be able\nto furnish its own oxygen, and thus explode in a vacuum. That blaze, in\nfact, seems to me to possess the intensity and the blinding glare of\nobjects burning in pure oxygen. Let us therefore be not over hasty in\njumping at the conclusion of the existence of a lunar atmosphere.\"\n\nThis fire mountain was situated, according to the most plausible\nconjecture, somewhere in the neighborhood of the 45th degree, south\nlatitude, of the Moon's invisible side. For a little while the\ntravellers indulged the fond hope that they were directly approaching\nit, but, to their great disappointment, the path described by the\nProjectile lay in a different direction. Its nature therefore they had\nno opportunity of ascertaining. It began to disappear behind the dark\nhorizon within less than half an hour after the time that M'Nicholl had\nsignalled it. Still, the fact of the uncontested existence of such a\nphenomenon was a grand one, and of considerable importance in\nselenographic investigations. It proved that heat had not altogether\ndisappeared from the lunar world; and the existence of heat once\nsettled, who can say positively that the vegetable kingdom and even the\nanimal kingdom have not likewise resisted so far every influence tending\nto destroy them? If terrestrial astronomers could only be convinced, by\nundoubted evidence, of the existence of this active volcano on the\nMoon's surface, they would certainly admit of very considerable\nmodifications in the present doubts regarding her inhabitability.\n\nThoughts of this kind continued to occupy the minds of our travellers\neven for some time after the little spark of light had been extinguished\nin the black gloom. But they said very little; even Ardan was silent,\nand continued to look out of the window. Barbican surrendered himself up\nto a reverie regarding the mysterious destinies of the lunar world. Was\nits present condition a foreshadowing of what our Earth is to become?\nM'Nicholl, too, was lost in speculation. Was the Moon older or younger\nthan the Earth in the order of Creation? Had she ever been a beautiful\nworld of life, and color, and magnificent variety? If so, had her\ninhabitants--\n\nGreat Mercy, what a cry from Ardan! It sounded human, so seldom do we\nhear a shriek so expressive at once of surprise and horror and even\nterror! It brought back his startled companions to their senses in a\nsecond. Nor did they ask him for the cause of his alarm. It was only too\nclear. Right in their very path, a blazing ball of fire had suddenly\nrisen up before their eyes, the pitchy darkness all round it rendering\nits glare still more blinding. Its phosphoric coruscation filled the\nProjectile with white streams of lurid light, tinging the contents with\na pallor indescribably ghastly. The travellers' faces in particular,\ngleamed with that peculiar livid and cadaverous tinge, blue and yellow,\nwhich magicians so readily produce by burning table salt in alcohol.\n\n\"_Sacré!_\" cried Ardan who always spoke his own language when much\nexcited. \"What a pair of beauties you are! Say, Barbican! What\nthundering thing is coming at us now?\"\n\n\"Another bolide,\" answered Barbican, his eye as calm as ever, though a\nfaint tremor was quite perceptible in his voice.\n\n\"A bolide? Burning _in vacuo_? You are joking!\"\n\n\"I was never more in earnest,\" was the President's quiet reply, as he\nlooked through his closed fingers.\n\nHe knew exactly what he was saying. The dazzling glitter did not deceive\n_him_. Such a meteor seen from the Earth could not appear much brighter\nthan the Full Moon, but here in the midst of the black ether and\nunsoftened by the veil of the atmosphere, it was absolutely blinding.\nThese wandering bodies carry in themselves the principle of their\nincandescence. Oxygen is by no means necessary for their combustion.\nSome of them indeed often take fire as they rush through the layers of\nour atmosphere, and generally burn out before they strike the Earth. But\nothers, on the contrary, and the greater number too, follow a track\nthrough space far more distant from the Earth than the fifty miles\nsupposed to limit our atmosphere. In October, 1844, one of these meteors\nhad appeared in the sky at an altitude calculated to be at least 320\nmiles; and in August, 1841, another had vanished when it had reached the\nheight of 450 miles. A few even of those seen from the Earth must have\nbeen several miles in diameter. The velocity with which some of them\nhave been calculated to move, from east to west, in a direction contrary\nto that of the Earth, is astounding enough to exceed belief--about fifty\nmiles in a second. Our Earth does not move quite 20 miles in a second,\nthough it goes a thousand times quicker than the fastest locomotive.\n\n[Illustration: THEY COULD UTTER NO WORD.]\n\nBarbican calculated like lightning that the present object of their\nalarm was only about 250 miles distant from them, and could not be\nless than a mile and a quarter in diameter. It was coming on at the rate\nof more than a mile a second or about 75 miles a minute. It lay right in\nthe path of the Projectile, and in a very few seconds indeed a terrible\ncollision was inevitable. The enormous rate at which it grew in size,\nshowed the terrible velocity at which it was approaching.\n\nYou can hardly imagine the situation of our poor travellers at the sight\nof this frightful apparition. I shall certainly not attempt to describe\nit. In spite of their singular courage, wonderful coolness,\nextraordinary fortitude, they were now breathless, motionless, almost\nhelpless; their muscles were tightened to their utmost tension; their\neyes stared out of their sockets; their faces were petrified with\nhorror. No wonder. Their Projectile, whose course they were powerless as\nchildren to guide, was making straight for this fiery mass, whose glare\nin a few seconds had become more blinding than the open vent of a\nreverberating furnace. Their own Projectile was carrying them headlong\ninto a bottomless abyss of fire!\n\nStill, even in this moment of horror, their presence of mind, or at\nleast their consciousness, never abandoned them. Barbican had grasped\neach of his friends by the hand, and all three tried as well as they\ncould to watch through half-closed eyelids the white-hot asteroid's\nrapid approach. They could utter no word, they could breathe no prayer.\nThey gave themselves up for lost--in the agony of terror that partially\ninterrupted the ordinary functions of their brains, this was absolutely\nall they could do! Hardly three minutes had elapsed since Ardan had\ncaught the first glimpse of it--three ages of agony! Now it was on them!\nIn a second--in less than a second, the terrible fireball had burst like\na shell! Thousands of glittering fragments were flying around them in\nall directions--but with no more noise than is made by so many light\nflakes of thistle-down floating about some warm afternoon in summer. The\nblinding, blasting steely white glare of the explosion almost bereft the\ntravellers of the use of their eyesight forever, but no more report\nreached their ears than if it had taken place at the bottom of the Gulf\nof Mexico. In an atmosphere like ours, such a crash would have burst the\near-membranes of ten thousand elephants!\n\nIn the middle of the commotion another loud cry was suddenly heard. It\nwas the Captain who called this time. His companions rushed to his\nwindow and all looked out together in the same direction.\n\nWhat a sight met their eyes! What pen can describe it? What pencil can\nreproduce the magnificence of its coloring? It was a Vesuvius at his\nbest and wildest, at the moment just after the old cone has fallen in.\nMillions of luminous fragments streaked the sky with their blazing\nfires. All sizes and shapes of light, all colors and shades of colors,\nwere inextricably mingled together. Irradiations in gold, scintillations\nin crimson, splendors in emerald, lucidities in ultramarine--a dazzling\ngirandola of every tint and of every hue. Of the enormous fireball, an\ninstant ago such an object of dread, nothing now remained but these\nglittering pieces, shooting about in all directions, each one an\nasteroid in its turn. Some flew out straight and gleaming like a steel\nsword; others rushed here and there irregularly like chips struck off a\nred-hot rock; and others left long trails of glittering cosmical dust\nbehind them like the nebulous tail of Donati's comet.\n\nThese incandescent blocks crossed each other, struck each other, crushed\neach other into still smaller fragments, one of which, grazing the\nProjectile, jarred it so violently that the very window at which the\ntravellers were standing, was cracked by the shock. Our friends felt, in\nfact, as if they were the objective point at which endless volleys of\nblazing shells were aimed, any of them powerful enough, if it only hit\nthem fair, to make as short work of the Projectile as you could of an\negg-shell. They had many hairbreadth escapes, but fortunately the\ncracking of the glass proved to be the only serious damage of which they\ncould complain.\n\nThis extraordinary illumination lasted altogether only a few seconds;\nevery one of its details was of a most singular and exciting nature--but\none of its greatest wonders was yet to come. The ether, saturated with\nluminous matter, developed an intensity of blazing brightness unequalled\nby the lime light, the magnesium light, the electric light, or any other\ndazzling source of illumination with which we are acquainted on earth.\nIt flashed out of these asteroids in all directions, and downwards, of\ncourse, as well as elsewhere. At one particular instant, it was so very\nvivid that Ardan, who happened to be looking downwards, cried out, as if\nin transport:\n\n\"Oh!! The Moon! Visible at last!\"\n\nAnd the three companions, thrilling with indescribable emotion, shot a\nhasty glance through the openings of the coruscating field beneath them.\nDid they really catch a glimpse of the mysterious invisible disc that\nthe eye of man had never before lit upon? For a second or so they gazed\nwith enraptured fascination at all they could see. What did they see,\nwhat could they see at a distance so uncertain that Barbican has never\nbeen able even to guess at it? Not much. Ardan was reminded of the night\nhe had stood on the battlements of Dover Castle, a few years before,\nwhen the fitful flashes of a thunder storm gave him occasional and very\nuncertain glimpses of the French coast at the opposite side of the\nstrait. Misty strips long and narrow, extending over one portion of the\ndisc--probably cloud-scuds sustained by a highly rarefied\natmosphere--permitted only a very dreamy idea of lofty mountains\nstretching beneath them in shapeless proportions, of smaller reliefs,\ncircuses, yawning craters, and the other capricious, sponge-like\nformations so common on the visible side. Elsewhere the watchers became\naware for an instant of immense spaces, certainly not arid plains, but\nseas, real oceans, vast and calm, reflecting from their placid depths\nthe dazzling fireworks of the weird and wildly flashing meteors.\nFarther on, but very darkly as if behind a screen, shadowy continents\nrevealed themselves, their surfaces flecked with black cloudy masses,\nprobably great forests, with here and there a--\n\nNothing more! In less than a second the illumination had come to an end,\ninvolving everything in the Moon's direction once more in pitchy\ndarkness.\n\nBut had the impression made on the travellers' eyes been a mere vision\nor the result of a reality? an optical delusion or the shadow of a solid\nfact? Could an observation so rapid, so fleeting, so superficial, be\nreally regarded as a genuine scientific affirmation? Could such a feeble\nglimmer of the invisible disc justify them in pronouncing a decided\nopinion on the inhabitability of the Moon? To such questions as these,\nrising spontaneously and simultaneously in the minds of our travellers,\nthey could not reply at the moment; they could not reply to them long\nafterwards; even to this day they can give them no satisfactory answer.\nAll they could do at the moment, they did. To every sight and sound they\nkept their eyes and ears open, and, by observing the most perfect\nsilence, they sought to render their impressions too vivid to admit of\ndeception.\n\nThere was now, however, nothing to be heard, and very little more to be\nseen. The few coruscations that flashed over the sky, gradually became\nfewer and dimmer; the asteroids sought paths further and further apart,\nand finally disappeared altogether. The ether resumed its original\nblackness. The stars, eclipsed for a moment, blazed out again on the\nfirmament, and the invisible disc, that had flashed into view for an\ninstant, once more relapsed forever into the impenetrable depths of\nnight.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nTHE SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE.\n\n\nExceedingly narrow and exceedingly fortunate had been the escape of the\nProjectile. And from a danger too the most unlikely and the most\nunexpected. Who would have ever dreamed of even the possibility of such\nan encounter? And was all danger over? The sight of one of these erratic\nbolides certainly justified the gravest apprehensions of our travellers\nregarding the existence of others. Worse than the sunken reefs of the\nSouthern Seas or the snags of the Mississippi, how could the Projectile\nbe expected to avoid them? Drifting along blindly through the boundless\nethereal ocean, _her_ inmates, even if they saw the danger, were totally\npowerless to turn her aside. Like a ship without a rudder, like a\nrunaway horse, like a collapsed balloon, like an iceberg in an Atlantic\nstorm, like a boat in the Niagara rapids, she moved on sullenly,\nrecklessly, mechanically, mayhap into the very jaws of the most\nfrightful danger, the bright intelligences within no more able to modify\nher motions even by a finger's breadth than they were able to affect\nMercury's movements around the Sun.\n\nBut did our friends complain of the new perils now looming up before\nthem? They never thought of such a thing. On the contrary, they only\nconsidered themselves (after the lapse of a few minutes to calm their\nnerves) extremely lucky in having witnessed this fresh glory of\nexuberant nature, this transcendent display of fireworks which not only\ncast into absolute insignificance anything of the kind they had ever\nseen on Earth, but had actually enabled them by its dazzling\nillumination to gaze for a second or two at the Moon's mysterious\ninvisible disc. This glorious momentary glance, worth a whole lifetime\nof ordinary existence, had revealed to mortal ken her continents, her\noceans, her forests. But did it also convince them of the existence of\nan atmosphere on her surface whose vivifying molecules would render\n_life_ possible? This question they had again to leave unanswered--it\nwill hardly ever be answered in a way quite satisfactory to human\ncuriosity. Still, infinite was their satisfaction at having hovered even\nfor an instant on the very verge of such a great problem's solution.\n\nIt was now half-past three in the afternoon. The Projectile still\npursued its curving but otherwise unknown path over the Moon's invisible\nface. Had this path been disturbed by that dangerous meteor? There was\nevery reason to fear so--though, disturbance or no disturbance, the\ncurve it described should still be one strictly in accordance with the\nlaws of Mechanical Philosophy. Whether it was a parabola or a hyperbola,\nhowever, or whether it was disturbed or not, made very little difference\nas, in any case, the Projectile was bound to quit pretty soon the cone\nof the shadow, at a point directly opposite to where it had entered it.\nThis cone could not possibly be of very great extent, considering the\nvery slight ratio borne by the Moon's diameter when compared with the\nSun's. Still, to all appearances, the Projectile seemed to be quite as\ndeeply immersed in the shadow as ever, and there was apparently not the\nslightest sign of such a state of things coming soon to an end. At what\nrate was the Projectile now moving? Hard to say, but certainly not\nslowly, certainly rapidly enough to be out of the shadow by this time,\nif describing a curve rigidly parabolic. Was the curve therefore _not_\nparabolic? Another puzzling problem and sadly bewildering to poor\nBarbican, who had now almost lost his reason by attempting to clear up\nquestions that were proving altogether too profound for his overworked\nbrains.\n\nNot that he ever thought of taking rest. Not that his companions thought\nof taking rest. Far from it. With senses as high-strung as ever, they\nstill watched carefully for every new fact, every unexpected incident\nthat might throw some light on the sidereal investigations. Even their\ndinner, or what was called so, consisted of only a few bits of bread and\nmeat, distributed by Ardan at five o'clock, and swallowed mechanically.\nThey did not even turn on the gas full head to see what they were\neating; each man stood solidly at his window, the glass of which they\nhad enough to do in keeping free from the rapidly condensing moisture.\n\nAt about half-past five, however, M'Nicholl, who had been gazing for\nsome time with his telescope in a particular direction, called the\nattention of his companions to some bright specks of light barely\ndiscernible in that part of the horizon towards which the Projectile was\nevidently moving. His words were hardly uttered when his companions\nannounced the same discovery. They could soon all see the glittering\nspecks not only becoming more and more numerous, but also gradually\nassuming the shape of an extremely slender, but extremely brilliant\ncrescent. Rapidly more brilliant and more decided in shape the profile\ngradually grew, till it soon resembled the first faint sketch of the New\nMoon that we catch of evenings in the western sky, or rather the first\nglimpse we get of her limb as it slowly moves out of eclipse. But it was\ninconceivably brighter than either, and was furthermore strangely\nrelieved by the pitchy blackness both of sky and Moon. In fact, it soon\nbecame so brilliant as to dispel in a moment all doubt as to its\nparticular nature. No meteor could present such a perfect shape; no\nvolcano, such dazzling splendor.\n\n\"The Sun!\" cried Barbican.\n\n\"The Sun?\" asked M'Nicholl and Ardan in some astonishment.\n\n\"Yes, dear friends; it is the Sun himself that you now see; these\nsummits that you behold him gilding are the mountains that lie on the\nMoon's southern rim. We are rapidly nearing her south pole.\"\n\n\"After doubling her north pole!\" cried Ardan; \"why, we must be\ncircumnavigating her!\"\n\n\"Exactly; sailing all around her.\"\n\n\"Hurrah! Then we're all right at last! There's nothing more to fear from\nyour hyperbolas or parabolas or any other of your open curves!\"\n\n\"Nothing more, certainly, from an open curve, but every thing from a\nclosed one.\"\n\n\"A closed curve! What is it called? And what is the trouble?\"\n\n\"An eclipse it is called; and the trouble is that, instead of flying off\ninto the boundless regions of space, our Projectile will probably\ndescribe an elliptical orbit around the Moon--\"\n\n--\"What!\" cried M'Nicholl, in amazement, \"and be her satellite for\never!\"\n\n\"All right and proper,\" said Ardan; \"why shouldn't she have one of her\nown?\"\n\n\"Only, my dear friend,\" said Barbican to Ardan, \"this change of curve\ninvolves no change in the doom of the Projectile. We are as infallibly\nlost by an ellipse as by a parabola.\"\n\n\"Well, there was one thing I never could reconcile myself to in the\nwhole arrangement,\" replied Ardan cheerfully; \"and that was destruction\nby an open curve. Safe from that, I could say, 'Fate, do your worst!'\nBesides, I don't believe in the infallibility of your ellipsic. It may\nprove just as unreliable as the hyperbola. And it is no harm to hope\nthat it may!\"\n\nFrom present appearances there was very little to justify Ardan's hope.\nBarbican's theory of the elliptic orbit was unfortunately too well\ngrounded to allow a single reasonable doubt to be expressed regarding\nthe Projectile's fate. It was to gravitate for ever around the Moon--a\nsub-satellite. It was a new born individual in the astral universe, a\nmicrocosm, a little world in itself, containing, however, only three\ninhabitants and even these destined to perish pretty soon for want of\nair. Our travellers, therefore, had no particular reason for rejoicing\nover the new destiny reserved for the Projectile in obedience to the\ninexorable laws of the centripetal and centrifugal forces. They were\nsoon, it is true, to have the opportunity of beholding once more the\nilluminated face of the Moon. They might even live long enough to catch\na last glimpse of the distant Earth bathed in the glory of the solar\nrays. They might even have strength enough left to be able to chant one\nsolemn final eternal adieu to their dear old Mother World, upon whose\nfeatures their mortal eyes should never again rest in love and longing!\nThen, what was their Projectile to become? An inert, lifeless, extinct\nmass, not a particle better than the most defunct asteroid that wanders\nblindly through the fields of ether. A gloomy fate to look forward to.\nYet, instead of grieving over the inevitable, our bold travellers\nactually felt thrilled with delight at the prospect of even a momentary\ndeliverance from those gloomy depths of darkness and of once more\nfinding themselves, even if only for a few hours, in the cheerful\nprecincts illuminated by the genial light of the blessed Sun!\n\nThe ring of light, in the meantime, becoming brighter and brighter,\nBarbican was not long in discovering and pointing out to his companions\nthe different mountains that lay around the Moon's south pole.\n\n\"There is _Leibnitz_ on your right,\" said he, \"and on your left you can\neasily see the peaks of _Doerfel_. Belonging rather to the Moon's dark\nside than to her Earth side, they are visible to terrestrial astronomers\nonly when she is in her highest northern latitudes. Those faint peaks\nbeyond them that you can catch with such difficulty must be those of\n_Newton_ and _Curtius_.\"\n\n\"How in the world can you tell?\" asked Ardan.\n\n\"They are the highest mountains in the circumpolar regions,\" replied\nBarbican. \"They have been measured with the greatest care; _Newton_ is\n23,000 feet high.\"\n\n\"More or less!\" laughed Ardan. \"What Delphic oracle says so?\"\n\n\"Dear friend,\" replied Barbican quietly, \"the visible mountains of the\nMoon have been measured so carefully and so accurately that I should\nhardly hesitate in affirming their altitude to be as well known as that\nof Mont Blanc, or, at least, as those of the chief peaks in the\nHimalayahs or the Rocky Mountain Range.\"\n\n\"I should like to know how people set about it,\" observed Ardan\nincredulously.\n\n\"There are several well known methods of approaching this problem,\"\nreplied Barbican; \"and as these methods, though founded on different\nprinciples, bring us constantly to the same result, we may pretty\nsafely conclude that our calculations are right. We have no time, just\nnow to draw diagrams, but, if I express myself clearly, you will no\ndoubt easily catch the general principle.\"\n\n\"Go ahead!\" answered Ardan. \"Anything but Algebra.\"\n\n\"We want no Algebra now,\" said Barbican, \"It can't enable us to find\nprinciples, though it certainly enables us to apply them. Well. The Sun\nat a certain altitude shines on one side of a mountain and flings a\nshadow on the other. The length of this shadow is easily found by means\nof a telescope, whose object glass is provided with a micrometer. This\nconsists simply of two parallel spider threads, one of which is\nstationary and the other movable. The Moon's real diameter being known\nand occupying a certain space on the object glass, the exact space\noccupied by the shadow can be easily ascertained by means of the movable\nthread. This space, compared with the Moon's space, will give us the\nlength of the shadow. Now, as under the same circumstances a certain\nheight can cast only a certain shadow, of course a knowledge of the one\nmust give you that of the other, and _vice versa_. This method, stated\nroughly, was that followed by Galileo, and, in our own day, by Beer and\nMaedler, with extraordinary success.\"\n\n\"I certainly see some sense in this method,\" said Ardan, \"if they took\nextraordinary pains to observe correctly. The least carelessness would\nset them wrong, not only by feet but by miles. We have time enough,\nhowever, to listen to another method before we get into the full blaze\nof the glorious old Sol.\"\n\n\"The other method,\" interrupted M'Nicholl laying down his telescope to\nrest his eyes, and now joining in the conversation to give himself\nsomething to do, \"is called that of the _tangent rays_. A solar ray,\nbarely passing the edge of the Moon's surface, is caught on the peak of\na mountain the rest of which lies in shadow. The distance between this\nstarry peak and the line separating the light from the darkness, we\nmeasure carefully by means of our telescope. Then--\"\n\n\"I see it at a glance!\" interrupted Ardan with lighting eye; \"the ray,\nbeing a tangent, of course makes right angles with the radius, which is\nknown: consequently we have two sides and one angle--quite enough to\nfind the other parts of the triangle. Very ingenious--but now, that I\nthink of it--is not this method absolutely impracticable for every\nmountain except those in the immediate neighborhood of the light and\nshadow line?\"\n\n\"That's a defect easily remedied by patience,\" explained Barbican--the\nCaptain, who did not like being interrupted, having withdrawn to his\ntelescope--\"As this line is continually changing, in course of time all\nthe mountains must come near it. A third method--to measure the mountain\nprofile directly by means of the micrometer--is evidently applicable\nonly to altitudes lying exactly on the lunar rim.\"\n\n\"That is clear enough,\" said Ardan, \"and another point is also very\nclear. In Full Moon no measurement is possible. When no shadows are\nmade, none can be measured. Measurements, right or wrong, are possible\nonly when the solar rays strike the Moon's surface obliquely with regard\nto the observer. Am I right, Signor Barbicani, maestro illustrissimo?\"\n\n\"Perfectly right,\" replied Barbican. \"You are an apt pupil.\"\n\n\"Say that again,\" said Ardan. \"I want Mac to hear it.\"\n\nBarbican humored him by repeating the observation, but M'Nicholl would\nonly notice it by a grunt of doubtful meaning.\n\n\"Was Galileo tolerably successful in his calculations?\" asked Ardan,\nresuming the conversation.\n\nBefore answering this question, Barbican unrolled the map of the Moon,\nwhich a faint light like that of day-break now enabled him to examine.\nHe then went on: \"Galileo was wonderfully successful--considering that\nthe telescope which he employed was a poor instrument of his own\nconstruction, magnifying only thirty times. He gave the lunar mountains\na height of about 26,000 feet--an altitude cut down by Hevelius, but\nalmost doubled by Riccioli. Herschel was the first to come pretty close\nto the truth, but Beer and Maedler, whose _Mappa Selenographica_ now\nlies before us, have left really nothing more to be done for lunar\nastronomy--except, of course, to pay a personal visit to the\nMoon--which we have tried to do, but I fear with a very poor prospect of\nsuccess.\"\n\n\"Cheer up! cheer up!\" cried Ardan. \"It's not all over yet by long odds.\nWho can say what is still in store for us? Another bolide may shunt us\noff our ellipse and even send us to the Moon's surface.\"\n\nThen seeing Barbican shake his head ominously and his countenance become\nmore and more depressed, this true friend tried to brighten him up a bit\nby feigning to take deep interest in a subject that to him was\nabsolutely the driest in the world.\n\n\"Meer and Baedler--I mean Beer and Maedler,\" he went on, \"must have\nmeasured at least forty or fifty mountains to their satisfaction.\"\n\n\"Forty or fifty!\" exclaimed Barbican. \"They measured no fewer than a\nthousand and ninety-five lunar mountains and crater summits with a\nperfect success. Six of these reach an altitude of upwards of 18,000\nfeet, and twenty-two are more than 15,000 feet high.\"\n\n\"Which is the highest in the lot?\" asked Ardan, keenly relishing\nBarbican's earnestness.\n\n\"_Doerfel_ in the southern hemisphere, the peak of which I have just\npointed out, is the highest of the lunar mountains so far measured,\"\nreplied Barbican. \"It is nearly 25,000 feet high.\"\n\n\"Indeed! Five thousand feet lower than Mount Everest--still for a lunar\nmountain, it is quite a respectable altitude.\"\n\n\"Respectable! Why it's an enormous altitude, my dear friend, if you\ncompare it with the Moon's diameter. The Earth's diameter being more\nthan 3-1/2 times greater than the Moon's, if the Earth's mountains bore\nthe same ratio to those of the Moon, Everest should be more than sixteen\nmiles high, whereas it is not quite six.\"\n\n\"How do the general heights of the Himalayahs compare with those of the\nhighest lunar mountains?\" asked Ardan, wondering what would be his next\nquestion.\n\n\"Fifteen peaks in the eastern or higher division of the Himalayahs, are\nhigher than the loftiest lunar peaks,\" replied Barbican. \"Even in the\nwestern, or lower section of the Himalayahs, some of the peaks exceed\n_Doerfel_.\"\n\n\"Which are the chief lunar mountains that exceed Mont Blanc in\naltitude?\" asked Ardan, bravely suppressing a yawn.\n\n\"The following dozen, ranged, if my memory does not fail me, in the\nexact order of their respective heights;\" replied Barbican, never\nwearied in answering such questions: \"_Newton_, _Curtius_, _Casatus_,\n_Rheita_, _Short_, _Huyghens_, _Biancanus_, _Tycho_, _Kircher_,\n_Clavius_, _Endymion_, and _Catharina_.\"\n\n\"Now those not quite up to Mont Blanc?\" asked Ardan, hardly knowing what\nto say.\n\n\"Here they are, about half a dozen of them: _Moretus_, _Theophilus_,\n_Harpalus_, _Eratosthenes_, _Werner_, and _Piccolomini_,\" answered\nBarbican as ready as a schoolboy reciting his lesson, and pointing them\nout on the map as quickly as a compositor distributing his type.\n\n\"The next in rank?\" asked Ardan, astounded at his friend's wonderful\nmemory.\n\n\"The next in rank,\" replied Barbican promptly, \"are those about the size\nof the Matterhorn, that is to say about 2-3/4 miles in height. They are\n_Macrobius_, _Delambre_, and _Conon_. Come,\" he added, seeing Ardan\nhesitating and at a loss what other question to ask, \"don't you want to\nknow what lunar mountains are about the same height as the Peak of\nTeneriffe? or as Ætna? or as Mount Washington? You need not be afraid of\npuzzling me. I studied up the subject thoroughly, and therefore know all\nabout it.\"\n\n\"Oh! I could listen to you with delight all day long!\" cried Ardan,\nenthusiastically, though with some embarrassment, for he felt a twinge\nof conscience in acting so falsely towards his beloved friend. \"The fact\nis,\" he went on, \"such a rational conversation as the present, on such\nan absorbing subject, with such a perfect master--\"\n\n\"The Sun!\" cried M'Nicholl starting up and cheering. \"He's cleared the\ndisc completely, and he's now himself again! Long life to him! Hurrah!\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried the others quite as enthusiastically (Ardan did not seem\na bit desirous to finish his sentence).\n\nThey tossed their maps aside and hastened to the window.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nTYCHO.\n\n\nIt was now exactly six o'clock in the evening. The Sun, completely clear\nof all contact with the lunar disc, steeped the whole Projectile in his\ngolden rays. The travellers, vertically over the Moon's south pole,\nwere, as Barbican soon ascertained, about 30 miles distant from it, the\nexact distance they had been from the north pole--a proof that the\nelliptic curve still maintained itself with mathematical rigor.\n\nFor some time, the travellers' whole attention was concentrated on the\nglorious Sun. His light was inexpressibly cheering; and his heat, soon\npenetrating the walls of the Projectile, infused a new and sweet life\ninto their chilled and exhausted frames. The ice rapidly disappeared,\nand the windows soon resumed their former perfect transparency.\n\n\"Oh! how good the pleasant sunlight is!\" cried the Captain, sinking on a\nseat in a quiet ecstasy of enjoyment. \"How I pity Ardan's poor friends\nthe Selenites during that night so long and so icy! How impatient they\nmust be to see the Sun back again!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Ardan, also sitting down the better to bask in the vivifying\nrays, \"his light no doubt brings them to life and keeps them alive.\nWithout light or heat during all that dreary winter, they must freeze\nstiff like the frogs or become torpid like the bears. I can't imagine\nhow they could get through it otherwise.\"\n\n\"I'm glad _we're_ through it anyhow,\" observed M'Nicholl. \"I may at once\nacknowledge that I felt perfectly miserable as long as it lasted. I can\nnow easily understand how the combined cold and darkness killed Doctor\nKane's Esquimaux dogs. It was near killing me. I was so miserable that\nat last I could neither talk myself nor bear to hear others talk.\"\n\n\"My own case exactly,\" said Barbican--\"that is,\" he added hastily,\ncorrecting himself, \"I tried to talk because I found Ardan so\ninterested, but in spite of all we said, and saw, and had to think of,\nByron's terrible dream would continually rise up before me:\n\n    \"The bright Sun was extinguished, and the Stars\n    Wandered all darkling in the eternal space,\n    Rayless and pathless, and the icy Earth\n    Swung blind and blackening in the Moonless air.\n    Morn came and went, and came and brought no day!\n    And men forgot their passions in the dread\n    Of this their desolation, and all hearts\n    Were chilled into a selfish prayer for _light_!\"\n\nAs he pronounced these words in accents at once monotonous and\nmelancholy, Ardan, fully appreciative, quietly gesticulated in perfect\ncadence with the rhythm. Then the three men remained completely silent\nfor several minutes. Buried in recollection, or lost in thought, or\nmagnetized by the bright Sun, they seemed to be half asleep while\nsteeping their limbs in his vitalizing beams.\n\nBarbican was the first to dissolve the reverie by jumping up. His sharp\neye had noticed that the base of the Projectile, instead of keeping\nrigidly perpendicular to the lunar surface, turned away a little, so as\nto render the elliptical orbit somewhat elongated. This he made his\ncompanions immediately observe, and also called their attention to the\nfact that from this point they could easily have seen the Earth had it\nbeen Full, but that now, drowned in the Sun's beams, it was quite\ninvisible. A more attractive spectacle, however, soon engaged their\nundivided attention--that of the Moon's southern regions, now brought\nwithin about the third of a mile by their telescopes. Immediately\nresuming their posts by the windows, they carefully noted every feature\npresented by the fantastic panorama that stretched itself out in endless\nlengths beneath their wondering eyes.\n\n[Illustration: THEY SEEMED HALF ASLEEP.]\n\nMount _Leibnitz_ and Mount _Doerfel_ form two separate groups developed\nin the regions of the extreme south. The first extends westwardly from\nthe pole to the 84th parallel; the second, on the southeastern border,\nstarting from the pole, reaches the neighborhood of the 65th. In the\nentangled valleys of their clustered peaks, appeared the dazzling sheets\nof white, noted by Father Secchi, but their peculiar nature Barbican\ncould now examine with a greater prospect of certainty than the\nillustrious Roman astronomer had ever enjoyed.\n\n\"They're beds of snow,\" he said at last in a decided tone.\n\n\"Snow!\" exclaimed M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Yes, snow, or rather glaciers heavily coated with glittering ice. See\nhow vividly they reflect the Sun's rays. Consolidated beds of lava could\nnever shine with such dazzling uniformity. Therefore there must be both\nwater and air on the Moon's surface. Not much--perhaps very little if\nyou insist on it--but the fact that there is some can now no longer be\nquestioned.\"\n\nThis assertion of Barbican's, made so positively by a man who never\ndecided unless when thoroughly convinced, was a great triumph for Ardan,\nwho, as the gracious reader doubtless remembers, had had a famous\ndispute with M'Nicholl on that very subject at Tampa.[D] His eyes\nbrightened and a smile of pleasure played around his lips, but, with a\ngreat effort at self-restraint, he kept perfectly silent and would not\npermit himself even to look in the direction of the Captain. As for\nM'Nicholl, he was apparently too much absorbed in _Doerfel_ and\n_Leibnitz_ to mind anything else.\n\nThese mountains rose from plains of moderate extent, bounded by an\nindefinite succession of walled hollows and ring ramparts. They are the\nonly chains met in this region of ridge-brimmed craters and circles;\ndistinguished by no particular feature, they project a few pointed peaks\nhere and there, some of which exceed four miles and a half in height.\nThis altitude, however, foreshortened as it was by the vertical position\nof the Projectile, could not be noticed just then, even if correct\nobservation had been permitted by the dazzling surface.\n\nOnce more again before the travellers' eyes the Moon's disc revealed\nitself in all the old familiar features so characteristic of lunar\nlandscapes--no blending of tones, no softening of colors, no graduation\nof shadows, every line glaring in white or black by reason of the total\nabsence of refracted light. And yet the wonderfully peculiar character\nof this desolate world imparted to it a weird attraction as strangely\nfascinating as ever.\n\nOver this chaotic region the travellers were now sweeping, as if borne\non the wings of a storm; the peaks defiled beneath them; the yawning\nchasms revealed their ruin-strewn floors; the fissured cracks untwisted\nthemselves; the ramparts showed all their sides; the mysterious holes\npresented their impenetrable depths; the clustered mountain summits and\nrings rapidly decomposed themselves: but in a moment again all had\nbecome more inextricably entangled than ever. Everything appeared to be\nthe finished handiwork of volcanic agency, in the utmost purity and\nhighest perfection. None of the mollifying effects of air or water could\nhere be noticed. No smooth-capped mountains, no gently winding river\nchannels, no vast prairie-lands of deposited sediment, no traces of\nvegetation, no signs of agriculture, no vestiges of a great city.\nNothing but vast beds of glistering lava, now rough like immense piles\nof scoriae and clinker, now smooth like crystal mirrors, and reflecting\nthe Sun's rays with the same intolerable glare. Not the faintest speck\nof life. A world absolutely and completely dead, fixed, still,\nmotionless--save when a gigantic land-slide, breaking off the vertical\nwall of a crater, plunged down into the soundless depths, with all the\nfury too of a crashing avalanche, with all the speed of a Niagara, but,\nin the total absence of atmosphere, noiseless as a feather, as a snow\nflake, as a grain of impalpable dust.\n\nCareful observations, taken by Barbican and repeated by his companions,\nsoon satisfied them that the ridgy outline of the mountains on the\nMoon's border, though perhaps due to different forces from those acting\nin the centre, still presented a character generally uniform. The same\nbulwark-surrounded hollows, the same abrupt projections of surface. Yet\na different arrangement, as Barbican pointed out to his companions,\nmight be naturally expected. In the central portion of the disc, the\nMoon's crust, before solidification, must have been subjected to two\nattractions--that of the Moon herself and that of the Earth--acting,\nhowever, in contrary directions and therefore, in a certain sense,\nserving to neutralize each other. Towards the border of her disc, on the\ncontrary, the terrestrial attraction, having acted in a direction\nperpendicular to that of the lunar, should have exerted greater power,\nand therefore given a different shape to the general contour. But no\nremarkable difference had so far been perceived by terrestrial\nobservers; and none could now be detected by our travellers. Therefore\nthe Moon must have found in herself alone the principle of her shape and\nof her superficial development--that is, she owed nothing to external\ninfluences. \"Arago was perfectly right, therefore,\" concluded Barbican,\n\"in the remarkable opinion to which he gave expression thirty years ago:\n\n'No external action whatever has contributed to the formation of the\nMoon's diversified surface.'\"\n\n\"But don't you think, Barbican,\" asked the Captain, \"that every force,\ninternal or external, that might modify the Moon's shape, has ceased\nlong ago?\"\n\n\"I am rather inclined to that opinion,\" said Barbican; \"it is not,\nhowever, a new one. Descartes maintained that as the Earth is an extinct\nSun, so is the Moon an extinct Earth. My own opinion at present is that\nthe Moon is now the image of death, but I can't say if she has ever been\nthe abode of life.\"\n\n\"The abode of life!\" cried Ardan, who had great repugnance in accepting\nthe idea that the Moon was no better than a heap of cinders and ashes;\n\"why, look there! If those are not as neat a set of the ruins of an\nabandoned city as ever I saw, I should like to know what they are!\"\n\n[Illustration: ONCE MORE THE PIPES OF AN AQUEDUCT.]\n\nHe pointed to some very remarkable rocky formations in the\nneighborhood of _Short_, a ring mountain rising to an altitude\nconsiderably higher than that of Mont Blanc. Even Barbican and M'Nicholl\ncould detect some regularity and semblance of order in the arrangement\nof these rocks, but this, of course, they looked on as a mere freak of\nnature, like the Lurlei Rock, the Giant's Causeway, or the Old Man of\nthe Franconia Mountains. Ardan, however, would not accept such an easy\nmode of getting rid of a difficulty.\n\n\"See the ruins on that bluff,\" he exclaimed; \"those steep sides must\nhave been washed by a great river in the prehistoric times. That was the\nfortress. Farther down lay the city. There are the dismantled ramparts;\nwhy, there's the very coping of a portico still intact! Don't you see\nthree broken pillars lying beside their pedestals? There! a little to\nthe left of those arches that evidently once bore the pipes of an\naqueduct! You don't see them? Well, look a little to the right, and\nthere is something that you can see! As I'm a living man I have no\ndifficulty in discerning the gigantic butments of a great bridge that\nformerly spanned that immense river!\"\n\nDid he really see all this? To this day he affirms stoutly that he did,\nand even greater wonders besides. His companions, however, without\ndenying that he had good grounds for his assertion on this subject or\nquestioning the general accuracy of his observations, content themselves\nwith saying that the reason why they had failed to discover the\nwonderful city, was that Ardan's telescope was of a strange and\npeculiar construction. Being somewhat short-sighted, he had had it\nmanufactured expressly for his own use, but it was of such singular\npower that his companions could not use it without hurting their eyes.\n\nBut, whether the ruins were real or not, the moments were evidently too\nprecious to be lost in idle discussion. The great city of the Selenites\nsoon disappeared on the remote horizon, and, what was of far greater\nimportance, the distance of the Projectile from the Moon's disc began to\nincrease so sensibly that the smaller details of the surface were soon\nlost in a confused mass, and it was only the lofty heights, the wide\ncraters, the great ring mountains, and the vast plains that still\ncontinued to give sharp, distinctive outlines.\n\nA little to their left, the travellers could now plainly distinguish one\nof the most remarkable of the Moon's craters, _Newton_, so well known to\nall lunar astronomers. Its ramparts, forming a perfect circle, rise to\nsuch a height, at least 22,000 feet, as to seem insurmountable.\n\n\"You can, no doubt, notice for yourselves,\" said Barbican, \"that the\nexternal height of this mountain is far from being equal to the depth of\nits crater. The enormous pit, in fact, seems to be a soundless sea of\npitchy black, the bottom of which the Sun's rays have never reached.\nThere, as Humboldt says, reigns eternal darkness, so absolute that\nEarth-shine or even Sunlight is never able to dispel it. Had Michael's\nfriends the old mythologists ever known anything about it, they would\ndoubtless have made it the entrance to the infernal regions. On the\nwhole surface of our Earth, there is no mountain even remotely\nresembling it. It is a perfect type of the lunar crater. Like most of\nthem, it shows that the peculiar formation of the Moon's surface is due,\nfirst, to the cooling of the lunar crust; secondly, to the cracking from\ninternal pressure; and, thirdly, to the violent volcanic action in\nconsequence. This must have been of a far fiercer nature than it has\never been with us. The matter was ejected to a vast height till great\nmountains were formed; and still the action went on, until at last the\nfloor of the crater sank to a depth far lower than the level of the\nexternal plain.\"\n\n\"You may be right,\" said Ardan by way of reply; \"as for me, I'm looking\nout for another city. But I'm sorry to say that our Projectile is\nincreasing its distance so fast that, even if one lay at my feet at this\nmoment, I doubt very much if I could see it a bit better than either you\nor the Captain.\"\n\n_Newton_ was soon passed, and the Projectile followed a course that took\nit directly over the ring mountain _Moretus_. A little to the west the\ntravellers could easily distinguish the summits of _Blancanus_, 7,000\nfeet high, and, towards seven o'clock in the evening, they were\napproaching the neighborhood of _Clavius_.\n\nThis walled-plain, one of the most remarkable on the Moon, lies 55° S.\nby 15° E. Its height is estimated at 16,000 feet, but it is considered\nto be about a hundred and fifty miles in diameter. Of this vast crater,\nthe travellers now at a distance of 250 miles, reduced to 2-1/2 by their\ntelescopes, had a magnificent bird's-eye view.\n\n\"Our terrestrial volcanoes,\" said Barbican, \"as you can now readily\njudge for yourselves, are no more than molehills when compared with\nthose of the Moon. Measure the old craters formed by the early eruptions\nof Vesuvius and Ætna, and you will find them little more than three\nmiles in diameter. The crater of Cantal in central France is only about\nsix miles in width; the famous valley in Ceylon, called the _Crater_,\nthough not at all due to volcanic action, is 44 miles across and is\nconsidered to be the greatest in the world. But even this is very little\nin comparison to the diameter of _Clavius_ lying beneath us at the\npresent moment.\"\n\n\"How much is its diameter?\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"At least one hundred and forty-two miles,\" replied Barbican; \"it is\nprobably the greatest in the Moon, but many others measure more than a\nhundred miles across.\"\n\n\"Dear boys,\" said Ardan, half to himself, half to the others, \"only\nimagine the delicious state of things on the surface of the gentle Moon\nwhen these craters, brimming over with hissing lava, were vomiting\nforth, all at the same time, showers of melted stones, clouds of\nblinding smoke, and sheets of blasting flame! What an intensely\noverpowering spectacle was here presented once, but now, how are the\nmighty fallen! Our Moon, as at present beheld, seems to be nothing more\nthan the skinny spectre left after a brilliant display of fireworks,\nwhen the spluttering crackers, the glittering wheels, the hissing\nserpents, the revolving suns, and the dazzling stars, are all 'played\nout', and nothing remains to tell of the gorgeous spectacle but a few\nblackened sticks and half a dozen half burned bits of pasteboard. I\nshould like to hear one of you trying to explain the cause, the reason,\nthe principle, the philosophy of such tremendous cataclysms!\"\n\nBarbican's only reply was a series of nods, for in truth he had not\nheard a single word of Ardan's philosophic explosion. His ears were with\nhis eyes, and these were obstinately bent on the gigantic ramparts of\n_Clavius_, formed of concentric mountain ridges, which were actually\nleagues in depth. On the floor of the vast cavity, could be seen\nhundreds of smaller craters, mottling it like a skimming dish, and\npierced here and there by sharp peaks, one of which could hardly be less\nthan 15,000 feet high.\n\nAll around, the plain was desolate in the extreme. You could not\nconceive how anything could be barrener than these serrated outlines, or\ngloomier than these shattered mountains--until you looked at the plain\nthat encircled them. Ardan hardly exaggerated when he called it the\nscene of a battle fought thousands of years ago but still white with the\nhideous bones of overthrown peaks, slaughtered mountains and mutilated\nprecipices!\n\n    \"Hills amid the air encountered hills,\n    Hurled to and fro in jaculation dire,\"\n\nmurmured M'Nicholl, who could quote you Milton quite as readily as the\nBible.\n\n\"This must have been the spot,\" muttered Barbican to himself, \"where the\nbrittle shell of the cooling sphere, being thicker than usual, offered\ngreater resistance to an eruption of the red-hot nucleus. Hence these\npiled up buttresses, and these orderless heaps of consolidated lava and\nejected scoriæ.\"\n\nThe Projectile advanced, but the scene of desolation seemed to remain\nunchanged. Craters, ring mountains, pitted plateaus dotted with\nshapeless wrecks, succeeded each other without interruption. For level\nplain, for dark \"sea,\" for smooth plateau, the eye here sought in vain.\nIt was a Swiss Greenland, an Icelandic Norway, a Sahara of shattered\ncrust studded with countless hills of glassy lava.\n\nAt last, in the very centre of this blistered region, right too at its\nvery culmination, the travellers came on the brightest and most\nremarkable mountain of the Moon. In the dazzling _Tycho_ they found it\nan easy matter to recognize the famous lunar point, which the world will\nfor ever designate by the name of the distinguished astronomer of\nDenmark.\n\nThis brilliant luminosity of the southern hemisphere, no one that ever\ngazes at the Full Moon in a cloudless sky, can help noticing. Ardan, who\nhad always particularly admired it, now hailed it as an old friend, and\nalmost exhausted breath, imagination and vocabulary in the epithets with\nwhich he greeted this cynosure of the lunar mountains.\n\n\"Hail!\" he cried, \"thou blazing focus of glittering streaks, thou\ncoruscating nucleus of irradiation, thou starting point of rays\ndivergent, thou egress of meteoric flashes! Hub of the silver wheel that\never rolls in silent majesty over the starry plains of Night! Paragon of\njewels enchased in a carcanet of dazzling brilliants! Eye of the\nuniverse, beaming with heavenly resplendescence!\n\n\"Who shall say what thou art? Diana's nimbus? The golden clasp of her\nfloating robes? The blazing head of the great bolt that rivets the lunar\nhemispheres in union inseverable? Or cans't thou have been some errant\nbolide, which missing its way, butted blindly against the lunar face,\nand there stuck fast, like a Minie ball mashed against a cast-iron\ntarget? Alas! nobody knows. Not even Barbican is able to penetrate thy\nmystery. But one thing _I_ know. Thy dazzling glare so sore my eyes hath\nmade that longer on thy light to gaze I do not dare. Captain, have you\nany smoked glass?\"\n\nIn spite of this anti-climax, Ardan's companions could hardly consider\nhis utterings either as ridiculous or over enthusiastic. They could\neasily excuse his excitement on the subject. And so could we, if we only\nremember that _Tycho_, though nearly a quarter of a million miles\ndistant, is such a luminous point on the lunar disc, that almost any\nmoonlit night it can be easily perceived by the unaided terrestrial eye.\nWhat then must have been its splendor in the eyes of our travellers\nwhose telescopes brought it actually four thousand times nearer! No\nwonder that with smoked glasses, they endeavored to soften off its\neffulgent glare! Then in hushed silence, or at most uttering at\nintervals a few interjections expressive of their intense admiration,\nthey remained for some time completely engrossed in the overwhelming\nspectacle. For the time being, every sentiment, impression, thought,\nfeeling on their part, was concentrated in the eye, just as at other\ntimes under violent excitement every throb of our life is concentrated\nin the heart.\n\n_Tycho_ belongs to the system of lunar craters that is called\n_radiating_, like _Aristarchus_ or _Copernicus_, which had been already\nseen and highly admired by our travellers at their first approach to the\nMoon. But it is decidedly the most remarkable and conspicuous of them\nall. It occupies the great focus of disruption, whence it sends out\ngreat streaks thousands of miles in length; and it gives the most\nunmistakable evidence of the terribly eruptive nature of those forces\nthat once shattered the Moon's solidified shell in this portion of the\nlunar surface.\n\nSituated in the southern latitude of 43° by an eastern longitude of 12°,\n_Tycho's_ crater, somewhat elliptical in shape, is 54 miles in diameter\nand upwards of 16,000 feet in depth. Its lofty ramparts are buttressed\nby other mountains, Mont Blancs in size, all grouped around it, and all\nstreaked with the great divergent fissures that radiate from it as a\ncentre.\n\nOf what this incomparable mountain really is, with all these lines of\nprojections converging towards it and with all these prominent points\nof relief protruding within its crater, photography has, so far, been\nable to give us only a very unsatisfactory idea. The reason too is very\nsimple: it is only at Full Moon that _Tycho_ reveals himself in all his\nsplendor. The shadows therefore vanishing, the perspective\nforeshortenings disappear and the views become little better than a dead\nblank. This is the more to be regretted as this wonderful region is well\nworthy of being represented with the greatest possible photographic\naccuracy. It is a vast agglomeration of holes, craters, ring formations,\na complicated intersection of crests--in short, a distracting volcanic\nnetwork flung over the blistered soil. The ebullitions of the central\neruption still evidently preserve their original form. As they first\nappeared, so they lie. Crystallizing as they cooled, they have\nstereotyped in imperishable characters the aspect formerly presented by\nthe whole Moon's surface under the influences of recent plutonic\nupheaval.\n\nOur travellers were far more fortunate than the photographers. The\ndistance separating them from the peaks of _Tycho's_ concentric terraces\nwas not so considerable as to conceal the principal details from a very\nsatisfactory view. They could easily distinguish the annular ramparts of\nthe external circumvallation, the mountains buttressing the gigantic\nwalls internally as well as externally, the vast esplanades descending\nirregularly and abruptly to the sunken plains all around. They could\neven detect a difference of a few hundred feet in altitude in favor of\nthe western or right hand side over the eastern. They could also see\nthat these dividing ridges were actually inaccessible and completely\nunsurmountable, at least by ordinary terrestrian efforts. No system of\ncastrametation ever devised by Polybius or Vauban could bear the\nslightest comparison with such vast fortifications, A city built on the\nfloor of the circular cavity could be no more reached by the outside\nLunarians than if it had been built in the planet Mars.\n\nThis idea set Ardan off again. \"Yes,\" said he, \"such a city would be at\nonce completely inaccessible, and still not inconveniently situated in a\nplateau full of aspects decidedly picturesque. Even in the depths of\nthis immense crater, Nature, as you can see, has left no flat and empty\nvoid. You can easily trace its special oreography, its various mountain\nsystems which turn it into a regular world on a small scale. Notice its\ncones, its central hills, its valleys, its substructures already cut and\ndry and therefore quietly prepared to receive the masterpieces of\nSelenite architecture. Down there to the left is a lovely spot for a\nSaint Peter's; to the right, a magnificent site for a Forum; here a\nLouvre could be built capable of entrancing Michael Angelo himself;\nthere a citadel could be raised to which even Gibraltar would be a\nmolehill! In the middle rises a sharp peak which can hardly be less than\na mile in height--a grand pedestal for the statue of some Selenite\nVincent de Paul or George Washington. And around them all is a mighty\nmountain-ring at least 3 miles high, but which, to an eye looking from\nthe centre of our vast city, could not appear to be more than five or\nsix hundred feet. Enormous circus, where mighty Rome herself in her\npalmiest days, though increased tenfold, would have no reason to\ncomplain for want of room!\"\n\nHe stopped for a few seconds, perhaps to take breath, and then resumed:\n\n\"Oh what an abode of serene happiness could be constructed within this\nshadow-fringed ring of the mighty mountains! O blessed refuge,\nunassailable by aught of human ills! What a calm unruffled life could be\nenjoyed within thy hallowed precincts, even by those cynics, those\nhaters of humanity, those disgusted reconstructors of society, those\nmisanthropes and misogynists old and young, who are continually writing\nwhining verses in odd corners of the newspapers!\"\n\n\"Right at last, Ardan, my boy!\" cried M'Nicholl, quietly rubbing the\nglass of his spectacles; \"I should like to see the whole lot of them\ncarted in there without a moment's delay!\"\n\n\"It couldn't hold the half of them!\" observed Barbican drily.\n\n[Footnote D: BALTIMORE GUN CLUB, pp. 295 _et seq._]\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nPUZZLING QUESTIONS.\n\n\nIt was not until the Projectile had passed a little beyond _Tycho's_\nimmense concavity that Barbican and his friends had a good opportunity\nfor observing the brilliant streaks sent so wonderfully flying in all\ndirections from this celebrated mountain as a common centre. They\nexamined them for some time with the closest attention.\n\nWhat could be the nature of this radiating aureola? By what geological\nphenomena could this blazing coma have been possibly produced? Such\nquestions were the most natural things in the world for Barbican and his\ncompanions to propound to themselves, as indeed they have been to every\nastronomer from the beginning of time, and probably will be to the end.\n\nWhat _did_ they see? What you can see, what anybody can see on a clear\nnight when the Moon is full--only our friends had all the advantages of\na closer view. From _Tycho_, as a focus, radiated in all directions, as\nfrom the head of a peeled orange, more than a hundred luminous streaks\nor channels, edges raised, middle depressed--or perhaps _vice versa_,\nowing to an optical illusion--some at least twelve miles wide, some\nfully thirty. In certain directions they ran for a distance of at least\nsix hundred miles, and seemed--especially towards the west, northwest,\nand north--to cover half the southern hemisphere. One of these flashes\nextended as far as _Neander_ on the 40th meridian; another, curving\naround so as to furrow the _Mare Nectaris_, came to an end on the chain\nof the _Pyrenees_, after a course of perhaps a little more than seven\nhundred miles. On the east, some of them barred with luminous network\nthe _Mare Nubium_ and even the _Mare Humorum_.\n\nThe most puzzling feature of these glittering streaks was that they ran\ntheir course directly onward, apparently neither obstructed by valley,\ncrater, or mountain ridge however high. They all started, as said\nbefore, from one common focus, _Tycho's_ crater. From this they\ncertainly all seemed to emanate. Could they be rivers of lava once\nvomited from that centre by resistless volcanic agency and afterwards\ncrystallized into glassy rock? This idea of Herschel's, Barbican had no\nhesitation in qualifying as exceedingly absurd. Rivers running in\nperfectly straight lines, across plains, and _up_ as well as _down_\nmountains!\n\n\"Other astronomers,\" he continued, \"have looked on these streaks as a\npeculiar kind of _moraines_, that is, long lines of erratic blocks\nbelched forth with mighty power at the period of _Tycho's_ own\nupheaval.\"\n\n\"How do you like that theory, Barbican,\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"It's not a particle better than Herschel's,\" was the reply; \"no\nvolcanic action could project rocks to a distance of six or seven\nhundred miles, not to talk of laying them down so regularly that we\ncan't detect a break in them.\"\n\n\"Happy thought!\" cried Ardan suddenly; \"it seems to me that I can tell\nthe cause of these radiating streaks!\"\n\n\"Let us hear it,\" said Barbican.\n\n\"Certainly,\" was Ardan's reply; \"these streaks are all only the parts of\nwhat we call a 'star,' as made by a stone striking ice; or by a ball, a\npane of glass.\"\n\n\"Not bad,\" smiled Barbican approvingly; \"only where is the hand that\nflung the stone or threw the ball?\"\n\n\"The hand is hardly necessary,\" replied Ardan, by no means disconcerted;\n\"but as for the ball, what do you say to a comet?\"\n\nHere M'Nicholl laughed so loud that Ardan was seriously irritated.\nHowever, before he could say anything cutting enough to make the Captain\nmind his manners, Barbican had quickly resumed:\n\n\"Dear friend, let the comets alone, I beg of you; the old astronomers\nfled to them on all occasions and made them explain every difficulty--\"\n\n--\"The comets were all used up long ago--\" interrupted M'Nicholl.\n\n--\"Yes,\" went on Barbican, as serenely as a judge, \"comets, they said,\nhad fallen on the surface in meteoric showers and crushed in the crater\ncavities; comets had dried up the water; comets had whisked off the\natmosphere; comets had done everything. All pure assumption! In your\ncase, however, friend Michael, no comet whatever is necessary. The shock\nthat gave rise to your great 'star' may have come from the interior\nrather than the exterior. A violent contraction of the lunar crust in\nthe process of cooling may have given birth to your gigantic 'star'\nformation.\"\n\n\"I accept the amendment,\" said Ardan, now in the best of humor and\nlooking triumphantly at M'Nicholl.\n\n\"An English scientist,\" continued Barbican, \"Nasmyth by name, is\ndecidedly of your opinion, especially ever since a little experiment of\nhis own has confirmed him in it. He filled a glass globe with water,\nhermetically sealed it, and then plunged it into a hot bath. The\nenclosed water, expanding at a greater rate than the glass, burst the\nlatter, but, in doing so, it made a vast number of cracks all diverging\nin every direction from the focus of disruption. Something like this he\nconceives to have taken place around _Tycho_. As the crust cooled, it\ncracked. The lava from the interior, oozing out, spread itself on both\nsides of the cracks. This certainly explains pretty satisfactorily why\nthose flat glistening streaks are of much greater width than the\nfissures through which the lava had at first made its way to the\nsurface.\"\n\n\"Well done for an Englishman!\" cried Ardan in great spirits.\n\n\"He's no Englishman,\" said M'Nicholl, glad to have an opportunity of\ncoming off with some credit. \"He is the famous Scotch engineer who\ninvented the steam hammer, the steam ram, and discovered the 'willow\nleaves' in the Sun's disc.\"\n\n\"Better and better,\" said Ardan--\"but, powers of Vulcan! What makes it\nso hot? I'm actually roasting!\"\n\nThis observation was hardly necessary to make his companions conscious\nthat by this time they felt extremely uncomfortable. The heat had become\nquite oppressive. Between the natural caloric of the Sun and the\nreflected caloric of the Moon, the Projectile was fast turning into a\nregular bake oven. This transition from intense cold to intense heat was\nalready about quite as much as they could bear.\n\n\"What shall we do, Barbican?\" asked Ardan, seeing that for some time no\none else appeared inclined to say a word.\n\n\"Nothing, at least yet awhile, friend Ardan,\" replied Barbican, \"I have\nbeen watching the thermometer carefully for the last few minutes, and,\nthough we are at present at 38° centigrade, or 100° Fahrenheit, I have\nnoticed that the mercury is slowly falling. You can also easily remark\nfor yourself that the floor of the Projectile is turning away more and\nmore from the lunar surface. From this I conclude quite confidently, and\nI see that the Captain agrees with me, that all danger of death from\nintense heat, though decidedly alarming ten minutes ago, is over for the\npresent and, for some time at least, it may be dismissed from further\nconsideration.\"\n\n\"I'm not very sorry for it,\" said Ardan cheerfully; \"neither to be\nbaked like a pie in an oven nor roasted like a fat goose before a fire\nis the kind of death I should like to die of.\"\n\n\"Yet from such a death you would suffer no more than your friends the\nSelenites are exposed to every day of their lives,\" said the Captain,\nevidently determined on getting up an argument.\n\n\"I understand the full bearing of your allusion, my dear Captain,\"\nreplied Ardan quickly, but not at all in a tone showing that he was\ndisposed to second M'Nicholl's expectations.\n\nHe was, in fact, fast losing all his old habits of positivism. Latterly\nhe had seen much, but he had reflected more. The deeper he had\nreflected, the more inclined he had become to accept the conclusion that\nthe less he knew. Hence he had decided that if M'Nicholl wanted an\nargument it should not be with him. All speculative disputes he should\nhenceforth avoid; he would listen with pleasure to all that could be\nurged on each side; he might even skirmish a little here and there as\nthe spirit moved him; but a regular pitched battle on a subject purely\nspeculative he was fully determined never again to enter into.\n\n\"Yes, dear Captain,\" he continued, \"that pointed arrow of yours has by\nno means missed its mark, but I can't deny that my faith is beginning to\nbe what you call a little 'shaky' in the existence of my friends the\nSelenites. However, I should like to have your square opinion on the\nmatter. Barbican's also. We have witnessed many strange lunar phenomena\nlately, closer and clearer than mortal eye ever rested on them before.\nHas what we have seen confirmed any theory of yours or confounded any\nhypothesis? Have you seen enough to induce you to adopt decided\nconclusions? I will put the question formally. Do you, or do you not,\nthink that the Moon resembles the Earth in being the abode of animals\nand intelligent beings? Come, answer, _messieurs_. Yes, or no?\"\n\n\"I think we can answer your question categorically,\" replied Barbican,\n\"if you modify its form a little.\"\n\n\"Put the question any way you please,\" said Ardan; \"only you answer it!\nI'm not particular about the form.\"\n\n\"Good,\" said Barbican; \"the question, being a double one, demands a\ndouble answer. First: _Is the Moon inhabitable?_ Second: _Has the Moon\never been inhabited?_\"\n\n\"That's the way to go about it,\" said the Captain. \"Now then, Ardan,\nwhat do _you_ say to the first question? Yes, or no?\"\n\n\"I really can't say anything,\" replied Ardan. \"In the presence of such\ndistinguished scientists, I'm only a listener, a 'mere looker on in\nVienna' as the Divine Williams has it. However, for the sake of\nargument, suppose I reply in the affirmative, and say that _the Moon is\ninhabitable_.\"\n\n\"If you do, I shall most unhesitatingly contradict you,\" said Barbican,\nfeeling just then in splendid humor for carrying on an argument, not, of\ncourse, for the sake of contradicting or conquering or crushing or\nshowing off or for any other vulgar weakness of lower minds, but for the\nnoble and indeed the only motive that should impel a philosopher--that\nof _enlightening_ and _convincing_, \"In taking the negative side,\nhowever, or saying that the Moon is not inhabitable, I shall not be\nsatisfied with merely negative arguments. Many words, however, are not\nrequired. Look at her present condition: her atmosphere dwindled away to\nthe lowest ebb; her 'seas' dried up or very nearly so; her waters\nreduced to next to nothing; her vegetation, if existing at all, existing\nonly on the scantiest scale; her transitions from intense heat to\nintense cold, as we ourselves can testify, sudden in the extreme; her\nnights and her days each nearly 360 hours long. With all this positively\nagainst her and nothing at all that we know of positively for her, I\nhave very little hesitation in saying that the Moon appears to me to be\nabsolutely uninhabitable. She seems to me not only unpropitious to the\ndevelopment of the animal kingdom but actually incapable of sustaining\nlife at all--that is, in the sense that we usually attach to such a\nterm.\"\n\n\"That saving clause is well introduced, friend Barbican,\" said\nM'Nicholl, who, seeing no chance of demolishing Ardan, had not yet made\nup his mind as to having another little bout with the President. \"For\nsurely you would not venture to assert that the Moon is uninhabitable by\na race of beings having an organization different from ours?\"\n\n\"That question too, Captain,\" replied Barbican, \"though a much more\ndifficult one, I shall try to answer. First, however, let us see,\nCaptain, if we agree on some fundamental points. How do we detect the\nexistence of life? Is it not by _movement_? Is not _motion_ its result,\nno matter what may be its organization?\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the Captain in a drawling way, \"I guess we may grant that.\"\n\n\"Then, dear friends,\" resumed Barbican, \"I must remind you that, though\nwe have had the privilege of observing the lunar continents at a\ndistance of not more than one-third of a mile, we have never yet caught\nsight of the first thing moving on her surface. The presence of\nhumanity, even of the lowest type, would have revealed itself in some\nform or other, by boundaries, by buildings, even by ruins. Now what\n_have_ we seen? Everywhere and always, the geological works of _nature_;\nnowhere and never, the orderly labors of _man_. Therefore, if any\nrepresentatives of animal life exist in the Moon, they must have taken\nrefuge in those bottomless abysses where our eyes were unable to track\nthem. And even this I can't admit. They could not always remain in these\ncavities. If there is any atmosphere at all in the Moon, it must be\nfound in her immense low-lying plains. Over those plains her inhabitants\nmust have often passed, and on those plains they must in some way or\nother have left some mark, some trace, some vestige of their existence,\nwere it even only a road. But you both know well that nowhere are any\nsuch traces visible: therefore, they don't exist; therefore, no lunar\ninhabitants exist--except, of course, such a race of beings, if we can\nimagine any such, as could exist without revealing their existence by\n_movement_.\"\n\n\"That is to say,\" broke in Ardan, to give what he conceived a sharper\npoint to Barbican's cogent arguments, \"such a race of beings as could\nexist without existing!\"\n\n\"Precisely,\" said Barbican: \"Life without movement, and no life at all,\nare equivalent expressions.\"\n\n\"Captain,\" said Ardan, with all the gravity he could assume, \"have you\nanything more to say before the Moderator of our little Debating Society\ngives his opinion on the arguments regarding the question before the\nhouse?\"\n\n\"No more at present,\" said the Captain, biding his time.\n\n\"Then,\" resumed Ardan, rising with much dignity, \"the Committee on Lunar\nExplorations, appointed by the Honorable Baltimore Gun Club, solemnly\nassembled in the Projectile belonging to the aforesaid learned and\nrespectable Society, having carefully weighed all the arguments advanced\non each side of the question, and having also carefully considered all\nthe new facts bearing on the case that have lately come under the\npersonal notice of said Committee, unanimously decides negatively on the\nquestion now before the chair for investigation--namely, 'Is the Moon\ninhabitable?' Barbican, as chairman of the Committee, I empower you to\nduly record our solemn decision--_No, the Moon is not inhabitable_.\"\n\nBarbican, opening his note-book, made the proper entry among the minutes\nof the meeting of December 6th.\n\n\"Now then, gentlemen,\" continued Ardan, \"if you are ready for the second\nquestion, the necessary complement of the first, we may as well approach\nit at once. I propound it for discussion in the following form: _Has the\nMoon ever been inhabited?_ Captain, the Committee would be delighted to\nhear your remarks on the subject.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" began the Captain in reply, \"I had formed my opinion\nregarding the ancient inhabitability of our Satellite long before I ever\ndreamed of testing my theory by anything like our present journey. I\nwill now add that all our observations, so far made, have only served to\nconfirm me in my opinion. I now venture to assert, not only with every\nkind of probability in my favor but also on what I consider most\nexcellent arguments, that the Moon was once inhabited by a race of\nbeings possessing an organization similar to our own, that she once\nproduced animals anatomically resembling our terrestrial animals, and\nthat all these living organizations, human and animal, have had their\nday, that that day vanished ages and ages ago, and that, consequently,\n_Life_, extinguished forever, can never again reveal its existence there\nunder any form.\"\n\n\"Is the Chair,\" asked Ardan, \"to infer from the honorable gentleman's\nobservations that he considers the Moon to be a world much older than\nthe Earth?\"\n\n\"Not exactly that,\" replied the Captain without hesitation; \"I rather\nmean to say that the Moon is a world that grew old more rapidly than the\nEarth; that it came to maturity earlier; that it ripened quicker, and\nwas stricken with old age sooner. Owing to the difference of the volumes\nof the two worlds, the organizing forces of matter must have been\ncomparatively much more violent in the interior of the Moon than in the\ninterior of the Earth. The present condition of its surface, as we see\nit lying there beneath us at this moment, places this assertion beyond\nall possibility of doubt. Wrinkled, pitted, knotted, furrowed, scarred,\nnothing that we can show on Earth resembles it. Moon and Earth were\ncalled into existence by the Creator probably at the same period of\ntime. In the first stages of their existence, they do not seem to have\nbeen anything better than masses of gas. Acted upon by various forces\nand various influences, all of course directed by an omnipotent\nintelligence, these gases by degrees became liquid, and the liquids grew\ncondensed into solids until solidity could retain its shape. But the two\nheavenly bodies, though starting at the same time, developed at a very\ndifferent ratio. Most undoubtedly, our globe was still gaseous or at\nmost only liquid, at the period when the Moon, already hardened by\ncooling, began to become inhabitable.\"\n\n\"_Most undoubtedly_ is good!\" observed Ardan admiringly.\n\n\"At this period,\" continued the learned Captain, \"an atmosphere\nsurrounded her. The waters, shut in by this gaseous envelope, could no\nlonger evaporate. Under the combined influences of air, water, light,\nand solar heat as well as internal heat, vegetation began to overspread\nthe continents by this time ready to receive it, and most undoubtedly--I\nmean--a--incontestably--it was at this epoch that _life_ manifested\nitself on the lunar surface. I say _incontestably_ advisedly, for Nature\nnever exhausts herself in producing useless things, and therefore a\nworld, so wonderfully inhabitable, _must_ of necessity have had\ninhabitants.\"\n\n\"I like _of necessity_ too,\" said Ardan, who could never keep still; \"I\nalways did, when I felt my arguments to be what you call a little\nshaky.\"\n\n\"But, my dear Captain,\" here observed Barbican, \"have you taken into\nconsideration some of the peculiarities of our Satellite which are\ndecidedly opposed to the development of vegetable and animal existence?\nThose nights and days, for instance, 354 hours long?\"\n\n\"I have considered them all,\" answered the brave Captain. \"Days and\nnights of such an enormous length would at the present time, I grant,\ngive rise to variations in temperature altogether intolerable to any\nordinary organization. But things were quite different in the era\nalluded to. At that time, the atmosphere enveloped the Moon in a gaseous\nmantle, and the vapors took the shape of clouds. By the screen thus\nformed by the hand of nature, the heat of the solar rays was tempered\nand the nocturnal radiation retarded. Light too, as well as heat, could\nbe modified, tempered, and _genialized_ if I may use the expression, by\nthe air. This produced a healthy counterpoise of forces, which, now that\nthe atmosphere has completely disappeared, of course exists no longer.\nBesides--friend Ardan, you will excuse me for telling you something new,\nsomething that will surprise you--\"\n\n--\"Surprise me, my dear boy, fire away surprising me!\" cried Ardan. \"I\nlike dearly to be surprised. All I regret is that you scientists have\nsurprised me so much already that I shall never have a good, hearty,\ngenuine surprise again!\"\n\n--\"I am most firmly convinced,\" continued the Captain, hardly waiting\nfor Ardan to finish, \"that, at the period of the Moon's occupancy by\nliving creatures, her days and nights were by no means 354 hours long.\"\n\n\"Well! if anything could surprise me,\" said Ardan quickly, \"such an\nassertion as that most certainly would. On what does the honorable\ngentleman base his _most firm conviction_?\"\n\n\"We know,\" replied the Captain, \"that the reason of the Moon's present\nlong day and night is the exact equality of the periods of her rotation\non her axis and of her revolution around the Earth. When she has turned\nonce around the Earth, she has turned once around herself. Consequently,\nher back is turned to the Sun during one-half of the month; and her face\nduring the other half. Now, I don't believe that this state of things\nexisted at the period referred to.\"\n\n\"The gentleman does not believe!\" exclaimed Ardan. \"The Chair must be\nexcused for reminding the honorable gentleman that it can not accept his\nincredulity as a sound and valid argument. These two movements have\ncertainly equal periods now; why not always?\"\n\n\"For the simple reason that this equality of periods is due altogether\nto the influence of terrestrial attraction,\" replied the ready Captain.\n\"This attraction at present, I grant, is so great that it actually\ndisables the Moon from revolving on herself; consequently she must\nalways keep the same face turned towards the Earth. But who can assert\nthat this attraction was powerful enough to exert the same influence at\nthe epoch when the Earth herself was only a fluid substance? In fact,\nwho can even assert that the Moon has always been the Earth's\nsatellite?\"\n\n\"Ah, who indeed?\" exclaimed Ardan. \"And who can assert that the Moon did\nnot exist long before the Earth was called into being at all? In fact,\nwho can assert that the Earth itself is not a great piece broken off the\nMoon? Nothing like asking absurd questions! I've often found them\npassing for the best kind of arguments!\"\n\n\"Friend Ardan,\" interposed Barbican, who noticed that the Captain was a\nlittle too disconcerted to give a ready reply; \"Friend Ardan, I must say\nyou are not quite wrong in showing how certain methods of reasoning,\nlegitimate enough in themselves, may be easily abused by being carried\ntoo far. I think, however, that the Captain might maintain his position\nwithout having recourse to speculations altogether too gigantic for\nordinary intellect. By simply admitting the insufficiency of the\nprimordeal attraction to preserve a perfect balance between the\nmovements of the lunar rotation and revolution, we can easily see how\nthe nights and days could once succeed each other on the Moon exactly as\nthey do at present on the Earth.\"\n\n\"Nothing can be clearer!\" resumed the brave Captain, once more rushing\nto the charge. \"Besides, even without this alternation of days and\nnights, life on the lunar surface was quite possible.\"\n\n\"Of course it was possible,\" said Ardan; \"everything is possible except\nwhat contradicts itself. It is possible too that every possibility is a\nfact; therefore, it _is_ a fact. However,\" he added, not wishing to\npress the Captain's weak points too closely, \"let all these logical\nniceties pass for the present. Now that you have established the\nexistence of your humanity in the Moon, the Chair would respectfully ask\nhow it has all so completely disappeared?\"\n\n\"It disappeared completely thousands, perhaps millions, of years ago,\"\nreplied the unabashed Captain. \"It perished from the physical\nimpossibility of living any longer in a world where the atmosphere had\nbecome by degrees too rare to be able to perform its functions as the\ngreat resuscitating medium of dependent existences. What took place on\nthe Moon is only what is to take place some day or other on the Earth,\nwhen it is sufficiently cooled off.\"\n\n\"Cooled off?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the Captain as confidently and with as little hesitation\nas if he was explaining some of the details of his great machine-shop in\nPhiladelphia; \"You see, according as the internal fire near the surface\nwas extinguished or was withdrawn towards the centre, the lunar shell\nnaturally cooled off. The logical consequences, of course, then\ngradually took place: extinction of organized beings; and then\nextinction of vegetation. The atmosphere, in the meantime, became\nthinner and thinner--partly drawn off with the water evaporated by the\nterrestrial attraction, and partly sinking with the solid water into the\ncrust-cracks caused by cooling. With the disappearance of air capable of\nrespiration, and of water capable of motion, the Moon, of course, became\nuninhabitable. From that day it became the abode of death, as completely\nas it is at the present moment.\"\n\n\"That is the fate in store for our Earth?\"\n\n\"In all probability.\"\n\n\"And when is it to befall us?\"\n\n\"Just as soon as the crust becomes cold enough to be uninhabitable.\"\n\n\"Perhaps your philosophership has taken the trouble to calculate how\nmany years it will take our unfortunate _Terra Mater_ to cool off?\"\n\n\"Well; I have.\"\n\n\"And you can rely on your figures?\"\n\n\"Implicitly.\"\n\n\"Why not tell it at once then to a fellow that's dying of impatience to\nknow all about it? Captain, the Chair considers you one of the most\ntantalizing creatures in existence!\"\n\n\"If you only listen, you will hear,\" replied M'Nicholl quietly. \"By\ncareful observations, extended through a series of many years, men have\nbeen able to discover the average loss of temperature endured by the\nEarth in a century. Taking this as the ground work of their\ncalculations, they have ascertained that our Earth shall become an\nuninhabitable planet in about--\"\n\n\"Don't cut her life too short! Be merciful!\" cried Ardan in a pleading\ntone half in earnest. \"Come, a good long day, your Honor! A good long\nday!\"\n\n\"The planet that we call the Earth,\" continued the Captain, as grave as\na judge, \"will become uninhabitable to human beings, after a lapse of\n400 thousand years from the present time.\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried Ardan, much relieved. \"_Vive la Science!_ Henceforward,\nwhat miscreant will persist in saying that the Savants are good for\nnothing? Proudly pointing to this calculation, can't they exclaim to all\ndefamers: 'Silence, croakers! Our services are invaluable! Haven't we\ninsured the Earth for 400 thousand years?' Again I say _vive la\nScience!_\"\n\n\"Ardan,\" began the Captain with some asperity, \"the foundations on\nwhich Science has raised--\"\n\n\"I'm half converted already,\" interrupted Ardan in a cheery tone; \"I do\nreally believe that Science is not altogether unmitigated homebogue!\n_Vive_--\"\n\n--\"But what has all this to do with the question under discussion?\"\ninterrupted Barbican, desirous to keep his friends from losing their\ntempers in idle disputation.\n\n\"True!\" said Ardan. \"The Chair, thankful for being called to order,\nwould respectfully remind the house that the question before it is: _Has\nthe Moon been inhabited?_ Affirmative has been heard. Negative is called\non to reply. Mr. Barbican has the _parole_.\"\n\nBut Mr. Barbican was unwilling just then to enter too deeply into such\nan exceedingly difficult subject. \"The probabilities,\" he contented\nhimself with saying, \"would appear to be in favor of the Captain's\nspeculations. But we must never forget that they _are_\nspeculations--nothing more. Not the slightest evidence has yet been\nproduced that the Moon is anything else than 'a dead and useless waste\nof extinct volcanoes.' No signs of cities, no signs of buildings, not\neven of ruins, none of anything that could be reasonably ascribed to the\nlabors of intelligent creatures. No sign of change of any kind has been\nestablished. As for the agreement between the Moon's rotation and her\nrevolution, which compels her to keep the same face constantly turned\ntowards the Earth, we don't know that it has not existed from the\nbeginning. As for what is called the effect of volcanic agency upon her\nsurface, we don't know that her peculiar blistered appearance may not\nhave been brought about altogether by the bubbling and spitting that\nblisters molten iron when cooling and contracting. Some close observers\nhave even ventured to account for her craters by saying they were due to\npelting showers of meteoric rain. Then again as to her atmosphere--why\nshould she have lost her atmosphere? Why should it sink into craters?\nAtmosphere is gas, great in volume, small in matter; where would there\nbe room for it? Solidified by the intense cold? Possibly in the night\ntime. But would not the heat of the long day be great enough to thaw it\nback again? The same trouble attends the alleged disappearance of the\nwater. Swallowed up in the cavernous cracks, it is said. But why are\nthere cracks? Cooling is not always attended by cracking. Water cools\nwithout cracking; cannon balls cool without cracking. Too much stress\nhas been laid on the great difference between the _nucleus_ and the\n_crust_: it is really impossible to say where one ends and the other\nbegins. In fact, no theory explains satisfactorily anything regarding\nthe present state of the Moon's surface. In fact, from the day that\nGalileo compared her clustering craters to 'eyes on a peacock's tail' to\nthe present time, we must acknowledge that we know nothing more than we\ncan actually see, not one particle more of the Moon's history than our\ntelescopes reveal to our corporal eyes!\"\n\n\"In the lucid opinion of the honorable and learned gentleman who spoke\nlast,\" said Ardan, \"the Chair is compelled to concur. Therefore, as to\nthe second question before the house for deliberation, _Has the Moon\nbeen ever inhabited?_ the Chair gets out of its difficulty, as a Scotch\njury does when it has not evidence enough either way, by returning a\nsolemn verdict of _Not Proven!_\"\n\n\"And with this conclusion,\" said Barbican, hastily rising, \"of a subject\non which, to tell the truth, we are unable as yet to throw any light\nworth speaking of, let us be satisfied for the present. Another question\nof greater moment to us just now is: where are we? It seems to me that\nwe are increasing our distance from the Moon very decidedly and very\nrapidly.\"\n\nIt was easy to see that he was quite right in this observation. The\nProjectile, still following a northerly course and therefore approaching\nthe lunar equator, was certainly getting farther and farther from the\nMoon. Even at 30° S., only ten degrees farther north than the latitude\nof _Tycho_, the travellers had considerable difficulty, comparatively,\nin observing the details of _Pitatus_, a walled mountain on the south\nshores of the _Mare Nubium_. In the \"sea\" itself, over which they now\nfloated, they could see very little, but far to the left, on the 20th\nparallel, they could discern the vast crater of _Bullialdus_, 9,000\nfeet deep. On the right, they had just caught a glimpse of _Purbach_, a\ndepressed valley almost square in shape with a round crater in the\ncentre, when Ardan suddenly cried out:\n\n\"A Railroad!\"\n\nAnd, sure enough, right under them, a little northeast of _Purbach_, the\ntravellers easily distinguished a long line straight and black, really\nnot unlike a railroad cutting through a low hilly country.\n\nThis, Barbican explained, was of course no railway, but a steep cliff,\nat least 1,000 feet high, casting a very deep shadow, and probably the\nresult of the caving in of the surface on the eastern edge.\n\nThen they saw the immense crater of _Arzachel_ and in its midst a cone\nmountain shining with dazzling splendor. A little north of this, they\ncould detect the outlines of another crater, _Alphonse_, at least 70\nmiles in diameter. Close to it they could easily distinguish the immense\ncrater or, as some observers call it, Ramparted Plain, _Ptolemy_, so\nwell known to lunar astronomers, occupying, as it does, such a favorable\nposition near the centre of the Moon, and having a diameter fully, in\none direction at least, 120 miles long.\n\nThe travellers were now in about the same latitude as that at which they\nhad at first approached the Moon, and it was here that they began most\nunquestionably to leave her. They looked and looked, readjusting their\nglasses, but the details were becoming more and more difficult to catch.\nThe reliefs grew more and more blurred and the outlines dimmer and\ndimmer. Even the great mountain profiles began to fade away, the\ndazzling colors to grow duller, the jet black shadows greyer, and the\ngeneral effect mistier.\n\nAt last, the distance had become so great that, of this lunar world so\nwonderful, so fantastic, so weird, so mysterious, our travellers by\ndegrees lost even the consciousness, and their sensations, lately so\nvivid, grew fainter and fainter, until finally they resembled those of a\nman who is suddenly awakened from a peculiarly strange and impressive\ndream.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nIN EVERY FIGHT, THE IMPOSSIBLE WINS.\n\n\nNo matter what we have been accustomed to, it is sad to bid it farewell\nforever. The glimpse of the Moon's wondrous world imparted to Barbican\nand his companions had been, like that of the Promised Land to Moses on\nMount Pisgah, only a distant and a dark one, yet it was with\ninexpressibly mournful eyes that, silent and thoughtful, they now\nwatched her fading away slowly from their view, the conviction\nimpressing itself deeper and deeper in their souls that, slight as their\nacquaintance had been, it was never to be renewed again. All doubt on\nthe subject was removed by the position gradually, but decidedly,\nassumed by the Projectile. Its base was turning away slowly and steadily\nfrom the Moon, and pointing surely and unmistakably towards the Earth.\n\nBarbican had been long carefully noticing this modification, but without\nbeing able to explain it. That the Projectile should withdraw a long\ndistance from the Moon and still be her satellite, he could understand;\nbut, being her satellite, why not present towards her its heaviest\nsegment, as the Moon does towards the Earth? That was the point which he\ncould not readily clear up.\n\nBy carefully noting its path, he thought he could see that the\nProjectile, though now decidedly leaving the Moon, still followed a\ncurve exactly analogous to that by which it had approached her. It must\ntherefore be describing a very elongated ellipse, which might possibly\nextend even to the neutral point where the lunar and terrestrial\nattractions were mutually overcome.\n\nWith this surmise of Barbican's, his companions appeared rather disposed\nto agree, though, of course, it gave rise to new questions.\n\n\"Suppose we reach this dead point,\" asked Ardan; \"what then is to become\nof us?\"\n\n\"Can't tell!\" was Barbican's unsatisfactory reply.\n\n\"But you can form a few hypotheses?\"\n\n\"Yes, two!\"\n\n\"Let us have them.\"\n\n\"The velocity will be either sufficient to carry us past the dead point,\nor it will not: sufficient, we shall keep on, just as we are now,\ngravitating forever around the Moon--\"\n\n--\"Hypothesis number two will have at least one point in its favor,\"\ninterrupted as usual the incorrigible Ardan; \"it can't be worse than\nhypothesis number one!\"\n\n--\"Insufficient,\" continued Barbican, laying down the law, \"we shall\nrest forever motionless on the dead point of the mutually neutralizing\nattractions.\"\n\n\"A pleasant prospect!\" observed Ardan: \"from the worst possible to no\nbetter! Isn't it, Barbican?\"\n\n\"Nothing to say,\" was Barbican's only reply.\n\n\"Have you nothing to say either, Captain?\" asked Ardan, beginning to be\na little vexed at the apparent apathy of his companions.\n\n\"Nothing whatever,\" replied M'Nicholl, giving point to his words by a\ndespairing shake of his head.\n\n\"You don't mean surely that we're going to sit here, like bumps on a\nlog, doing nothing until it will be too late to attempt anything?\"\n\n\"Nothing whatever can be done,\" said Barbican gloomily. \"It is vain to\nstruggle against the impossible.\"\n\n\"Impossible! Where did you get that word? I thought the American\nschoolboys had cut it out of their dictionaries!\"\n\n\"That must have been since my time,\" said Barbican smiling grimly.\n\n\"It still sticks in a few old copies anyhow,\" drawled M'Nicholl drily,\nas he carefully wiped his glasses.\n\n\"Well! it has no business _here_!\" said Ardan. \"What! A pair of live\nYankees and a Frenchman, of the nineteenth century too, recoil before an\nold fashioned word that hardly scared our grandfathers!\"\n\n\"What can we do?\"\n\n\"Correct the movement that's now running away with us!\"\n\n\"Correct it?\"\n\n\"Certainly, correct it! or modify it! or clap brakes on it! or take\nsome advantage of it that will be in our favor! What matters the exact\nterm so you comprehend me?\"\n\n\"Easy talking!\"\n\n\"As easy doing!\"\n\n\"Doing what? Doing how?\"\n\n\"The what, and the how, is your business, not mine! What kind of an\nartillery man is he who can't master his bullets? The gunner who cannot\ncommand his own gun should be rammed into it head foremost himself and\nblown from its mouth! A nice pair of savants _you_ are! There you sit as\nhelpless as a couple of babies, after having inveigled me--\"\n\n\"Inveigled!!\" cried Barbican and M'Nicholl starting to their feet in an\ninstant; \"WHAT!!!\"\n\n\"Come, come!\" went on Ardan, not giving his indignant friends time to\nutter a syllable; \"I don't want any recrimination! I'm not the one to\ncomplain! I'll even let up a little if you consider the expression too\nstrong! I'll even withdraw it altogether, and assert that the trip\ndelights me! that the Projectile is a thing after my own heart! that I\nwas never in better spirits than at the present moment! I don't\ncomplain, I only appeal to your own good sense, and call upon you with\nall my voice to do everything possible, so that we may go _somewhere_,\nsince it appears we can't get to the Moon!\"\n\n\"But that's exactly what we want to do ourselves, friend Ardan,\" said\nBarbican, endeavoring to give an example of calmness to the impatient\nM'Nicholl; \"the only trouble is that we have not the means to do it.\"\n\n\"Can't we modify the Projectile's movement?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Nor diminish its velocity?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Not even by lightening it, as a heavily laden ship is lightened, by\nthrowing cargo overboard?\"\n\n\"What can we throw overboard? We have no ballast like balloon-men.\"\n\n\"I should like to know,\" interrupted M'Nicholl, \"what would be the good\nof throwing anything at all overboard. Any one with a particle of common\nsense in his head, can see that the lightened Projectile should only\nmove the quicker!\"\n\n\"Slower, you mean,\" said Ardan.\n\n\"Quicker, I mean,\" replied the Captain.\n\n\"Neither quicker nor slower, dear friends,\" interposed Barbican,\ndesirous to stop a quarrel; \"we are floating, you know, in an absolute\nvoid, where specific gravity never counts.\"\n\n\"Well then, my friends,\" said Ardan in a resigned tone that he evidently\nendeavored to render calm, \"since the worst is come to the worst, there\nis but one thing left for us to do!\"\n\n\"What's that?\" said the Captain, getting ready to combat some new piece\nof nonsense.\n\n\"To take our breakfast!\" said the Frenchman curtly.\n\nIt was a resource he had often fallen back on in difficult\nconjunctures. Nor did it fail him now.\n\nThough it was not a project that claimed to affect either the velocity\nor the direction of the Projectile, still, as it was eminently\npracticable and not only unattended by no inconvenience on the one hand\nbut evidently fraught with many advantages on the other, it met with\ndecided and instantaneous success. It was rather an early hour for\nbreakfast, two o'clock in the morning, yet the meal was keenly relished.\nArdan served it up in charming style and crowned the dessert with a few\nbottles of a wine especially selected for the occasion from his own\nprivate stock. It was a _Tokay Imperial_ of 1863, the genuine _Essenz_,\nfrom Prince Esterhazy's own wine cellar, and the best brain stimulant\nand brain clearer in the world, as every connoisseur knows.\n\nIt was near four o'clock in the morning when our travellers, now well\nfortified physically and morally, once more resumed their observations\nwith renewed courage and determination, and with a system of recording\nreally perfect in its arrangements.\n\nAround the Projectile, they could still see floating most of the objects\nthat had been dropped out of the window. This convinced them that,\nduring their revolution around the Moon, they had not passed through any\natmosphere; had anything of the kind been encountered, it would have\nrevealed its presence by its retarding effect on the different objects\nthat now followed close in the wake of the Projectile. One or two that\nwere missing had been probably struck and carried off by a fragment of\nthe exploded bolide.\n\nOf the Earth nothing as yet could be seen. She was only one day Old,\nhaving been New the previous evening, and two days were still to elapse\nbefore her crescent would be sufficiently cleared of the solar rays to\nbe capable of performing her ordinary duty of serving as a time-piece\nfor the Selenites. For, as the reflecting reader need hardly be\nreminded, since she rotates with perfect regularity on her axis, she can\nmake such rotations visible to the Selenites by bringing some particular\npoint on her surface once every twenty-four hours directly over the same\nlunar meridian.\n\nTowards the Moon, the view though far less distinct, was still almost as\ndazzling as ever. The radiant Queen of Night still glittered in all her\nsplendor in the midst of the starry host, whose pure white light seemed\nto borrow only additional purity and silvery whiteness from the gorgeous\ncontrast. On her disc, the \"seas\" were already beginning to assume the\nashy tint so well known to us on Earth, but the rest of her surface\nsparkled with all its former radiation, _Tycho_ glowing like a sun in\nthe midst of the general resplendescence.\n\nBarbican attempted in vain to obtain even a tolerable approximation of\nthe velocity at which the Projectile was now moving. He had to content\nhimself with the knowledge that it was diminishing at a uniform rate--of\nwhich indeed a little reflection on a well known law of Dynamics readily\nconvinced him. He had not much difficulty even in explaining the matter\nto his friends.\n\n\"Once admitting,\" said he, \"the Projectile to describe an orbit round\nthe Moon, that orbit must of necessity be an ellipse. Every moving body\ncirculating regularly around another, describes an ellipse. Science has\nproved this incontestably. The satellites describe ellipses around the\nplanets, the planets around the Sun, the Sun himself describes an\nellipse around the unknown star that serves as a pivot for our whole\nsolar system. How can our Baltimore Gun Club Projectile then escape the\nuniversal law?\n\n\"Now what is the consequence of this law? If the orbit were a _circle_,\nthe satellite would always preserve the same distance from its primary,\nand its velocity should therefore be constant. But the orbit being an\n_ellipse_, and the attracting body always occupying one of the foci, the\nsatellite must evidently lie nearer to this focus in one part of its\norbit than in another. The Earth when nearest to the Sun, is in her\n_perihelion_; when most distant, in her _aphelion_. The Moon, with\nregard to the Earth, is similarly in her _perigee_, and her _apogee_.\nAnalogous expressions denoting the relations of the Projectile towards\nthe Moon, would be _periselene_ and _aposelene_. At its _aposelene_ the\nProjectile's velocity would have reached its minimum; at\nthe _periselene_, its maximum. As it is to the former point that we are\nnow moving, clearly the velocity must keep on diminishing until that\npoint is reached. Then, _if it does not die out altogether_, it must\nspring up again, and even accelerate as it reapproaches the Moon. Now\nthe great trouble is this: If the _Aposelenetic_ point should coincide\nwith the point of lunar attraction, our velocity must certainly become\n_nil_, and the Projectile must remain relatively motionless forever!\"\n\n\"What do you mean by 'relatively motionless'?\" asked M'Nicholl, who was\ncarefully studying the situation.\n\n\"I mean, of course, not absolutely motionless,\" answered Barbican;\n\"absolute immobility is, as you are well aware, altogether impossible,\nbut motionless with regard to the Earth and the--\"\n\n\"By Mahomet's jackass!\" interrupted Ardan hastily, \"I must say we're a\nprecious set of _imbéciles_!\"\n\n\"I don't deny it, dear friend,\" said Barbican quietly, notwithstanding\nthe unceremonious interruption; \"but why do you say so just now?\"\n\n\"Because though we are possessed of the power of retarding the velocity\nthat takes us from the Moon, we have never thought of employing it!\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"Do you forget the rockets?\"\n\n\"It's a fact!\" cried M'Nicholl. \"How have we forgotten them?\"\n\n\"I'm sure I can't tell,\" answered Barbican, \"unless, perhaps, because we\nhad too many other things to think about. Your thought, my dear friend,\nis a most happy one, and, of course, we shall utilize it.\"\n\n\"When? How soon?\"\n\n\"At the first favorable opportunity, not sooner. For you can see for\nyourselves, dear friends,\" he went on explaining, \"that with the present\nobliquity of the Projectile with regard to the lunar disc, a discharge\nof our rockets would be more likely to send us away from the Moon than\ntowards her. Of course, you are both still desirous of reaching the\nMoon?\"\n\n\"Most emphatically so!\"\n\n\"Then by reserving our rockets for the last chance, we may possibly get\nthere after all. In consequence of some force, to me utterly\ninexplicable, the Projectile still seems disposed to turn its base\ntowards the Earth. In fact, it is likely enough that at the neutral\npoint its cone will point vertically to the Moon. That being the moment\nwhen its velocity will most probably be _nil_, it will also be the\nmoment for us to discharge our rockets, and the possibility is that we\nmay force a direct fall on the lunar disc.\"\n\n\"Good!\" cried Ardan, clapping hands.\n\n\"Why didn't we execute this grand manoeuvre the first time we reached\nthe neutral point?\" asked M'Nicholl a little crustily.\n\n\"It would be useless,\" answered Barbican; \"the Projectile's velocity at\nthat time, as you no doubt remember, not only did not need rockets, but\nwas actually too great to be affected by them.\"\n\n\"True!\" chimed in Ardan; \"a wind of four miles an hour is very little\nuse to a steamer going ten.\"\n\n\"That assertion,\" cried M'Nicholl, \"I am rather dis--\"\n\n--\"Dear friends,\" interposed Barbican, his pale face beaming and his\nclear voice ringing with the new excitement; \"let us just now waste no\ntime in mere words. We have one more chance, perhaps a great one. Let us\nnot throw it away! We have been on the brink of despair--\"\n\n--\"Beyond it!\" cried Ardan.\n\n--\"But I now begin to see a possibility, nay, a very decided\nprobability, of our being able to attain the great end at last!\"\n\n\"Bravo!\" cried Ardan.\n\n\"Hurrah!\" cried M'Nicholl.\n\n\"Yes! my brave boys!\" cried Barbican as enthusiastically as his\ncompanions; \"all's not over yet by a long shot!\"\n\nWhat had brought about this great revulsion in the spirits of our bold\nadventurers? The breakfast? Prince Esterhazy's Tokay? The latter, most\nprobably. What had become of the resolutions they had discussed so ably\nand passed so decidedly a few hours before? _Was the Moon inhabited? No!\nWas the Moon habitable? No!_ Yet in the face of all this--or rather as\ncoolly as if such subjects had never been alluded to--here were the\nreckless scientists actually thinking of nothing but how to work heaven\nand earth in order to get there!\n\nOne question more remained to be answered before they played their last\ntrump, namely: \"At what precise moment would the Projectile reach the\nneutral point?\"\n\nTo this Barbican had very little trouble in finding an answer. The time\nspent in proceeding from the south pole to the dead point being\nevidently equal to the time previously spent in proceeding from the dead\npoint to the north pole--to ascertain the former, he had only to\ncalculate the latter. This was easily done. To refer to his notes, to\ncheck off the different rates of velocity at which they had readied the\ndifferent parallels, and to turn these rates into time, required only a\nvery few minutes careful calculation. The Projectile then was to reach\nthe point of neutral attraction at one o'clock in the morning of\nDecember 8th. At the present time, it was five o'clock in the morning of\nthe 7th; therefore, if nothing unforeseen should occur in the meantime,\ntheir great and final effort was to be made about twenty hours later.\n\nThe rockets, so often alluded to as an idea of Ardan's and already fully\ndescribed, had been originally provided to break the violence of the\nProjectile's fall on the lunar surface; but now the dauntless travellers\nwere about to employ them for a purpose precisely the reverse. In any\ncase, having been put in proper order for immediate use, nothing more\nnow remained to be done till the moment should come for firing them off.\n\n\"Now then, friends,\" said M'Nicholl, rubbing his eyes but hardly able to\nkeep them open, \"I'm not over fond of talking, but this time I think I\nmay offer a slight proposition.\"\n\n\"We shall be most happy to entertain it, my dear Captain,\" said\nBarbican.\n\n[Illustration: ARDAN GAZED ON THE PAIR.]\n\n\"I propose we lie down and take a good nap.\"\n\n\"Good gracious!\" protested Ardan; \"What next?\"\n\n\"We have not had a blessed wink for forty hours,\" continued the Captain;\n\"a little sleep would recuperate us wonderfully.\"\n\n\"No sleep now!\" exclaimed Ardan.\n\n\"Every man to his taste!\" said M'Nicholl; \"mine at present is certainly\nto turn in!\" and suiting the action to the word, he coiled himself on\nthe sofa, and in a few minutes his deep regular breathing showed his\nslumber to be as tranquil as an infant's.\n\nBarbican looked at him in a kindly way, but only for a very short time;\nhis eyes grew so filmy that he could not keep them open any longer. \"The\nCaptain,\" he said, \"may not be without his little faults, but for good\npractical sense he is worth a ship-load like you and me, Ardan. By Jove,\nI'm going to imitate him, and, friend Michael, you might do worse!\"\n\nIn a short time he was as unconscious as the Captain.\n\nArdan gazed on the pair for a few minutes, and then began to feel quite\nlonely. Even his animals were fast asleep. He tried to look out, but\nobserving without having anybody to listen to your observations, is dull\nwork. He looked again at the sleeping pair, and then he gave in.\n\n\"It can't be denied,\" he muttered, slowly nodding his head, \"that even\nyour practical men sometimes stumble on a good idea.\"\n\nThen curling up his long legs, and folding his arms under his head, his\nrestless brain was soon forming fantastic shapes for itself in the\nmysterious land of dreams.\n\nBut his slumbers were too much disturbed to last long. After an uneasy,\nrestless, unrefreshing attempt at repose, he sat up at about half-past\nseven o'clock, and began stretching himself, when he found his\ncompanions already awake and discussing the situation in whispers.\n\nThe Projectile, they were remarking, was still pursuing its way from the\nMoon, and turning its conical point more and more in her direction. This\nlatter phenomenon, though as puzzling as ever, Barbican regarded with\ndecided pleasure: the more directly the conical summit pointed to the\nMoon at the exact moment, the more directly towards her surface would\nthe rockets communicate their reactionary motion.\n\nNearly seventeen hours, however, were still to elapse before that\nmoment, that all important moment, would arrive.\n\nThe time began to drag. The excitement produced by the Moon's vicinity\nhad died out. Our travellers, though as daring and as confident as ever,\ncould not help feeling a certain sinking of heart at the approach of the\nmoment for deciding either alternative of their doom in this\nworld--their fall to the Moon, or their eternal imprisonment in a\nchangeless orbit. Barbican and M'Nicholl tried to kill time by revising\ntheir calculations and putting their notes in order; Ardan, by\nfeverishly walking back and forth from window to window, and stopping\nfor a second or two to throw a nervous glance at the cold, silent and\nimpassive Moon.\n\nNow and then reminiscences of our lower world would flit across their\nbrains. Visions of the famous Gun Club rose up before them the oftenest,\nwith their dear friend Marston always the central figure. What was his\nbustling, honest, good-natured, impetuous heart at now? Most probably he\nwas standing bravely at his post on the Rocky Mountains, his eye glued\nto the great Telescope, his whole soul peering through its tube. Had he\nseen the Projectile before it vanished behind the Moon's north pole?\nCould he have caught a glimpse of it at its reappearance? If so, could\nhe have concluded it to be the satellite of a satellite! Could Belfast\nhave announced to the world such a startling piece of intelligence? Was\nthat all the Earth was ever to know of their great enterprise? What were\nthe speculations of the Scientific World upon the subject? etc., etc.\n\nIn listless questions and desultory conversation of this kind the day\nslowly wore away, without the occurrence of any incident whatever to\nrelieve its weary monotony. Midnight arrived, December the seventh was\ndead. As Ardan said: \"_Le Sept Decembre est mort; vive le Huit!_\" In one\nhour more, the neutral point would be reached. At what velocity was the\nProjectile now moving? Barbican could not exactly tell, but he felt\nquite certain that no serious error had slipped into his calculations.\nAt one o'clock that night, _nil_ the velocity was to be, and _nil_ it\nwould be!\n\nAnother phenomenon, in any case, was to mark the arrival of the exact\nmoment. At the dead point, the two attractions, terrestrial and lunar,\nwould again exactly counterbalance each other. For a few seconds,\nobjects would no longer possess the slightest weight. This curious\ncircumstance, which had so much surprised and amused the travellers at\nits first occurrence, was now to appear again as soon as the conditions\nshould become identical. During these few seconds then would come the\nmoment for striking the decisive blow.\n\nThey could soon notice the gradual approach of this important instant.\nObjects began to weigh sensibly lighter. The conical point of the\nProjectile had become almost directly under the centre of the lunar\nsurface. This gladdened the hearts of the bold adventurers. The recoil\nof the rockets losing none of its power by oblique action, the chances\npronounced decidedly in their favor. Now, only supposing the\nProjectile's velocity to be absolutely annihilated at the dead point,\nthe slightest force directing it towards the Moon would be _certain_ to\ncause it finally to fall on her surface.\n\nSupposing!--but supposing the contrary!\n\n--Even these brave adventurers had not the courage to suppose the\ncontrary!\n\n\"Five minutes to one o'clock,\" said M'Nicholl, his eyes never quitting\nhis watch.\n\n\"Ready?\" asked Barbican of Ardan.\n\n\"Ay, ay, sir!\" was Ardan's reply, as he made sure that the electric\napparatus to discharge the rockets was in perfect working order.\n\n\"Wait till I give the word,\" said Barbican, pulling out his chronometer.\n\nThe moment was now evidently close at hand. The objects lying around had\nno weight. The travellers felt their bodies to be as buoyant as a\nhydrogen balloon. Barbican let go his chronometer, but it kept its place\nas firmly in empty space before his eyes as if it had been nailed to the\nwall!\n\n\"One o'clock!\" cried Barbican in a solemn tone.\n\nArdan instantly touched the discharging key of the little electric\nbattery. A dull, dead, distant report was immediately heard,\ncommunicated probably by the vibration of the Projectile to the internal\nair. But Ardan saw through the window a long thin flash, which vanished\nin a second. At the same moment, the three friends became\ninstantaneously conscious of a slight shock experienced by the\nProjectile.\n\nThey looked at each other, speechless, breathless, for about as long as\nit would take you to count five: the silence so intense that they could\neasily hear the pulsation of their hearts. Ardan was the first to break\nit.\n\n\"Are we falling or are we not?\" he asked in a loud whisper.\n\n\"We're not!\" answered M'Nicholl, also hardly speaking above his breath.\n\"The base of the Projectile is still turned away as far as ever from the\nMoon!\"\n\nBarbican, who had been looking out of the window, now turned hastily\ntowards his companions. His face frightened them. He was deadly pale;\nhis eyes stared, and his lips were painfully contracted.\n\n\"We _are_ falling!\" he shrieked huskily.\n\n\"Towards the Moon?\" exclaimed his companions.\n\n\"No!\" was the terrible reply. \"Towards the Earth!\"\n\n\"_Sacré!_\" cried Ardan, as usually letting off his excitement in French.\n\n\"Fire and fury!\" cried M'Nicholl, completely startled out of his\nhabitual _sang froid_.\n\n\"Thunder and lightning!\" swore the usually serene Barbican, now\ncompletely stunned by the blow. \"I had never expected this!\"\n\nArdan was the first to recover from the deadening shock: his levity came\nto his relief.\n\n\"First impressions are always right,\" he muttered philosophically. \"The\nmoment I set eyes on the confounded thing, it reminded me of the\nBastille; it is now proving its likeness to a worse place: easy enough\nto get into, but no redemption out of it!\"\n\nThere was no longer any doubt possible on the subject. The terrible fall\nhad begun. The Projectile had retained velocity enough not only to carry\nit beyond the dead point, but it was even able to completely overcome\nthe feeble resistance offered by the rockets. It was all clear now. The\nsame velocity that had carried the Projectile beyond the neutral point\non its way to the Moon, was still swaying it on its return to the Earth.\nA well known law of motion required that, in the path which it was now\nabout to describe, _it should repass, on its return through all the\npoints through which it had already passed during its departure_.\n\nNo wonder that our friends were struck almost senseless when the fearful\nfall they were now about to encounter, flashed upon them in all its\nhorror. They were to fall a clear distance of nearly 200 thousand miles!\nTo lighten or counteract such a descent, the most powerful springs,\nchecks, rockets, screens, deadeners, even if the whole Earth were\nengaged in their construction--would produce no more effect than so many\nspiderwebs. According to a simple law in Ballistics, _the Projectile was\nto strike the Earth with a velocity equal to that by which it had been\nanimated when issuing from the mouth of the Columbiad_--a velocity of at\nleast seven miles a second!\n\nTo have even a faint idea of this enormous velocity, let us make a\nlittle comparison. A body falling from the summit of a steeple a hundred\nand fifty feet high, dashes against the pavement with a velocity of\nfifty five miles an hour. Falling from the summit of St. Peter's, it\nstrikes the earth at the rate of 300 miles an hour, or five times\nquicker than the rapidest express train. Falling from the neutral\npoint, the Projectile should strike the Earth with a velocity of more\nthan 25,000 miles an hour!\n\n\"We are lost!\" said M'Nicholl gloomily, his philosophy yielding to\ndespair.\n\n\"One consolation, boys!\" cried Ardan, genial to the last. \"We shall die\ntogether!\"\n\n\"If we die,\" said Barbican calmly, but with a kind of suppressed\nenthusiasm, \"it will be only to remove to a more extended sphere of our\ninvestigations. In the other world, we can pursue our inquiries under\nfar more favorable auspices. There the wonders of our great Creator,\nclothed in brighter light, shall be brought within a shorter range. We\nshall require no machine, nor projectile, nor material contrivance of\nany kind to be enabled to contemplate them in all their grandeur and to\nappreciate them fully and intelligently. Our souls, enlightened by the\nemanations of the Eternal Wisdom, shall revel forever in the blessed\nrays of Eternal Knowledge!\"\n\n\"A grand view to take of it, dear friend Barbican;\" replied Ardan, \"and\na consoling one too. The privilege of roaming at will through God's\ngreat universe should make ample amends for missing the Moon!\"\n\nM'Nicholl fixed his eyes on Barbican admiringly, feebly muttering with\nhardly moving lips:\n\n\"Grit to the marrow! Grit to the marrow!\"\n\nBarbican, head bowed in reverence, arms folded across his breast, meekly\nand uncomplainingly uttered with sublime resignation:\n\n\"Thy will be done!\"\n\n\"Amen!\" answered his companions, in a loud and fervent whisper.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThey were soon falling through the boundless regions of space with\ninconceivable rapidity!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nOFF THE PACIFIC COAST.\n\n\n\"Well, Lieutenant, how goes the sounding?\"\n\n\"Pretty lively, Captain; we're nearly through;\" replied the Lieutenant.\n\"But it's a tremendous depth so near land. We can't be more than 250\nmiles from the California coast.\"\n\n\"The depression certainly is far deeper than I had expected,\" observed\nCaptain Bloomsbury. \"We have probably lit on a submarine valley\nchannelled out by the Japanese Current.\"\n\n\"The Japanese Current, Captain?\"\n\n\"Certainly; that branch of it which breaks on the western shores of\nNorth America and then flows southeast towards the Isthmus of Panama.\"\n\n\"That may account for it, Captain,\" replied young Brownson; \"at least, I\nhope it does, for then we may expect the valley to get shallower as we\nleave the land. So far, there's no sign of a Telegraphic Plateau in this\nquarter of the globe.\"\n\n\"Probably not, Brownson. How is the line now?\"\n\n\"We have paid out 3500 fathoms already, Captain, but, judging from the\nrate the reel goes at, we are still some distance from bottom.\"\n\nAs he spoke, he pointed to a tall derrick temporarily rigged up at the\nstern of the vessel for the purpose of working the sounding apparatus,\nand surrounded by a group of busy men. Through a block pulley strongly\nlashed to the derrick, a stout cord of the best Italian hemp, wound off\na large reel placed amidships, was now running rapidly and with a slight\nwhirring noise.\n\n\"I hope it's not the 'cup-lead' you are using, Brownson?\" said the\nCaptain, after a few minutes observation.\n\n\"Oh no, Captain, certainly not,\" replied the Lieutenant. \"It's only\nBrooke's apparatus that is of any use in such depths.\"\n\n\"Clever fellow that Brooke,\" observed the Captain; \"served with him\nunder Maury. His detachment of the weight is really the starting point\nfor every new improvement in sounding gear. The English, the French, and\neven our own, are nothing but modifications of that fundamental\nprinciple. Exceedingly clever fellow!\"\n\n\"Bottom!\" sang out one of the men standing near the derrick and watching\nthe operations.\n\nThe Captain and the Lieutenant immediately advanced to question him.\n\n\"What's the depth, Coleman?\" asked the Lieutenant.\n\n\"21,762 feet,\" was the prompt reply, which Brownson immediately\ninscribed in his note-book, handing a duplicate to the Captain.\n\n\"All right, Lieutenant,\" observed the Captain, after a moment's\ninspection of the figures. \"While I enter it in the log, you haul the\nline aboard. To do so, I need hardly remind you, is a task involving\ncare and patience. In spite of all our gallant little donkey engine can\ndo, it's a six hours job at least. Meanwhile, the Chief Engineer had\nbetter give orders for firing up, so that we may be ready to start as\nsoon as you're through. It's now close on to four bells, and with your\npermission I shall turn in. Let me be called at three. Good night!\"\n\n\"Goodnight, Captain!\" replied Brownson, who spent the next two hours\npacing backward and forward on the quarter deck, watching the hauling in\nof the sounding line, and occasionally casting a glance towards all\nquarters of the sky.\n\nIt was a glorious night. The innumerable stars glittered with the\nbrilliancy of the purest gems. The ship, hove to in order to take the\nsoundings, swung gently on the faintly heaving ocean breast. You felt\nyou were in a tropical clime, for, though no breath fanned your cheek,\nyour senses easily detected the delicious odor of a distant garden of\nsweet roses. The sea sparkled with phosphorescence. Not a sound was\nheard except the panting of the hard-worked little donkey-engine and the\nwhirr of the line as it came up taut and dripping from the ocean depths.\nThe lamp, hanging from the mast, threw a bright glare on deck,\npresenting the strongest contrast with the black shadows, firm and\nmotionless as marble. The 11th day of December was now near its last\nhour.\n\nThe steamer was the _Susquehanna_, a screw, of the United States Navy,\n4,000 in tonnage, and carrying 20 guns. She had been detached to take\nsoundings between the Pacific coast and the Sandwich Islands, the\ninitiatory movement towards laying down an Ocean Cable, which the\n_Pacific Cable Company_ contemplated finally extending to China. She lay\njust now a few hundred miles directly south of San Diego, an old Spanish\ntown in southwestern California, and the point which is expected to be\nthe terminus of the great _Texas and Pacific Railroad_.\n\nThe Captain, John Bloomsbury by name, but better known as 'High-Low\nJack' from his great love of that game--the only one he was ever known\nto play--was a near relation of our old friend Colonel Bloomsbury of the\nBaltimore Gun Club. Of a good Kentucky family, and educated at\nAnnapolis, he had passed his meridian without ever being heard of, when\nsuddenly the news that he had run the gauntlet in a little gunboat past\nthe terrible batteries of Island Number Ten, amidst a perfect storm of\nshell, grape and canister discharged at less than a hundred yards\ndistance, burst on the American nation on the sixth of April, 1862, and\ninscribed his name at once in deep characters on the list of the giants\nof the Great War. But war had never been his vocation. With the return\nof peace, he had sought and obtained employment on the Western Coast\nSurvey, where every thing he did he looked on as a labor of love. The\nSounding Expedition he had particularly coveted, and, once entered upon\nit, he discharged his duties with characteristic energy.\n\nHe could not have had more favorable weather than the present for a\nsuccessful performance of the nice and delicate investigations of\nsounding. His vessel had even been fortunate enough to have lain\naltogether out of the track of the terrible wind storm already alluded\nto, which, starting from somewhere southwest of the Sierra Madre, had\nswept away every vestige of mist from the summits of the Rocky Mountains\nand, by revealing the Moon in all her splendor, had enabled Belfast to\nsend the famous despatch announcing that he had seen the Projectile.\nEvery feature of the expedition was, in fact, advancing so favorably\nthat the Captain expected to be able, in a month or two, to submit to\nthe _P.C. Company_ a most satisfactory report of his labors.\n\nCyrus W. Field, the life and soul of the whole enterprise, flushed with\nhonors still in full bloom (the Atlantic Telegraph Cable having been\njust laid), could congratulate himself with good reason on having found\na treasure in the Captain. High-Low Jack was the congenial spirit by\nwhose active and intelligent aid he promised himself the pleasure of\nseeing before long the whole Pacific Ocean covered with a vast\nreticulation of electric cables. The practical part, therefore, being in\nsuch safe hands, Mr. Field could remain with a quiet conscience in\nWashington, New York or London, seeing after the financial part of the\ngrand undertaking, worthy of the Nineteenth Century, worthy of the Great\nRepublic, and eminently worthy of the illustrious CYRUS W. himself!\n\nAs already mentioned, the _Susquehanna_ lay a few hundred miles south\nof San Diego, or, to be more accurate, in 27° 7' North Latitude and 118°\n37' West Longitude (Greenwich).\n\nIt was now a little past midnight. The Moon, in her last quarter, was\njust beginning to peep over the eastern horizon. Lieutenant Brownson,\nleaving the quarter deck, had gone to the forecastle, where he found a\ncrowd of officers talking together earnestly and directing their glasses\ntowards her disc. Even here, out on the ocean, the Queen of the night,\nwas as great an object of attraction as on the North American Continent\ngenerally, where, that very night and that very hour, at least 40\nmillion pairs of eyes were anxiously gazing at her. Apparently forgetful\nthat even the very best of their glasses could no more see the\nProjectile than angulate Sirius, the officers held them fast to their\neyes for five minutes at a time, and then took them away only to talk\nwith remarkable fluency on what they had not discovered.\n\n\"Any sign of them yet, gentlemen?\" asked Brownson gaily as he joined the\ngroup. \"It's now pretty near time for them to put in an appearance.\nThey're gone ten days I should think.\"\n\n\"They're there, Lieutenant! not a doubt of it!\" cried a young midshipman,\nfresh from Annapolis, and of course \"throughly posted\" in the latest\nrevelations of Astronomy. \"I feel as certain of their being there as I\nam of our being here on the forecastle of the _Susquehanna_!\"\n\n\"I must agree with you of course, Mr. Midshipman,\" replied Brownson\nwith a slight smile; \"I have no grounds whatever for contradicting you.\"\n\n\"Neither have I,\" observed another officer, the surgeon of the vessel.\n\"The Projectile was to have reached the Moon when at her full, which was\nat midnight on the 5th. To-day was the 11th. This gives them six days of\nclear light--time enough in all conscience not only to land safely but\nto install themselves quite comfortably in their new home. In fact, I\nsee them there already--\"\n\n\"In my mind's eye, Horatio!\" laughed one of the group. \"Though the Doc\nwears glasses, he can see more than any ten men on board.\"\n\n--\"Already\"--pursued the Doctor, heedless of the interruption. \"_Scene_,\na stony valley near a Selenite stream; the Projectile on the right, half\nburied in volcanic _scoriae_, but apparently not much the worse for the\nwear; ring mountains, craters, sharp peaks, etc. all around; old MAC\ndiscovered taking observations with his levelling staff; BARBICAN\nperched on the summit of a sharp pointed rock, writing up his note-book;\nARDAN, eye-glass on nose, hat under arm, legs apart, puffing at his\n_Imperador_, like a--\"\n\n[Illustration: MAC DISCOVERED TAKING OBSERVATIONS.]\n\n--\"A locomotive!\" interrupted the young Midshipman, his excitable\nimagination so far getting the better of him as to make him forget his\nmanners. He had just finished Locke's famous MOON HOAX, and his brain\nwas still full of its pictures. \"In the background,\" he went on, \"can be\nseen thousands of _Vespertiliones-Homines_ or _Man-Bats_, in all the\nvarious attitudes of curiosity, alarm, or consternation; some of them\npeeping around the rocks, some fluttering from peak to peak, all\ngibbering a language more or less resembling the notes of birds. _Enter_\nLUNATICO, King of the Selenites--\"\n\n\"Excuse us, Mr. Midshipman,\" interrupted Brownson with an easy smile,\n\"Locke's authority may have great weight among the young Middies at\nAnnapolis, but it does not rank very high at present in the estimation\nof practical scientists.\" This rebuff administered to the conceited\nlittle Midshipman, a rebuff which the Doctor particularly relished,\nBrownson continued: \"Gentlemen, we certainly know nothing whatever\nregarding our friends' fate; guessing gives no information. How we ever\nare to hear from the Moon until we are connected with it by a lunar\ncable, I can't even imagine. The probability is that we shall never--\"\n\n\"Excuse me, Lieutenant,\" interrupted the unrebuffed little Midshipman;\n\"Can't Barbican write?\"\n\nA shout of derisive comments greeted this question.\n\n\"Certainly he can write, and send his letter by the Pony Express!\" cried\none.\n\n\"A Postal Card would be cheaper!\" cried another.\n\n\"The _New York Herald_ will send a reporter after it!\" was the\nexclamation of a third.\n\n\"Keep cool, just keep cool, gentlemen,\" persisted the little Midshipman,\nnot in the least abashed by the uproarious hilarity excited by his\nremarks. \"I asked if Barbican couldn't write. In that question I see\nnothing whatever to laugh at. Can't a man write without being obliged to\nsend his letters?\"\n\n\"This is all nonsense,\" said the Doctor. \"What's the use of a man\nwriting to you if he can't send you what he writes?\"\n\n\"What's the use of his sending it to you if he can have it read without\nthat trouble?\" answered the little Midshipman in a confident tone. \"Is\nthere not a telescope at Long's Peak? Doesn't it bring the Moon within a\nfew miles of the Rocky Mountains, and enable us to see on her surface,\nobjects as small as nine feet in diameter? Well! What's to prevent\nBarbican and his friends from constructing a gigantic alphabet? If they\nwrite words of even a few hundred yards and sentences a mile or two\nlong, what is to prevent us from reading them? Catch the idea now, eh?\"\n\nThey did catch the idea, and heartily applauded the little Middy for his\nsmartness. Even the Doctor saw a certain kind of merit in it, and\nBrownson acknowledged it to be quite feasible. In fact, expanding on it,\nthe Lieutenant assured his hearers that, by means of large parabolic\nreflectors, luminous groups of rays could be dispatched from the Earth,\nof sufficient brightness to establish direct communication even with\nVenus or Mars, where these rays would be quite as visible as the planet\nNeptune is from the Earth. He even added that those brilliant points of\nlight, which have been quite frequently observed in Mars and Venus, are\nperhaps signals made to the Earth by the inhabitants of these planets.\nHe concluded, however, by observing that, though we might by these means\nsucceed in obtaining news from the Moon, we could not possibly send any\nintelligence back in return, unless indeed the Selenites had at their\ndisposal optical instruments at least as good as ours.\n\nAll agreed that this was very true, and, as is generally the case when\none keeps all the talk to himself, the conversation now assumed so\nserious a turn that for some time it was hardly worth recording.\n\nAt last the Chief Engineer, excited by some remark that had been made,\nobserved with much earnestness:\n\n\"You may say what you please, gentlemen, but I would willingly give my\nlast dollar to know what has become of those brave men! Have they done\nanything? Have they seen anything? I hope they have. But I should dearly\nlike to know. Ever so little success would warrant a repetition of the\ngreat experiment. The Columbiad is still to the good in Florida, as it\nwill be for many a long day. There are millions of men to day as curious\nas I am upon the subject. Therefore it will be only a question of mere\npowder and bullets if a cargo of visitors is not sent to the Moon every\ntime she passes our zenith.\n\n\"Marston would be one of the first of them,\" observed Brownson, lighting\nhis cigar.\n\n\"Oh, he would have plenty of company!\" cried the Midshipman. \"I should\nbe delighted to go if he'd only take me.\"\n\n\"No doubt you would, Mr. Midshipman,\" said Brownson, \"the wise men, you\nknow, are not all dead yet.\"\n\n\"Nor the fools either, Lieutenant,\" growled old Frisby, the fourth\nofficer, getting tired of the conversation.\n\n\"There is no question at all about it,\" observed another; \"every time a\nProjectile started, it would take off as many as it could carry.\"\n\n\"I wish it would only start often enough to improve the breed!\" growled\nold Frisby.\n\n\"I have no doubt whatever,\" added the Chief Engineer, \"that the thing\nwould get so fashionable at last that half the inhabitants of the Earth\nwould take a trip to the Moon.\"\n\n\"I should limit that privilege strictly to some of our friends in\nWashington,\" said old Frisby, whose temper had been soured probably by a\nneglect to recognize his long services; \"and most of them I should by\nall means insist on sending to the Moon. Every month I would ram a whole\nraft of them into the Columbiad, with a charge under them strong enough\nto blow them all to the--But--Hey!--what in creation's that?\"\n\n[Illustration: FOR A SECOND ONLY DID THEY CATCH ITS FLASH.]\n\nWhilst the officer was speaking, his companions had suddenly caught a\nsound in the air which reminded them immediately of the whistling scream\nof a Lancaster shell. At first they thought the steam was escaping\nsomewhere, but, looking upwards, they saw that the strange noise\nproceeded from a ball of dazzling brightness, directly over their heads,\nand evidently falling towards them with tremendous velocity. Too\nfrightened to say a word, they could only see that in its light the\nwhole ship blazed like fireworks, and the whole sea glittered like a\nsilver lake. Quicker than tongue can utter, or mind can conceive, it\nflashed before their eyes for a second, an enormous bolide set on fire\nby friction with the atmosphere, and gleaming in its white heat like a\nstream of molten iron gushing straight from the furnace. For a second\nonly did they catch its flash before their eyes; then striking the\nbowsprit of the vessel, which it shivered into a thousand pieces, it\nvanished in the sea in an instant with a hiss, a scream, and a roar, all\nequally indescribable. For some time the utmost confusion reigned on\ndeck. With eyes too dazzled to see, ears still ringing with the\nfrightful combination of unearthly sounds, faces splashed with floods of\nsea water, and noses stifled with clouds of scalding steam, the crew of\nthe _Susquehanna_ could hardly realize that their marvellous escape by a\nfew feet from instant and certain destruction was an accomplished fact,\nnot a frightful dream. They were still engaged in trying to open their\neyes and to get the hot water out of their ears, when they suddenly\nheard the trumpet voice of Captain Bloomsbury crying, as he stood half\ndressed on the head of the cabin stairs:\n\n\"What's up, gentlemen? In heaven's name, what's up?\"\n\nThe little Midshipman had been knocked flat by the concussion and\nstunned by the uproar. But before any body else could reply, his voice\nwas heard, clear and sharp, piercing the din like an arrow:\n\n\"It's THEY, Captain! Didn't I tell you so?\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.\n\nNEWS FOR MARSTON!\n\n\nIn a few minutes, consciousness had restored order on board the\n_Susquehanna_, but the excitement was as great as ever. They had escaped\nby a hairsbreadth the terrible fate of being both burned and drowned\nwithout a moment's warning, without a single soul being left alive to\ntell the fatal tale; but on this neither officer nor man appeared to\nbestow the slightest thought. They were wholly engrossed with the\nterrible catastrophe that had befallen the famous adventurers. What was\nthe loss of the _Susquehanna_ and all it contained, in comparison to the\nloss experienced by the world at large in the terrible tragic\n_dénouement_ just witnessed? The worst had now come to the worst. At\nlast the long agony was over forever. Those three gallant men, who had\nnot only conceived but had actually executed the grandest and most\ndaring enterprise of ancient or modern times, had paid by the most\nfearful of deaths, for their sublime devotion to science and their\nunselfish desire to extend the bounds of human knowledge! Before such a\nreflection as this, all other considerations were at once reduced to\nproportions of the most absolute insignificance.\n\nBut was the death of the adventurers so very certain after all? Hope is\nhard to kill. Consciousness had brought reflection, reflection doubt,\nand doubt had resuscitated hope.\n\n\"It's they!\" had exclaimed the little Midshipman, and the cry had\nthrilled every heart on board as with an electric shock. Everybody had\ninstantly understood it. Everybody had felt it to be true. Nothing could\nbe more certain than that the meteor which had just flashed before their\neyes was the famous projectile of the Baltimore Gun Club. Nothing could\nbe truer than that it contained the three world renowned men and that it\nnow lay in the black depths of the Pacific Ocean.\n\nBut here opinions began to diverge. Some courageous breasts soon refused\nto accept the prevalent idea.\n\n\"They're killed by the shock!\" cried the crowd.\n\n\"Killed?\" exclaimed the hopeful ones; \"Not a bit of it! The water here\nis deep enough to break a fall twice as great.\"\n\n\"They're smothered for want of air!\" exclaimed the crowd.\n\n\"Their stock may not be run out yet!\" was the ready reply. \"Their air\napparatus is still on hand.\"\n\n\"They're burned to a cinder!\" shrieked the crowd.\n\n\"They had not time to be burned!\" answered the Band of Hope. \"The\nProjectile did not get hot till it reached the atmosphere, through which\nit tore in a few seconds.\"\n\n\"If they're neither burned nor smothered nor killed by the shock,\nthey're sure to be drowned!\" persisted the crowd, with redoubled\nlamentations.\n\n\"Fish 'em up first!\" cried the Hopeful Band. \"Come! Let's lose no time!\nLet's fish 'em up at once!\"\n\nThe cries of Hope prevailed. The unanimous opinion of a council of the\nofficers hastily summoned together by the Captain was to go to work and\nfish up the Projectile with the least possible delay. But was such an\noperation possible? asked a doubter. Yes! was the overwhelming reply;\ndifficult, no doubt, but still quite possible. Certainly, however, such\nan attempt was not immediately possible as the _Susquehanna_ had no\nmachinery strong enough or suitable enough for a piece of work involving\nsuch a nicety of detailed operations, not to speak of its exceeding\ndifficulty. The next unanimous decision, therefore, was to start the\nvessel at once for the nearest port, whence they could instantly\ntelegraph the Projectile's arrival to the Baltimore Gun Club.\n\nBut what _was_ the nearest port? A serious question, to answer which in\na satisfactory manner the Captain had to carefully examine his sailing\ncharts. The neighboring shores of the California Peninsula, low and\nsandy, were absolutely destitute of good harbors. San Diego, about a\nday's sail directly north, possessed an excellent harbor, but, not yet\nhaving telegraphic communication with the rest of the Union, it was of\ncourse not to be thought of. San Pedro Bay was too open to be approached\nin winter. The Santa Barbara Channel was liable to the same objection,\nnot to mention the trouble often caused by kelp and wintry fogs. The bay\nof San Luis Obispo was still worse in every respect; having no islands\nto act as a breakwater, landing there in winter was often impossible.\nThe harbor of the picturesque old town of Monterey was safe enough, but\nsome uncertainty regarding sure telegraphic communications with San\nFrancisco, decided the council not to venture it. Half Moon Bay, a\nlittle to the north, would be just as risky, and in moments like the\npresent when every minute was worth a day, no risk involving the\nslightest loss of time could be ventured.\n\nEvidently, therefore, the most advisable plan was to sail directly for\nthe bay of San Francisco, the Golden Gate, the finest harbor on the\nPacific Coast and one of the safest in the world. Here telegraphic\ncommunication with all parts of the Union was assured beyond a doubt.\nSan Francisco, about 750 miles distant, the _Susquehanna_ could probably\nmake in three days; with a little increased pressure, possibly in two\ndays and a-half. The sooner then she started, the better.\n\nThe fires were soon in full blast. The vessel could get under weigh at\nonce. In fact, nothing delayed immediate departure but the consideration\nthat two miles of sounding line were still to be hauled up from the\nocean depths. Rut the Captain, after a moment's thought, unwilling that\nany more time should be lost, determined to cut it. Then marking its\nposition by fastening its end to a buoy, he could haul it up at his\nleisure on his return.\n\n\"Besides,\" said he, \"the buoy will show us the precise spot where the\nProjectile fell.\"\n\n\"As for that, Captain,\" observed Brownson, \"the exact spot has been\ncarefully recorded already: 27° 7' north latitude by 41° 37' west\nlongitude, reckoning from the meridian of Washington.\"\n\n\"All right, Lieutenant,\" said the Captain curtly. \"Cut the line!\"\n\nA large cone-shaped metal buoy, strengthened still further by a couple\nof stout spars to which it was securely lashed, was soon rigged up on\ndeck, whence, being hoisted overboard, the whole apparatus was carefully\nlowered to the surface of the sea. By means of a ring in the small end\nof the buoy, the latter was then solidly attached to the part of the\nsounding line that still remained in the water, and all possible\nprecautions were taken to diminish the danger of friction, caused by the\ncontrary currents, tidal waves, and the ordinary heaving swells of\nocean.\n\nIt was now a little after three o'clock in the morning. The Chief\nEngineer announced everything to be in perfect readiness for starting.\nThe Captain gave the signal, directing the pilot to steer straight for\nSan Francisco, north-north by west. The waters under the stern began to\nboil and foam; the ship very soon felt and yielded to the power that\nanimated her; and in a few minutes she was making at least twelve knots\nan hour. Her sailing powers were somewhat higher than this, but it was\nnecessary to be careful in the neighborhood of such a dangerous coast as\nthat of California.\n\nSeven hundred and fifty miles of smooth waters presented no very\ndifficult task to a fast traveller like the _Susquehanna_, yet it was\nnot till two days and a-half afterwards that she sighted the Golden\nGate. As usual, the coast was foggy; neither Point Lobos nor Point\nBoneta could be seen. But Captain Bloomsbury, well acquainted with every\nportion of this coast, ran as close along the southern shore as he\ndared, the fog-gun at Point Boneta safely directing his course. Here\nexpecting to be able to gain a few hours time by signalling to the outer\ntelegraph station on Point Lobos, he had caused to be painted on a sail\nin large black letters: \"THE MOONMEN ARE BACK!\" but the officers in\nattendance, though their fog-horn could be easily heard--the distance\nnot being quite two miles--were unfortunately not able to see it.\nPerhaps they did see it, but feared a hoax.\n\nGiving the Fort Point a good wide berth, the _Susquehanna_ found the fog\ngradually clearing away, and by half-past three the passengers, looking\nunder it, enjoyed the glorious view of the Contra Costa mountains east\nof San Francisco, which had obtained for this entrance the famous and\nwell deserved appellation of the Golden Gate. In another half hour, they\nhad doubled Black Point, and were lying safely at anchor between the\nislands of Alcatraz and Yerba Buena. In less than five minutes\nafterwards the Captain was quickly lowered into his gig, and eight stout\npairs of arms were pulling him rapidly to shore.\n\nThe usual crowd of idlers had collected that evening on the summit of\nTelegraph Hill to enjoy the magnificent view, which for variety, extent,\nbeauty and grandeur, is probably unsurpassed on earth. Of course, the\ninevitable reporter, hot after an item, was not absent. The\n_Susquehanna_ had hardly crossed the bar, when they caught sight of her.\nA government vessel entering the bay at full speed, is something to look\nat even in San Francisco. Even during the war, it would be considered\nrather unusual. But they soon remarked that her bowsprit was completely\nbroken off. _Very_ unusual. Something decidedly is the matter. See! The\nvessel is hardly anchored when the Captain leaves her and makes for\nMegg's Wharf at North Point as hard as ever his men can pull! Something\n_must_ be the matter--and down the steep hill they all rush as fast as\never their legs can carry them to the landing at Megg's Wharf.\n\nThe Captain could hardly force his way through the dense throng, but he\nmade no attempt whatever to gratify their ill dissembled curiosity.\n\n\"Carriage!\" he cried, in a voice seldom heard outside the din of battle.\n\nIn a moment seventeen able-bodied cabmen were trying to tear him limb\nfrom limb.\n\n\"To the telegraph office! Like lightning!\" were his stifled mutterings,\nas he struggled in the arms of the Irish giant who had at last\nsucceeded in securing him.\n\n\"To the telegraph office!\" cried most of the crowd, running after him\nlike fox hounds, but the more knowing ones immediately began questioning\nthe boatmen in the Captain's gig. These honest fellows, nothing loth to\ntell all that they knew and more that they invented, soon had the\nsatisfaction of finding themselves the centrepoint of a wonder stricken\naudience, greedily swallowing up every item of the extraordinary news\nand still hungrily gaping for more.\n\nBy this time, however, an important dispatch was flying east, bearing\nfour different addresses: To the Secretary of the U.S. Navy, Washington;\nTo Colonel Joseph Wilcox, Vice-President _pro tem._, Baltimore Gun Club,\nMd; To J.T. Marston, Esq. Long's Peak, Grand County, Colorado; and To\nProfessor Wenlock, Sub-Director of the Cambridge Observatory, Mass.\n\nThis dispatch read as follows:\n\n     \"In latitude twenty-seven degrees seven minutes north and longitude\n     forty-one degrees thirty-seven minutes west shortly after one\n     o'clock on the morning of twelfth instant Columbiad Projectile fell\n     in Pacific--send instructions--\n\n     BLOOMSBURY,\n\n     _Captain_, SUSQUEHANNA.\"\n\nIn five minutes more all San Francisco had the news. An hour later, the\nnewspaper boys were shrieking it through the great cities of the\nStates. Before bed-time every man, woman, and child in the country had\nheard it and gone into ecstasies over it. Owing to the difference in\nlongitude, the people of Europe could not hear it till after midnight.\nBut next morning the astounding issue of the great American enterprise\nfell on them like a thunder clap.\n\nWe must, of course, decline all attempts at describing the effects of\nthis most unexpected intelligence on the world at large.\n\nThe Secretary of the Navy immediately telegraphed directions to the\n_Susquehanna_ to keep a full head of steam up night and day so as to be\nready to give instant execution to orders received at any moment.\n\nThe Observatory authorities at Cambridge held a special meeting that\nvery evening, where, with all the serene calmness so characteristic of\nlearned societies, they discussed the scientific points of the question\nin all its bearings. But, before committing themselves to any decided\nopinion, they unanimously resolved to wait for the development of\nfurther details.\n\nAt the rooms of the Gun Club in Baltimore there was a terrible time. The\nkind reader no doubt remembers the nature of the dispatch sent one day\npreviously by Professor Belfast from the Long's Peak observatory,\nannouncing that the Projectile had been seen but that it had become the\nMoon's satellite, destined to revolve around her forever and ever till\ntime should be no more. The reader is also kindly aware by this time\nthat such dispatch was not supported by the slightest foundations in\nfact. The learned Professor, in a moment of temporary cerebral\nexcitation, to which even the greatest scientist is just as liable as\nthe rest of us, had taken some little meteor or, still more probably,\nsome little fly-speck in the telescope for the Projectile. The worst of\nit was that he had not only boldly proclaimed his alleged discovery to\nthe world at large but he had even explained all about it with the well\nknown easy pomposity that \"Science\" sometimes ventures to assume. The\nconsequences of all this may be readily guessed. The Baltimore Gun Club\nhad split up immediately into two violently opposed parties. Those\ngentlemen who regularly conned the scientific magazines, took every word\nof the learned Professor's dispatch for gospel--or rather for something\nof far higher value, and more strictly in accordance with the highly\nadvanced scientific developments of the day. But the others, who never\nread anything but the daily papers and who could not bear the idea of\nlosing Barbican, laughed the whole thing to scorn. Belfast, they said,\nhad seen as much of the Projectile as he had of the \"Open Polar Sea,\"\nand the rest of the dispatch was mere twaddle, though asserted with all\nthe sternness of a religious dogma and enveloped in the usual scientific\nslang.\n\nThe meeting held in the Club House, 24 Monument Square, Baltimore, on\nthe evening of the 13th, had been therefore disorderly in the highest\ndegree. Long before the appointed hour, the great hall was densely\npacked and the greatest uproar prevailed. Vice-President Wilcox took the\nchair, and all was comparatively quiet until Colonel Bloomsbury, the\nHonorary Secretary in Marston's absence, commenced to read Belfast's\ndispatch. Then the scene, according to the account given in the next\nday's _Sun_, from whose columns we condense our report, actually\n\"beggared description.\" Roars, yells, cheers, counter-cheers, clappings,\nhissings, stampings, squallings, whistlings, barkings, mewings, cock\ncrowings, all of the most fearful and demoniacal character, turned the\nimmense hall into a regular pandemonium. In vain did President Wilcox\nfire off his detonating bell, with a report on ordinary occasions as\nloud as the roar of a small piece of ordnance. In the dreadful noise\nthen prevailing it was no more heard than the fizz of a lucifer match.\n\nSome cries, however, made themselves occasionally heard in the pauses of\nthe din. \"Read! Read!\" \"Dry up!\" \"Sit down!\" \"Give him an egg!\" \"Fair\nplay!\" \"Hurrah for Barbican!\" \"Down with his enemies!\" \"Free Speech!\"\n\"Belfast won't bite you!\" \"He'd like to bite Barbican, but his teeth\naren't sharp enough!\" \"Barbican's a martyr to science, let's hear his\nfate!\" \"Martyr be hanged; the Old Man is to the good yet!\" \"Belfast is\nthe grandest name in Science!\" \"Groans for the grandest name!\" (Awful\ngroans.) \"Three cheers for Old Man Barbican!\" (The exceptional strength\nalone of the walls saved the building, from being blown out by an\nexplosion in which at least 5,000 pairs of lungs participated.)\n\n\"Three cheers for M'Nicholl and the Frenchman!\" This was followed by\nanother burst of cheering so hearty, vigorous and long continued that\nthe scientific party, or _Belfasters_ as they were now called, seeing\nthat further prolongation of the meet was perfectly useless, moved to\nadjourn. It was carried unanimously. President Wilcox left the chair,\nthe meeting broke up in the wildest disorder--the scientists rather\ncrest fallen, but the Barbican men quite jubilant for having been so\nsuccessful in preventing the reading of that detested dispatch.\n\nLittle sleeping was done that night in Baltimore, and less business next\nday. Even in the public schools so little work was done by the children\nthat S.T. Wallace, Esq., President of the Education Board, advised an\nanticipation of the usual Christmas recess by a week. Every one talked\nof the Projectile; nothing was heard at the corners but discussions\nregarding its probable fate. All Baltimore was immediately rent into two\nparties, the _Belfasters_ and the _Barbicanites_. The latter was the\nmost enthusiastic and noisy, the former decidedly the most numerous and\ninfluential.\n\nScience, or rather pseudo-science, always exerts a mysterious attraction\nof an exceedingly powerful nature over the generality--that is, the more\nignorant portion of the human race. Assert the most absurd nonsense,\ncall it a scientific truth, and back it up with strange words which,\nlike _potentiality_, etc., sound as if they had a meaning but in\nreality have none, and nine out of every ten men who read your book will\nbelieve you. Acquire a remarkable name in one branch of human knowledge,\nand presto! you are infallible in all. Who can contradict you, if you\nonly wrap up your assertions in specious phrases that not one man in a\nmillion attempts to ascertain the real meaning of? We like so much to be\nsaved the trouble of thinking, that it is far easier and more\ncomfortable to be led than to contradict, to fall in quietly with the\ngreat flock of sheep that jump blindly after their leader than to remain\napart, making one's self ridiculous by foolishly attempting to argue.\nReal argument, in fact, is very difficult, for several reasons: first,\nyou must understand your subject _well_, which is hardly likely;\nsecondly, your opponent must also understand it well, which is even less\nlikely; thirdly, you must listen patiently to his arguments, which is\nstill less likely; and fourthly, he must listen to yours, the least\nlikely of all. If a quack advertises a panacea for all human ills at a\ndollar a bottle, a hundred will buy the bottle, for one that will try\nhow many are killed by it. What would the investigator gain by charging\nthe quack with murder? Nobody would believe him, because nobody would\ntake the trouble to follow his arguments. His adversary, first in the\nfield, had gained the popular ear, and remained the unassailable master\nof the situation. Our love of \"Science\" rests upon our admiration of\nintellect, only unfortunately the intellect is too often that of other\npeople, not our own.\n\nThe very sound of Belfast's phrases, for instance, \"satellite,\" \"lunar\nattraction,\" \"immutable path of its orbit,\" etc, convinced the greater\npart of the \"intelligent\" community that he who used them so flippantly\nmust be an exceedingly great man. Therefore, he had completely proved\nhis case. Therefore, the great majority of the ladies and gentlemen that\nregularly attend the scientific lectures of the Peabody Institute,\npronounced Barbican's fate and that of his companions to be sealed. Next\nmorning's newspapers contained lengthy obituary notices of the Great\nBalloon-attics as the witty man of the _New York Herald_ phrased it,\nsome of which might be considered quite complimentary. These, all\nindustriously copied into the evening papers, the people were carefully\nreading over again, some with honest regret, some deriving a great moral\nlesson from an attempt exceedingly reprehensible in every point of view,\nbut most, we are sorry to acknowledge, with a feeling of ill concealed\npleasure. Had not they always said how it was to end? Was there anything\nmore absurd ever conceived? Scientific men too! Hang such science! If\nyou want a real scientific man, no wind bag, no sham, take Belfast! _He_\nknows what he's talking about! No taking _him_ in! Didn't he by means of\nthe Monster Telescope, see the Projectile, as large as life, whirling\nround and round the Moon? Anyway, what else could have happened? Wasn't\nit what anybody's common sense expected? Don't you remember a\nconversation we had with you one day? etc., etc.\n\nThe _Barbicanites_ were very doleful, but they never though of giving\nin. They would die sooner. When pressed for a scientific reply to a\nscientific argument, they denied that there was any argument to reply\nto. What! Had not Belfast seen the Projectile? No! Was not the Great\nTelescope then good for anything? Yes, but not for everything! Did not\nBelfast know his business? No! Did they mean to say that he had seen\nnothing at all? Well, not exactly that, but those scientific gentlemen\ncan seldom be trusted; in their rage for discovery, they make a mountain\nout of a molehill, or, what is worse, they start a theory and then\ndistort facts to support it. Answers of this kind either led directly to\na fight, or the _Belfasters_ moved away thoroughly disgusted with the\nignorance of their opponents, who could not see a chain of reasoning as\nbright as the noonday sun.\n\nThings were in this feverish state on the evening of the 14th, when, all\nat once, Bloomsbury's dispatch arrived in Baltimore. I need not say that\nit dropped like a spark in a keg of gun powder. The first question all\nasked was: Is it genuine or bogus? real or got up by the stockbrokers?\nBut a few flashes backwards and forwards over the wires soon settled\nthat point. The stunning effects of the new blow were hardly over when\nthe _Barbicanites_ began to perceive that the wonderful intelligence was\ndecidedly in their favor. Was it not a distinct contradiction of the\nwhole story told by their opponents? If Barbican and his friends were\nlying at the bottom of the Pacific, they were certainly not\ncircumgyrating around the Moon. If it was the Projectile that had broken\noff the bowsprit of the _Susquehanna_, it could not certainly be the\nProjectile that Belfast had seen only the day previous doing the duty\nof a satellite. Did not the truth of one incident render the other an\nabsolute impossibility? If Bloomsbury was right, was not Belfast an ass?\nHurrah!\n\nThe new revelation did not improve poor Barbican's fate a bit--no matter\nfor that! Did not the _party_ gain by it? What would the _Belfasters_\nsay now? Would not they hold down their heads in confusion and disgrace?\n\nThe _Belfasters_, with a versatility highly creditable to human nature,\ndid nothing of the kind. Rapidly adopting the very line of tactics they\nhad just been so severely censuring, they simply denied the whole thing.\nWhat! the truth of the Bloomsbury dispatch? Yes, every word of it! Had\nnot Bloomsbury seen the Projectile? No! Were not his eyes good for\nanything? Yes, but not for everything! Did not the Captain know his\nbusiness? No! Did they mean to say that the bowsprit of the\n_Susquehanna_ had not been broken off? Well, not exactly that, but those\nnaval gentlemen are not always to be trusted; after a pleasant little\nsupper, they often see the wrong light-house, or, what is worse, in\ntheir desire to shield their negligence from censure, they dodge the\nblame by trying to show that the accident was unavoidable. The\n_Susquehanna's_ bowsprit had been snapped off, in all probability, by\nsome sudden squall, or, what was still more likely, some little aerolite\nhad struck it and frightened the crew into fits. When answers of this\nkind did not lead to blows, the case was an exceptional one indeed. The\ncontestants were so numerous and so excited that the police at last\nbegan to think of letting them fight it out without any interference.\nMarshal O'Kane, though ably assisted by his 12 officers and 500\npatrolmen, had a terrible time of it. The most respectable men in\nBaltimore, with eyes blackened, noses bleeding, and collars torn, saw\nthe inside of a prison that night for the first time in all their lives.\nMen that even the Great War had left the warmest of friends, now abused\neach other like fishwomen. The prison could not hold the half of those\narrested. They were all, however, discharged next morning, for the\nsimple reason that the Mayor and the aldermen had been themselves\nengaged in so many pugilistic combats during the night that they were\naltogether disabled from attending to their magisterial duties next day.\n\nOur readers, however, may be quite assured that, even in the wildest\nwhirl of the tremendous excitement around them, all the members of the\nBaltimore Gun Club did not lose their heads. In spite of the determined\nopposition of the _Belfasters_ who would not allow the Bloomsbury\ndispatch to be read at the special meeting called that evening, a few\nsucceeded in adjourning to a committee-room, where Joseph Wilcox, Esq.,\npresiding, our old friends Colonel Bloomsbury, Major Elphinstone, Tom\nHunter, Billsby the brave, General Morgan, Chief Engineer John Murphy,\nand about as many more as were sufficient to form a quorum, declared\nthemselves to be in regular session, and proceeded quietly to debate on\nthe nature of Captain Bloomsbury's dispatch.\n\nWas it of a nature to justify immediate action or not? Decided\nunanimously in the affirmative. Why so? Because, whether actually true\nor untrue, the incident it announced was not impossible. Had it indeed\nannounced the Projectile to have fallen in California or in South\nAmerica, there would have been good valid reasons to question its\naccuracy. But by taking into consideration the Moon's distance, and the\ntime elapsed between the moment of the start and that of the presumed\nfall (about 10 days), and also the Earth's revolution in the meantime,\nit was soon calculated that the point at which the Projectile should\nstrike our globe, if it struck it at all, would be somewhere about 27°\nnorth latitude, and 42° west longitude--the very identical spot given in\nthe Captain's dispatch! This certainly was a strong point in its favor,\nespecially as there was positively nothing valid whatever to urge\nagainst it.\n\nA decided resolution was therefore immediately taken. Everything that\nman could do was to be done at once, in order to fish up their brave\nassociates from the depths of the Pacific. That very night, in fact,\nwhilst the streets of Baltimore were still resounding with the yells of\ncontending _Belfasters_ and _Barbicanites_, a committee of four, Morgan,\nHunter, Murphy, and Elphinstone, were speeding over the Alleghanies in a\nspecial train, placed at their disposal by the _Baltimore and Ohio\nRailroad Company_, and fast enough to land them in Chicago pretty early\non the following evening.\n\nHere a fresh locomotive and a Pullman car taking charge of them, they\nwere whirled off to Omaha, reaching that busy locality at about supper\ntime on the evening of December 16th. The Pacific Train, as it was\ncalled though at that time running no further west than Julesburg,\ninstead of waiting for the regular hour of starting, fired up that very\nnight, and was soon pulling the famous Baltimore Club men up the slopes\nof the Nebraska at the rate of forty miles an hour. They were awakened\nbefore light next morning by the guard, who told them that Julesburg,\nwhich they were just entering, was the last point so far reached by the\nrails. But their regret at this circumstance was most unexpectedly and\njoyfully interrupted by finding their hands warmly clasped and their\nnames cheerily cried out by their old and beloved friend, J.T. Marston,\nthe illustrious Secretary of the Baltimore Gun Club.\n\nAt the close of the first volume of our entertaining and veracious\nhistory, we left this most devoted friend and admirer of Barbican\nestablished firmly at his post on the summit of Long's Peak, beside the\nGreat Telescope, watching the skies, night and day, for some traces of\nhis departed friends. There, as the gracious Reader will also remember,\nhe had come a little too late to catch that sight of the Projectile\nwhich Belfast had at first reported so confidently, but of which the\nProfessor by degrees had begun to entertain the most serious doubts.\n\nIn these doubts, however, Marston, strange to say, would not permit\nhimself for one moment to share. Belfast might shake his head as much as\nhe pleased; he, Marston, was no fickle reed to be shaken by every wind;\nhe firmly believed the Projectile to be there before him, actually in\nsight, if he could only see it. All the long night of the 13th, and even\nfor several hours of the 14th, he never quitted the telescope for a\nsingle instant. The midnight sky was in magnificent order; not a speck\ndimmed its azure of an intensely dark tint. The stars blazed out like\nfires; the Moon refused none of her secrets to the scientists who were\ngazing at her so intently that night from the platform on the summit of\nLong's Peak. But no black spot crawling over her resplendent surface\nrewarded their eager gaze. Marston indeed would occasionally utter a\njoyful cry announcing some discovery, but in a moment after he was\nconfessing with groans that it was all a false alarm. Towards morning,\nBelfast gave up in despair and went to take a sleep; but no sleep for\nMarston. Though he was now quite alone, the assistants having also\nretired, he kept on talking incessantly to himself, expressing the most\nunbounded confidence in the safety of his friends, and the absolute\ncertainty of their return. It was not until some hours after the Sun\nhad risen and the Moon had disappeared behind the snowy peaks of the\nwest, that he at last withdrew his weary eye from the glass through\nwhich every image formed by the great reflector was to be viewed. The\ncountenance he turned on Belfast, who had now come back, was rueful in\nthe extreme. It was the image of grief and despair.\n\n\"Did you see nothing whatever during the night, Professor?\" he asked of\nBelfast, though he knew very well the answer he was to get.\n\n\"Nothing whatever.\"\n\n\"But you saw them once, didn't you?\"\n\n\"Them! Who?\"\n\n\"Our friends.\"\n\n\"Oh! the Projectile--well--I think I must have made some oversight.\"\n\n\"Don't say that! Did not Mr. M'Connell see it also?\"\n\n\"No. He only wrote out what I dictated.\"\n\n\"Why, you must have seen it! I have seen it myself!\"\n\n\"You shall never see it again! It's shot off into space.\"\n\n\"You're as wrong now as you thought you were right yesterday.\"\n\n\"I'm sorry to say I was wrong yesterday; but I have every reason to\nbelieve I'm right to-day.\"\n\n\"We shall see! Wait till to-night!\"\n\n\"To-night! Too late! As far as the Projectile is concerned, night is now\nno better than day.\"\n\nThe learned Professor was quite right, but in a way which he did not\nexactly expect. That very evening, after a weary day, apparently a month\nlong, during which Marston sought in vain for a few hours' repose, just\nas all hands, well wrapped up in warm furs, were getting ready to assume\ntheir posts once more near the mouth of the gigantic Telescope, Mr.\nM'Connell hastily presented himself with a dispatch for Belfast.\n\nThe Professor was listlessly breaking the envelope, when he uttered a\nsharp cry of surprise.\n\n\"Hey!\" cried Marston quickly. \"What's up now?\"\n\n\"Oh!! The Pro--pro--projectile!!\"\n\n\"What of it? What? Oh what?? Speak!!\"\n\n\"IT'S BACK!!\"\n\nMarston uttered a wild yell of mingled horror, surprise, and joy, jumped\na little into the air, and then fell flat and motionless on the\nplatform. Had Belfast shot him with a ten pound weight, right between\nthe two eyes, he could not have knocked him flatter or stiffer. Having\nneither slept all night, nor eaten all day, the poor fellow's system had\nbecome so weak that such unexpected news was really more than he could\nbear. Besides, as one of the Cambridge men of the party, a young medical\nstudent, remarked: the thin, cold air of these high mountains was\nextremely enervating.\n\nThe astronomers, all exceedingly alarmed, did what they could to recover\ntheir friend from his fit, but it was nearly ten minutes before they had\nthe satisfaction of seeing his limbs moving with a slight quiver and\nhis breast beginning to heave. At last the color came back to his face\nand his eyes opened. He stared around for a few seconds at his friends,\nevidently unconscious, but his senses were not long in returning.\n\n\"Say!\" he uttered at last in a faint voice.\n\n\"Well!\" replied Belfast.\n\n\"Where is that infernal Pro--pro--jectile?\"\n\n\"In the Pacific Ocean.\"\n\n\"What??\"\n\nHe was on his feet in an instant.\n\n\"Say that again!\"\n\n\"In the Pacific Ocean.\"\n\n\"Hurrah! All right! Old Barbican's not made into mincemeat yet! No,\nsirree! Let's start!\"\n\n\"Where for?\"\n\n\"San Francisco!\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"This instant!\"\n\n\"In the dark?\"\n\n\"We shall soon have the light of the Moon! Curse her! it's the least she\ncan do after all the trouble she has given us!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.\n\nON THE WINGS OF THE WIND.\n\n\nLeaving M'Connell and a few other Cambridge men to take charge of the\nGreat Telescope, Marston and Belfast in little more than an hour after\nthe receipt of the exciting dispatch, were scudding down the slopes of\nLong's Peak by the only possible route--the inclined railroad. This\nmode of travelling, however, highly satisfactory as far as it went,\nceased altogether at the mountain foot, at the point where the Dale\nRiver formed a junction with Cache la Poudre Creek. But Marston, having\nalready mapped out the whole journey with some care and forethought, was\nready for almost every emergency. Instinctively feeling that the first\nact of the Baltimore Gun Club would be to send a Committee to San\nFrancisco to investigate matters, he had determined to meet this\ndeputation on the route, and his only trouble now was to determine at\nwhat point he would be most likely to catch them. His great start, he\nknew perfectly well, could not put him more than a day in advance of\nthem: they having the advantage of a railroad nearly all the way, whilst\nhimself and Belfast could not help losing much time in struggling\nthrough ravines, canyons, mountain precipices, and densely tangled\nforests, not to mention the possibility of a brush or two with prowling\nIndians, before they could strike the line of the Pacific Railroad,\nalong which he knew the Club men to be approaching. After a few hours\nrest at La Porte, a little settlement lately started in the valley,\nearly in the morning they took the stage that passed through from Denver\nto Cheyenne, a town at that time hardly a year old but already\nflourishing, with a busy population of several thousand inhabitants.\n\nLosing not a moment at Cheyenne, where they arrived much sooner than\nthey had anticipated, they took places in Wells, Fargo and Co.'s\n_Overland Stage Mail_ bound east, and were soon flying towards Julesburg\nat the rate of twelve miles an hour. Here Marston was anxious to meet\nthe Club men, as at this point the Pacific Railroad divided into two\nbranches--one bearing north, the other south of the Great Salt Lake\n--and he feared they might take the wrong one.\n\nBut he arrived in Julesburg fully 10 hours before the Committee, so that\nhimself and Belfast had not only ample time to rest a little after their\nrapid flight from Long's Peak, but also to make every possible\npreparation for the terrible journey of more than fifteen hundred miles\nthat still lay before them.\n\nThis journey, undertaken at a most unseasonable period of the year, and\nover one of the most terrible deserts in the world, would require a\nvolume for itself. Constantly presenting the sharpest points of contrast\nbetween the most savage features of wild barbaric nature on the one\nhand, and the most touching traits of the sweetest humanity on the\nother, the story of our Club men's adventures, if only well told, could\nhardly fail to be highly interesting. But instead of a volume, we can\ngive it only a chapter, and that a short one.\n\nFrom Julesburg, the last station on the eastern end of the Pacific\nRailroad, to Cisco, the last station on its western end, the distance is\nprobably about fifteen hundred miles, about as far as Constantinople is\nfrom London, or Moscow from Paris. This enormous stretch of country had\nto be travelled all the way by, at the best, a six horse stage tearing\nalong night and day at a uniform rate, road or no road, of ten miles an\nhour. But this was the least of the trouble. Bands of hostile Indians\nwere a constant source of watchfulness and trouble, against which even a\nmost liberal stock of rifles and revolvers were not always a\nreassurance. Whirlwinds of dust often overwhelmed the travellers so\ncompletely that they could hardly tell day from night, whilst blasts of\nicy chill, sweeping down from the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains,\noften made them imagine themselves in the midst of the horrors of an\nArctic winter.\n\nThe predominant scenery gave no pleasure to the eye or exhilaration to\nthe mind. It was of the dreariest description. Days and days passed with\nhardly a house to be seen, or a tree or a blade of grass. I might even\nadd, or a mountain or a river, for the one was too often a heap of\nagglomerated sand and clay cut into unsightly chasms by the rain, and\nthe other generally degenerated into a mere stagnant swamp, its\nshallowness and dryness increasing regularly with its length. The only\nhouses were log ranches, called Relays, hardly visible in their sandy\nsurroundings, and separate from each other by a mean distance of ten\nmiles. The only trees were either stunted cedars, so far apart, as to be\noften denominated Lone Trees; and, besides wormwood, the only plant was\nthe sage plant, about two feet high, gray, dry, crisp, and emitting a\nsharp pungent odor by no means pleasant.\n\nIn fact, Barbican and his companions had seen nothing drearier or\nsavager in the dreariest and savagest of lunar landscapes than the\nscenes occasionally presented to Marston and his friends in their\nheadlong journey on the track of the great Pacific Railroad. Here,\nbowlders, high, square, straight and plumb as an immense hotel, blocked\nup your way; there, lay an endless level, flat as the palm of your hand,\nover which your eye might roam in vain in search of something green like\na meadow, yellow like a cornfield, or black like ploughed ground--a mere\nboundless waste of dirty white from the stunted wormwood, often rendered\nmisty with the clouds of smarting alkali dust.\n\nOccasionally, however, this savage scenery decidedly changed its\ncharacter. Now, a lovely glen would smile before our travellers,\ntraversed by tinkling streams, waving with sweet grasses, dotted with\nlittle groves, alive with hares, antelopes, and even elks, but\napparently never yet trodden by the foot of man. Now, our Club men felt\nlike travelling on clouds, as they careered along the great plateau\nwest of the Black Hills, fully 8,000 feet above the level of the sea,\nthough even there the grass was as green and fresh as if it grew in some\nsequestered valley of Pennsylvania. Again,\n\n    \"In this untravelled world whose margin fades\n    For ever and for ever as they moved,\"\n\nthey would find themselves in an immense, tawny, treeless plain,\noutlined by mountains so distant as to resemble fantastic cloud piles.\nHere for days they would have to skirt the coasts of a Lake, vast,\nunruffled, unrippled, apparently of metallic consistency, from whose\nsapphire depths rose pyramidal islands to a height of fully three\nthousand feet above the surface.\n\nIn a few days all would change. No more sand wastes, salt water flats,\nor clouds of blinding alkali dust. The travellers' road, at the foot of\nblack precipitous cliffs, would wind along the brink of a roaring\ntorrent, whose devious course would lead them into the heart of the\nSierras, where misty peaks solemnly sentinelled the nestling vales still\nsmiling in genial summer verdure. Across these they were often whirled\nthrough immense forests of varied character, here dense enough to\nobscure the track, there swaying in the sweet sunlight and vocal with\njoyous birds of bright and gorgeous plumage. Then tropical vegetation\nwould completely hide the trail, crystal lakes would obstruct it,\ncascades shooting down from perpendicular rocks would obliterate it,\nmountain passes barricaded by basaltic columns would render it\nuncertain, and on one occasion it was completely covered up by a fall of\nsnow to a depth of more than twenty feet.\n\nBut nothing could oppose serious delay to our travellers. Their motto\nwas ever \"onward!\" and what they lost in one hour by some mishap they\nendeavored to recover on the next by redoubled speed. They felt that\nthey would be no friends of Barbican's if they were discouraged by\nimpossibilities. Besides, what would have been real impossibilities at\nanother time, several concurrent circumstances now rendered\ncomparatively easy.\n\nThe surveys, the gradings, the cuttings, and the other preliminary\nlabors in the great Pacific Railroad, gave them incalculable aid.\nHorses, help, carriages, provisions were always in abundance. Their\nobject being well known, they had the best wishes of every hand on the\nroad. People remained up for them all hours of the night, no matter at\nwhat station they were expected. The warmest and most comfortable of\nmeals were always ready for them, for which no charge would be taken on\nany account. In Utah, a deputation of Mormons galloped alongside them\nfor forty miles to help them over some points of the road that had been\noften found difficult. The season was the finest known for many years.\nIn short, as an old Californian said as he saw them shooting over the\nrickety bridge that crossed the Bear River at Corinne: \"they had\neverything in their favor--_luck_ as well as _pluck_!\"\n\nThe rate at which they performed this terrible ride across the\nContinent and the progress they made each day, some readers may consider\nworthy of a few more items for the sake of future reference. Discarding\nthe ordinary overland mail stage as altogether too slow for their\npurpose, they hired at Julesburg a strong, well built carriage, large\nenough to hold them all comfortably; but this they had to replace twice\nbefore they came to their journey's end. Their team always consisted of\nthe best six horses that could be found, and their driver was the famous\nHank Monk of California, who, happening to be in Julesburg about that\ntime, volunteered to see them safely landed in Cisco on the summit of\nthe Sierra Nevada. They were enabled to change horses as near as\npossible every hour, by telegraphing ahead in the morning, during the\nday, and often far into the hours of night.\n\nStarting from Julesburg early in the morning of the 17th, their first\nresting place for a few hours at night was Granite Canyon, twenty miles\nwest of Cheyenne, and just at the foot of the pass over the Black Hills.\nOn the 18th, night-fall found them entering St. Mary's, at the further\nend of the pass between Rattle Snake Hills and Elk Mountain. It was\nafter 5 o'clock and already dark on the 19th, when the travellers,\nhurrying with all speed through the gloomy gorge of slate formation\nleading to the banks of the Green River, found the ford too deep to be\nventured before morning. The 20th was a clear cold day very favorable\nfor brisk locomotion, and the bright sun had not quite disappeared\nbehind the Wahsatch Mountains when the Club men, having crossed the\nBear River, began to leave the lofty plateau of the Rocky Mountains by\nthe great inclined plane marked by the lines of the Echo and the Weber\nRivers on their way to the valley of the Great American Desert.\n\nQuitting Castle Rock early on the morning of the 21st, they soon came in\nsight of the Great Salt Lake, along the northern shores of which they\nsped all day, taking shelter after night-fall at Terrace, in a miserable\nlog cabin surrounded by piles of drifting sand. The 22d was a terrible\nday. The sand was blinding, the alkali dust choking, the ride for five\nor six hours was up considerable grade; still they had accomplished\ntheir 150 miles before resting for the night at Elko, even at this\nperiod a flourishing little village on the banks of the Humboldt. After\nanother smothering ride on the 23d, they rested, at Winnemucca, another\nflourishing village, situated at the precise point in the desert where\nthe Little Humboldt joins Humboldt River, without, however, making the\nchannel fuller or wider. The 24th was decidedly the hardest day, their\ncourse lying through the worst part of the terrible Nevada desert. But a\nglimpse of the Sierras looming in the western horizon gave them courage\nand strength enough to reach Wadsworth, at their foot, a little before\nmidnight. Our travellers had now but one day's journey more to make\nbefore reaching the railroad at Cisco, but, this being a very steep\nascent nearly all the way up, each mile cost almost twice as much time\nand exertion.\n\nAt last, late in the evening of Christmas Day, amidst the most\nenthusiastic cheers of all the inhabitants of Cisco, who welcomed them\nwith a splendid pine brand procession, Marston and his friends,\nthoroughly used up, feet swelled, limbs bruised, bones aching, stomachs\nseasick, eyes bleared, ears ringing, and brains on fire for want of\nrest, took their places in the State Car waiting for them, and started\nwithout a moment's delay for Sacramento, about a hundred miles distant.\nHow delicious was the change to our poor travellers! Washed, refreshed,\nand lying at full length on luxurious sofas, their sensations, as the\nlocomotive spun them down the ringing grooves of the steep Sierras, can\nbe more easily imagined than described. They were all fast asleep when\nthe train entered Sacramento, but the Mayor and the other city\nauthorities who had waited up to receive them, had them carried\ncarefully, so as not to disturb their slumbers, on board the _Yo\nSemite_, a fine steamer belonging to the California Navigation Company,\nwhich landed them safely at San Francisco about noon on the 26th, after\naccomplishing the extraordinary winter journey of 1500 miles over land\nin little more than nine days, only about 200 miles being done by steam.\n\nHalf-past two P.M. found our travellers bathed, dressed, shaved, dined,\nand ready to receive company in the grand parlor of the _Occidental\nHotel_. Captain Bloomsbury was the first to call.\n\nMarston hobbled eagerly towards him and asked:\n\n\"What have you done towards fishing them up, Captain?\"\n\n\"A good deal, Mr. Marston; indeed almost everything is ready.\"\n\n\"Is that really the case, Captain?\" asked all, very agreeably surprised.\n\n\"Yes, gentlemen, I am most happy to state that I am quite in earnest.\"\n\n\"Can we start to-morrow?\" asked General Morgan. \"We have not a moment to\nspare, you know.\"\n\n\"We can start at noon to-morrow at latest,\" replied the Captain, \"if the\nfoundry men do a little extra work to-night.\"\n\n\"We must start this very day, Captain Bloomsbury,\" cried Marston\nresolutely; \"Barbican has been lying two weeks and thirteen hours in the\ndepths of the Pacific! If he is still alive, no thanks to Marston! He\nmust by this time have given me up! The grappling irons must be got on\nboard at once, Captain, and let us start this evening!\"\n\nAt half-past four that very evening, a shot from the Fort and a lowering\nof the Stars and Stripes from its flagstaff saluted the _Susquehanna_,\nas she steamed proudly out of the Golden Gate at the lively rate of\nfifteen knots an hour.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII.\n\nTHE CLUB MEN GO A FISHING.\n\n\nCaptain Bloomsbury was perfectly right when he said that almost\neverything was ready for the commencement of the great work which the\nClub men had to accomplish. Considering how much was required, this was\ncertainly saying a great deal; but here also, as on many other\noccasions, fortune had singularly favored the Club men.\n\nSan Francisco Bay, as everybody knows, though one of the finest and\nsafest harbors in the world, is not without some danger from hidden\nrocks. One of these in particular, the Anita Rock as it was called,\nlying right in mid channel, had become so notorious for the wrecks of\nwhich it was the cause, that, after much time spent in the consideration\nof the subject, the authorities had at last determined to blow it up.\nThis undertaking having been very satisfactorily accomplished by means\nof _dynamite_ or giant powder, another improvement in the harbor had\nbeen also undertaken with great success. The wrecks of many vessels lay\nscattered here and there pretty numerously, some, like that of the\n_Flying Dragon_, in spots so shallow that they could be easily seen at\nlow water, but others sunk at least twenty fathoms deep, like that of\nthe _Caroline_, which had gone down in 1851, not far from Blossom Rock,\nwith a treasure on board of 20,000 ounces of gold. The attempt to clear\naway these wrecks had also turned out very well; even sufficient\ntreasure had been recovered to repay all the expense, though the\npreparations for the purpose by the contractors, M'Gowan and Co. had\nbeen made on the most extensive scale, and in accordance with the latest\nimprovements in the apparatus for submarine operations.\n\nBuoys, made of huge canvas sacks, coated with India rubber, and guarded\nby a net work of strong cordage, had been manufactured and provided by\nthe _New York Submarine Company_. These buoys, when inflated and working\nin pairs, had a lifting capacity of 30 tons a pair. Reservoirs of air,\nprovided with powerful compression pumps, always accompanied the buoys.\nTo attach the latter, in a collapsed condition, with strong chains to\nthe sides of the vessels which were to be lifted, a diving apparatus was\nnecessary. This also the _New York Company_ had provided, and it was so\nperfect in its way that, by means of peculiar appliances of easy\nmanagement, the diver could walk about on the bottom, take his own\nbearings, ascend to the surface at pleasure, and open his helmet without\nassistance. A few sets likewise of Rouquayrol and Denayrouze's famous\nsubmarine armor had been provided. These would prove of invaluable\nadvantage in all operations performed at great sea depths, as its\ndistinctive feature, \"the regulator,\" could maintain, what is not done\nby any other diving armor, a constant equality of pressure on the lungs\nbetween the external and the internal air.\n\nBut perhaps the most useful article of all was a new form of diving bell\ncalled the _Nautilus_, a kind of submarine boat, capable of lateral as\nwell as vertical movement at the will of its occupants. Constructed with\ndouble sides, the intervening chambers could be filled either with water\nor air according as descent or ascent was required. A proper supply of\nwater enabled the machine to descend to depths impossible to be reached\notherwise; this water could then be expelled by an ingenious\ncontrivance, which, replacing it with air, enabled the diver to rise\ntowards the surface as fast as he pleased.\n\nAll these and many other portions of the submarine apparatus which had\nbeen employed that very year for clearing the channel, lifting the\nwrecks and recovering the treasure, lay now at San Francisco, unused\nfortunately on account of the season of the year, and therefore they\ncould be readily obtained for the asking. They had even been generously\noffered to Captain Bloomsbury, who, in obedience to a telegram from\nWashington, had kept his crew busily employed for nearly two weeks\nnight and day in transferring them all safely on board the\n_Susquehanna_.\n\nMarston was the first to make a careful inspection of every article\nintended for the operation.\n\n\"Do you consider these buoys powerful enough to lift the Projectile,\nCaptain?\" he asked next morning, as the vessel was briskly heading\nsouthward, at a distance of ten or twelve miles from the coast on their\nleft.\n\n\"You can easily calculate that problem yourself, Mr. Marston,\" replied\nthe Captain. \"It presents no difficulty. The Projectile weighs about 20\nthousand pounds, or 10 tons?\"\n\n\"Correct!\"\n\n\"Well, a pair of these buoys when inflated can raise a weight of 30\ntons.\"\n\n\"So far so good. But how do you propose attaching them to the\nProjectile?\"\n\n\"We simply let them descend in a state of collapse; the diver, going\ndown with them, will have no difficulty in making a fast connection. As\nsoon as they are inflated the Projectile will come up like a cork.\"\n\n\"Can the divers readily reach such depths?\"\n\n\"That remains to be seen Mr. Marston.\"\n\n\"Captain,\" said Morgan, now joining the party, \"you are a worthy member\nof our Gun Club. You have done wonders. Heaven grant it may not be all\nin vain! Who knows if our poor friends are still alive?\"\n\n\"Hush!\" cried Marston quickly. \"Have more sense than to ask such\nquestions. Is Barbican alive! Am _I_ alive? They're all alive, I tell\nyou, only we must be quick about reaching them before the air gives out.\nThat's what's the matter! Air! Provisions, water--abundance! But\nair--oh! that's their weak point! Quick, Captain, quick--They're\nthrowing the reel--I must see her rate!\" So saying, he hurried off to\nthe stern, followed by General Morgan. Chief Engineer Murphy and the\nCaptain of the _Susquehanna_ were thus left for awhile together.\n\nThese two men had a long talk on the object of their journey and the\nlikelihood of anything satisfactory being accomplished. The man of the\nsea candidly acknowledged his apprehensions. He had done everything in\nhis power towards collecting suitable machinery for fishing up the\nProjectile, but he had done it all, he said, more as a matter of duty\nthan because he believed that any good could result from it; in fact, he\nnever expected to see the bold adventurers again either living or dead.\nMurphy, who well understood not only what machinery was capable of\neffecting, but also what it would surely fail in, at first expressed the\ngreatest confidence in the prosperous issue of the undertaking. But when\nhe learned, as he now did for the first time, that the ocean bed on\nwhich the Projectile was lying could be hardly less than 20,000 feet\nbelow the surface, he assumed a countenance as grave as the Captain's,\nand at once confessed that, unless their usual luck stood by them, his\npoor friends had not the slightest possible chance of ever being fished\nup from the depths of the Pacific.\n\nThe conversation maintained among the officers and the others on board\nthe _Susquehanna_, was pretty much of the same nature. It is almost\nneedless to say that all heads--except Belfast's, whose scientific mind\nrejected the Projectile theory with the most serene contempt--were\nfilled with the same idea, all hearts throbbed with the same emotion.\nWouldn't it be glorious to fish them up alive and well? What were they\ndoing just now? Doing? _Doing!_ Their bodies most probably were lying in\na shapeless pile on the floor of the Projectile, like a heap of clothes,\nthe uppermost man being the last smothered; or perhaps floating about in\nthe water inside the Projectile, like dead gold fish in an aquarium; or\nperhaps burned to a cinder, like papers in a \"champion\" safe after a\ngreat fire; or, who knows? perhaps at that very moment the poor fellows\nwere making their last and almost superhuman struggles to burst their\nwatery prison and ascend once more into the cheerful regions of light\nand air! Alas! How vain must such puny efforts prove! Plunged into ocean\ndepths of three or four miles beneath the surface, subjected to an\ninconceivable pressure of millions and millions of tons of sea water,\ntheir metallic shroud was utterly unassailable from within, and utterly\nunapproachable from without!\n\nEarly on the morning of December 29th, the Captain calculating from his\nlog that they must now be very near the spot where they had witnessed\nthe extraordinary phenomenon, the _Susquehanna_ hove to. Having to wait\ntill noon to find his exact position, he ordered the steamer to take a\nshort circular course of a few hours' duration, in hope of sighting the\nbuoy. But though at least a hundred telescopes scanned the calm ocean\nbreast for many miles in all directions, it was nowhere to be seen.\n\nPrecisely at noon, aided by his officers and in the presence of\nMarston, Belfast, and the Gun Club Committee, the Captain took his\nobservations. After a moment or two of the most profound interest, it\nwas a great gratification to all to learn that the _Susquehanna_ was on\nthe right parallel, and only about 15 miles west of the precise spot\nwhere the Projectile had disappeared beneath the waves. The steamer\nstarted at once in the direction indicated, and a minute or two before\none o'clock the Captain said they were \"there.\" No sign of the buoy\ncould yet be seen in any direction; it had probably been drifted\nsouthward by the Mexican coast current which slowly glides along these\nshores from December to April.\n\n\"At last!\" cried Marston, with a sigh of great relief.\n\n\"Shall we commence at once?\" asked the Captain.\n\n\"Without losing the twenty thousandth part of a second!\" answered\nMarston; \"life or death depends upon our dispatch!\"\n\nThe _Susquehanna_ again hove to, and this time all possible precautions\nwere taken to keep her in a state of perfect immobility--an operation\neasily accomplished in these pacific latitudes, where cloud and wind and\nwater are often as motionless as if all life had died out of the world.\nIn fact, as the boats were quietly lowered, preparatory for beginning\nthe operations, the mirror like calmness of sea, sky, and ship so\nimpressed the Doctor, who was of a poetical turn of mind, that he could\nnot help exclaiming to the little Midshipman, who was standing nearest:\n\n\"Coleridge realized, with variations:\n\n    The breeze drops down, the sail drops down,\n      All's still as still can be;\n    If we speak, it is only to break\n      The silence of the sea.\n    Still are the clouds, still are the shrouds,\n      No life, no breath, no motion;\n    Idle are all as a painted ship\n      Upon a painted ocean!\"\n\nChief Engineer Murphy now took command. Before letting down the buoys,\nthe first thing evidently to be done was to find out, if possible, the\nprecise point where the Projectile lay. For this purpose, the Nautilus\nwas clearly the only part of the machinery that could be employed with\nadvantage. Its chambers were accordingly soon filled with water, its air\nreservoirs were also soon completely charged, and the Nautilus itself,\nsuspended by chains from the end of a yard, lay quietly on the ocean\nsurface, its manhole on the top remaining open for the reception of\nthose who were willing to encounter the dangers that awaited it in the\nfearful depths of the Pacific. Every one looking on was well aware that,\nafter a few hundred feet below the surface, the pressure would grow more\nand more enormous, until at last it became quite doubtful if any line\ncould bear the tremendous strain. It was even possible that at a certain\ndepth the walls of the Nautilus might be crushed in like an eggshell,\nand the whole machine made as flat as two leaves of paper pasted\ntogether.\n\nPerfectly conscious of the nature of the tremendous risk they were about\nto run, Marston, Morgan, and Murphy quietly bade their friends a short\nfarewell and were lowered into the manhole. The Nautilus having room\nenough for four, Belfast had been expected to be of the party but,\nfeeling a little sea sick, the Professor backed out at the last moment,\nto the great joy of Mr. Watkins, the famous reporter of the _N.Y.\nHerald_, who was immediately allowed to take his place.\n\nEvery provision against immediate danger had been made. By means of\npreconcerted signals, the inmates could have themselves drawn up, let\ndown, or carried laterally in whatever direction they pleased. By\nbarometers and other instruments they could readily ascertain the\npressure of the air and water, also how far they had descended and at\nwhat rate they were moving. The Captain, from his bridge, carefully\nsuperintended every detail of the operation. All signals he insisted on\nattending to himself personally, transmitting them instantly by his bell\nto the engineer below. The whole power of the steam engine had been\nbrought to bear on the windlass; the chains could withstand an enormous\nstrain. The wheels had been carefully oiled and tested beforehand; the\nsignalling apparatus had been subjected to the rigidest examination; and\nevery portion of the machinery had been proved to be in admirable\nworking order.\n\nThe chances of immediate and unforeseen danger, it is true, had been\nsomewhat diminished by all these precautions. The risk, nevertheless,\nwas fearful. The slightest accident or even carelessness might easily\nlead to the most disastrous consequence.\n\nFive minutes after two o'clock, the manhole being closed, the lamps lit,\nand everything pronounced all right, the signal for the descent was\ngiven, and the Nautilus immediately disappeared beneath the waters. A\ndouble anxiety now possessed all on board the _Susquehanna_: the\nprisoners in the Nautilus were in danger as well as the prisoners in the\nProjectile. Marston and his friends, however, were anything but\ndisquieted on their own account, and, pencil in hand and noses flattened\non the glass plates, they examined carefully everything they could see\nin the liquid masses through which they were descending.\n\nFor the first five hundred feet, the descent was accomplished with\nlittle trouble. The Nautilus sank rather slowly, at a uniform rate of a\nfoot to the second. It had not been two minutes under water when the\nlight of day completely disappeared. But for this the occupants were\nfully prepared, having provided themselves with powerful lamps, whose\nbrilliant light, radiating from polished reflectors, gave them an\nopportunity of seeing clearly around it for a distance of eight or ten\nfeet in all directions. Owing to the superlatively excellent\nconstruction of the Nautilus, also on account of the _scaphanders_, or\nsuits of diving armor, with which Marston and his friends had clothed\nthemselves, the disagreeable sensations to which divers are ordinarily\nexposed, were hardly felt at all in the beginning of the descent.\n\nMarston was about to congratulate his companions on the favorable\nauspices inaugurating their trip, when Murphy, consulting the\ninstrument, discovered to his great surprise that the Nautilus was not\nmaking its time. In reply to their signal \"faster!\" the downward\nmovement increased a little, but it soon relaxed again. Instead of less\nthan two minutes, as at the beginning, it now took twelve minutes to\nmake a hundred feet. They had gone only seven hundred feet in\nthirty-seven minutes. In spite of repeated signalling, their progress\nduring the next hour was even still more alarming, one hundred feet\ntaking exactly 59 minutes. To shorten detail, it required two hours more\nto make another hundred feet; and then the Nautilus, after taking ten\nminutes to crawl an inch further, came to a perfect stand still. The\npressure of the water had evidently now become too enormous to allow\nfurther descent.\n\nThe Clubmen's distress was very great; Marston's, in particular, was\nindescribable. In vain, catching at straws, he signalled \"eastwards!\"\n\"westwards!\" \"northwards!\" or \"southwards!\" the Nautilus moved readily\nevery way but downwards.\n\n\"Oh! what shall we do?\" he cried in despair; \"Barbican, must we really\ngive you up though separated from us by the short distance of only a few\nmiles?\"\n\nAt last, nothing better being to be done, the unwilling signal \"heave\nupwards!\" was given, and the hauling up commenced. It was done very\nslowly, and with the greatest care. A sudden jerk might snap the chains;\nan incautious twist might put a kink on the air tube; besides, it was\nwell known that the sudden removal of heavy pressure resulting from\nrapid ascent, is attended by very disagreeable sensations, which have\nsometimes even proved fatal.\n\nIt was near midnight when the Clubmen were lifted out of the manhole.\nTheir faces were pale, their eyes bloodshot, their figures stooped. Even\nthe _Herald_ Reporter seemed to have got enough of exploring. But\nMarston was as confident as ever, and tried to be as brisk.\n\nHe had hardly swallowed the refreshment so positively enjoined in the\ncircumstances, when he abruptly addressed the Captain:\n\n\"What's the weight of your heaviest cannon balls?\"\n\n\"Thirty pounds, Mr. Marston.\"\n\n\"Can't you attach thirty of them to the Nautilus and sink us again?\"\n\n\"Certainly, Mr. Marston, if you wish it. It shall be the first thing\ndone to-morrow.\"\n\n\"To-night, Captain! At once! Barbican has not an instant to lose.\"\n\n\"At once then be it, Mr. Marston. Just as you say.\"\n\nThe new sinkers were soon attached to the Nautilus, which disappeared\nonce more with all its former occupants inside, except the _Herald_\nReporter, who had fallen asleep over his notes, or at least seemed to\nbe. He had probably made up his mind as to the likelihood of the\nNautilus ever getting back again.\n\nThe second descent was quicker than the first, but just as futile. At\n1152 feet, the Nautilus positively refused to go a single inch further.\nMarston looked like a man in a stupor. He made no objection to the\nsignal given by the others to return; he even helped to cut the ropes by\nwhich the cannon balls had been attached. Not a single word was spoken\nby the party, as they slowly rose to the surface. Marston seemed to be\nstruggling against despair. For the first time, the impossibility of the\ngreat enterprise seemed to dawn upon him. He and his friends had\nundertaken a great fight with the mighty Ocean, which now played with\nthem as a giant with a pigmy. To reach the bottom was evidently\ncompletely out of their power; and what was infinitely worse, there was\nnothing to be gained by reaching it. The Projectile was not on the\nbottom; it could not even have got to the bottom. Marston said it all in\na few words to the Captain, as the Clubmen stepped on deck a few hours\nlater:\n\n\"Barbican is floating midway in the depths of the Pacific, like Mahomet\nin his coffin!\"\n\nBlindly yielding, however, to the melancholy hope that is born of\ndespair, Marston and his friends renewed the search next day, the 30th,\nbut they were all too worn out with watching and excitement to be able\nto continue it longer than a few hours. After a night's rest, it was\nrenewed the day following, the 31st, with some vigor, and a good part of\nthe ocean lying between Guadalupe and Benito islands was carefully\ninvestigated to a depth of seven or eight hundred feet. No traces\nwhatever of the Projectile. Several California steamers, plying between\nSan Francisco and Panama, passed the _Susquehanna_ within hailing\ndistance. But to every question, the invariable reply one melancholy\nburden bore:\n\n\"No luck!\"\n\nAll hands were now in despair. Marston could neither eat nor drink. He\nnever even spoke the whole day, except on two occasions. Once, when\nsomebody heard him muttering:\n\n\"He's now seventeen days in the ocean!\"\n\nThe second time he spoke, the words seemed to be forced out of him.\nBelfast admitted, for the sake of argument, that the Projectile had\nfallen into the ocean, but he strongly denounced the absurd idea of its\noccupants being still alive. \"Under such circumstances,\" went on the\nlearned Professor, \"further prolongation of vital energy would be simply\nimpossible. Want of air, want of food, want of courage--\"\n\n\"No, sir!\" interrupted Marston quite savagely. \"Want of air, of meat, of\ndrink, as much as you like! But when you speak of Barbican's want of\ncourage, you don't know what you are talking about! No holy martyr ever\ndied at the stake with a loftier courage than my noble friend\nBarbican!\"\n\nThat night he asked the Captain if he would not sail down as far as Cape\nSan Lucas. Bloomsbury saw that further search was all labor lost, but he\nrespected such heroic grief too highly to give a positive refusal. He\nconsented to devote the following day, New Year's, to an exploring\nexpedition as far as Magdalena Bay, making the most diligent inquiries\nin all directions.\n\nBut New Year's was just as barren of results as any of its predecessors,\nand, a little before sunset, Captain Bloomsbury, regardless of further\nentreaties and unwilling to risk further delay, gave orders to 'bout\nship and return to San Francisco.\n\nThe _Susquehanna_ was slowly turning around in obedience to her wheel,\nas if reluctant to abandon forever a search in which humanity at large\nwas interested, when the look-out man, stationed in the forecastle,\nsuddenly sang out:\n\n\"A buoy to the nor'east, not far from shore!\"\n\nAll telescopes were instantly turned in the direction indicated. The\nbuoy, or whatever object it was, could be readily distinguished. It\ncertainly did look like one of those buoys used to mark out the channel\nthat ships follow when entering a harbor. But as the vessel slowly\napproached it, a small flag, flapping in the dying wind--a strange\nfeature in a buoy--was seen to surmount its cone, which a nearer\napproach showed to be emerging four or five feet from the water. And for\na buoy too it was exceedingly bright and shiny, reflecting the red rays\nof the setting sun as strongly as if its surface was crystal or polished\nmetal!\n\n\"Call Mr. Marston on deck at once!\" cried the Captain, his voice\nbetraying unwonted excitement as he put the glass again to his eye.\n\nMarston, thoroughly worn out by his incessant anxiety during the day,\nhad been just carried below by his friends, and they were now trying to\nmake him take a little refreshment and repose. But the Captain's order\nbrought them all on deck like a flash.\n\nThey found the whole crew gazing in one direction, and, though speaking\nin little more than whispers, evidently in a state of extraordinary\nexcitement.\n\nWhat could all this mean? Was there any ground for hope? The thought\nsent a pang of delight through Marston's wildly beating heart that\nalmost choked him.\n\nThe Captain beckoned to the Club men to take a place on the bridge\nbeside himself. They instantly obeyed, all quietly yielding them a\npassage.\n\nThe vessel was now only about a quarter of a mile distant from the\nobject and therefore near enough to allow it to be distinguished without\nthe aid of a glass.\n\nWhat! The flag bore the well known Stars and Stripes!\n\nAn electric shudder of glad surprise shot through the assembled crowd.\nThey still spoke, however, in whispers, hardly daring to utter their\nthoughts aloud.\n\nThe silence was suddenly startled by a howl of mingled ecstasy and rage\nfrom Marston.\n\nHe would have fallen off the bridge, had not the others held him firmly.\nThen he burst into a laugh loud and long, and quite as formidable as his\nhowl.\n\nThen he tore away from his friends, and began beating himself over the\nhead.\n\n\"Oh!\" he cried in accents between a yell and a groan, \"what chuckleheads\nwe are! What numskulls! What jackasses! What double-treble-barrelled\ngibbering idiots!\" Then he fell to beating himself over the head again.\n\n\"What's the matter, Marston, for heaven's sake!\" cried his friends,\nvainly trying to hold him.\n\n\"Speak for yourself!\" cried others, Belfast among the number.\n\n\"No exception, Belfast! You're as bad as the rest of us! We're all a set\nof unmitigated, demoralized, dog-goned old lunatics! Ha! Ha! Ha!\"\n\n\"Speak plainly, Marston! Tell us what you mean!\"\n\n\"I mean,\" roared the terrible Secretary, \"that we are no better than a\nlot of cabbage heads, dead beats, and frauds, calling ourselves\nscientists! O Barbican, how you must blush for us! If we were\nschoolboys, we should all be skinned alive for our ignorance! Do you\nforget, you herd of ignoramuses, that the Projectile weighs only ten\ntons?\"\n\n\"We don't forget it! We know it well! What of it?\"\n\n\"This of it: it can't sink in water without displacing its own volume\nin water; its own volume in water weighs thirty tons! Consequently, it\ncan't sink; more consequently, it hasn't sunk; and, most consequently,\nthere it is before us, bobbing up and down all the time under our very\nnoses! O Barbican, how can we ever venture to look at you straight in\nthe face again!\"\n\nMarston's extravagant manner of showing it did not prevent him from\nbeing perfectly right. With all their knowledge of physics, not a single\none of those scientific gentlemen had remembered the great fundamental\nlaw that governs sinking or floating bodies. Thanks to its slight\nspecific gravity, the Projectile, after reaching unknown depths of ocean\nthrough the terrific momentum of its fall, had been at last arrested in\nits course and even obliged to return to the surface.\n\nBy this time, all the passengers of the _Susquehanna_ could easily\nrecognize the object of such weary longings and desperate searches,\nfloating quietly a short distance before them in the last rays of the\ndeclining day!\n\nThe boats were out in an instant. Marston and his friends took the\nCaptain's gig. The rowers pulled with a will towards the rapidly nearing\nProjectile. What did it contain? The living or the dead? The living\ncertainly! as Marston whispered to those around him; otherwise how could\nthey have ever run up that flag?\n\nThe boats approached in perfect silence, all hearts throbbing with the\nintensity of newly awakened hope, all eyes eagerly watching for some\nsign to confirm it. No part of the windows appeared over the water, but\nthe trap hole had been thrown open, and through it came the pole that\nbore the American flag. Marston made for the trap hole and, as it was\nonly a few feet above the surface, he had no difficulty in looking in.\n\nAt that moment, a joyful shout of triumph rose from the interior, and\nthe whole boat's crew heard a dry drawling voice with a nasal twang\nexclaiming:\n\n\"Queen! How is that for high?\"\n\nIt was instantly answered by another voice, shriller, louder, quicker,\nmore joyous and triumphant in tone, but slightly tinged with a foreign\naccent:\n\n\"King! My brave Mac! How is that for high?\"\n\nThe deep, clear, calm voice that spoke next thrilled the listeners\noutside with an emotion that we shall not attempt to portray. Except\nthat their ears could detect in it the faintest possible emotion of\ntriumph, it was in all respects as cool, resolute, and self-possessed as\never:\n\n\"Ace! Dear friends, how is that for high?\"\n\nThey were quietly enjoying a little game of High-Low-Jack!\n\n[Illustration: HOW IS THAT FOR HIGH?]\n\nHow they must have been startled by the wild cheers that suddenly rang\naround their ocean-prison! How madly were these cheers re-echoed from\nthe decks of the _Susquehanna_! Who can describe the welcome that\ngreeted these long lost, long beloved, long despaired of Sons of Earth,\nnow so suddenly and unexpectedly rescued from destruction, and\nrestored once more to the wonderstricken eyes of admiring humanity? Who\ncan describe the scenes of joy and exuberant happiness, and deep felt\ngratitude, and roaring rollicking merriment, that were witnessed on\nboard the steamer that night and during the next three days!\n\nAs for Marston, it need hardly be said that he was simply ecstatic, but\nit may interest both the psychologist and the philologist to learn that\nthe expression _How is that for high?_ struck him at once as with a kind\nof frenzy. It became immediately such a favorite tongue morsel of his\nthat ever since he has been employing it on all occasions, appropriate\nor otherwise. Thanks to his exertions in its behalf all over the\ncountry, the phrase is now the most popular of the day, well known and\nrelished in every part of the Union. If we can judge from its present\nhold on the popular ear it will continue to live and flourish for many a\nlong day to come; it may even be accepted as the popular expression of\ntriumph in those dim, distant, future years when the memory not only of\nthe wonderful occasion of its formation but also of the illustrious men\nthemselves who originated it, has been consigned forever to the dark\ntomb of oblivion!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV.\n\nFAREWELL TO THE BALTIMORE GUN CLUB.\n\n\nThe intense interest of our extraordinary but most veracious history\nhaving reached its culmination at the end of the last chapter, our\nabsorbing chronicle might with every propriety have been then and there\nconcluded; but we can't part from our gracious and most indulgent reader\nbefore giving him a few more details which may be instructive perhaps,\nif not amusing.\n\nNo doubt he kindly remembers the world-wide sympathy with which our\nthree famous travellers had started on their memorable trip to the Moon.\nIf so, he may be able to form some idea of the enthusiasm universally\nexcited by the news of their safe return. Would not the millions of\nspectators that had thronged Florida to witness their departure, now\nrush to the other extremity of the Union to welcome them back? Could\nthose innumerable Europeans, Africans and Asiatics, who had visited the\nUnited States simply to have a look at M'Nicholl, Ardan and Barbican,\never think of quitting the country without having seen those wonderful\nmen again? Certainly not! Nay, more--the reception and the welcome that\nthose heroes would everywhere be greeted with, should be on a scale\nfully commensurate with the grandeur of their own gigantic enterprise.\nThe Sons of Earth who had fearlessly quitted this terrestrial globe and\nwho had succeeded in returning after accomplishing a journey\ninconceivably wonderful, well deserved to be received with every\nextremity of pride, pomp and glorious circumstance that the world is\ncapable of displaying.\n\nTo catch a glimpse of these demi-gods, to hear the sound of their\nvoices, perhaps even to touch their hands--these were the only emotions\nwith which the great heart of the country at large was now throbbing.\n\nTo gratify this natural yearning of humanity, to afford not only to\nevery foreigner but to every native in the land an opportunity of\nbeholding the three heroes who had reflected such indelible glory on the\nAmerican name, and to do it all in a manner eminently worthy of the\ngreat American Nation, instantly became the desire of the American\nPeople.\n\nTo desire a thing, and to have it, are synonymous terms with the great\npeople of the American Republic.\n\nA little thinking simplified the matter considerably: as all the people\ncould not go to the heroes, the heroes should go to all the people.\n\nSo decided, so done.\n\nIt was nearly two months before Barbican and his friends could get back\nto Baltimore. The winter travelling over the Rocky Mountains had been\nvery difficult on account of the heavy snows, and, even when they found\nthemselves in the level country, though they tried to travel as\nprivately as possible, and for the present positively declined all\npublic receptions, they were compelled to spend some time in the houses\nof the warm friends near whom they passed in the course of their long\njourney.\n\nThe rough notes of their Moon adventures--the only ones that they could\nfurnish just then--circulating like wild fire and devoured with\nuniversal avidity, only imparted a keener whet to the public desire to\nfeast their eyes on such men. These notes were telegraphed free to every\nnewspaper in the country, but the longest and best account of the\n\"_Journey to the Moon_\" appeared in the columns of the _New York\nHerald_, owing to the fact that Watkins the reporter had had the\nadventurers all to himself during the whole of the three days' trip of\nthe _Susquehanna_ back to San Francisco. In a week after their return,\nevery man, woman, and child in the United States knew by heart some of\nthe main facts and incidents in the famous journey; but, of course, it\nis needless to say that they knew nothing at all about the finer points\nand the highly interesting minor details of the astounding story. These\nare now all laid before the highly favored reader for the first time. I\npresume it is unnecessary to add that they are worthy of his most\nimplicit confidence, having been industriously and conscientiously\ncompiled from the daily journals of the three travellers, revised,\ncorrected, and digested very carefully by Barbican himself.\n\nIt was, of course, too early at this period for the critics to pass a\ndecided opinion on the nature of the information furnished by our\ntravellers. Besides, the Moon is an exceedingly difficult subject. Very\nfew newspaper men in the country are capable of offering a single\nopinion regarding her that is worth reading. This is probably also the\nreason why half-scientists talk so much dogmatic nonsense about her.\n\nEnough, however, had appeared in the notes to warrant the general\nopinion that Barbican's explorations had set at rest forever several pet\ntheories lately started regarding the nature of our satellite. He and\nhis friends had seen her with their own eyes, and under such favorable\ncircumstances as to be altogether exceptional. Regarding her formation,\nher origin, her inhabitability, they could easily tell what system\n_should_ be rejected and what _might_ be admitted. Her past, her\npresent, and her future, had been alike laid bare before their eyes. How\ncan you object to the positive assertion of a conscientious man who has\npassed within a few hundred miles of _Tycho_, the culminating point in\nthe strangest of all the strange systems of lunar oreography? What reply\ncan you make to a man who has sounded the dark abysses of the _Plato_\ncrater? How can you dare to contradict those men whom the vicissitudes\nof their daring journey had swept over the dark, Invisible Face of the\nMoon, never before revealed to human eye? It was now confessedly the\nprivilege and the right of these men to set limits to that selenographic\nscience which had till now been making itself so very busy in\nreconstructing the lunar world. They could now say, authoritatively,\nlike Cuvier lecturing over a fossil skeleton: \"Once the Moon was this, a\nhabitable world, and inhabitable long before our Earth! And now the Moon\nis that, an uninhabitable world, and uninhabitable ages and ages ago!\"\n\nWe must not even dream of undertaking a description of the grand _fête_\nby which the return of the illustrious members of the Gun Club was to be\nadequately celebrated, and the natural curiosity of their countrymen to\nsee them was to be reasonably gratified. It was one worthy in every way\nof its recipients, worthy of the Gun Club, worthy of the Great Republic,\nand, best of all, every man, woman, and child in the United States could\ntake part in it. It required at least three months to prepare it: but\nthis was not to be regretted as its leading idea could not be properly\ncarried out during the severe colds of winter.\n\nAll the great railroads of the Union had been closely united by\ntemporary rails, a uniform gauge had been everywhere adopted, and every\nother necessary arrangement had been made to enable a splendid palace\ncar, expressly manufactured for the occasion by Pullman himself, to\nvisit every chief point in the United States without ever breaking\nconnection. Through the principal street in each city, or streets if one\nwas not large enough, rails had been laid so as to admit the passage of\nthe triumphal car. In many cities, as a precaution against unfavorable\nweather, these streets had been arched over with glass, thus becoming\ngrand arcades, many of which have been allowed to remain so to the\npresent day. The houses lining these streets, hung with tapestry,\ndecorated with flowers, waving with banners, were all to be illuminated\nat night time in a style at once both the most brilliant and the most\ntasteful. On the sidewalks, tables had been laid, often miles and miles\nlong, at the public expense; these were to be covered with every kind of\neatables, exquisitely cooked, in the greatest profusion, and free to\neveryone for twelve hours before the arrival of the illustrious guests\nand also for twelve hours after their departure. The idea mainly aimed\nat was that, at the grand national banquet about to take place, every\ninhabitant of the United States, without exception, could consider\nBarbican and his companions as his own particular guests for the time\nbeing, thus giving them a welcome the heartiest and most unanimous that\nthe world has ever yet witnessed.\n\nEvergreens were to deck the lamp-posts; triumphal arches to span the\nstreets; fountains, squirting _eau de cologne_, to perfume and cool the\nair; bands, stationed at proper intervals, to play the most inspiring\nmusic; and boys and girls from public and private schools, dressed in\npicturesque attire, to sing songs of joy and glory. The people, seated\nat the banquetting tables, were to rise and cheer and toast the heroes\nas they passed; the military companies, in splendid uniforms, were to\nsalute them with presented arms; while the bells pealed from the church\ntowers, the great guns roared from the armories, _feux de joie_\nresounded from the ships in the harbor, until the day's wildest whirl of\nexcitement was continued far into the night by a general illumination\nand a surpassing display of fireworks. Right in the very heart of the\ncity, the slowly moving triumphal car was always to halt long enough to\nallow the Club men to join the cheering citizens at their meal, which\nwas to be breakfast, dinner or supper according to that part of the day\nat which the halt was made.\n\nThe number of champagne bottles drunk on these occasions, or of the\nspeeches made, or of the jokes told, or of the toasts offered, or of the\nhands shaken, of course, I cannot now weary my kind reader by detailing,\nthough I have the whole account lying before me in black and white,\nwritten out day by day in Barbican's own bold hand. Yet I should like to\ngive a few extracts from this wonderful journal. It is a perfect model\nof accuracy and system. Whether detailing his own doings or those of the\ninnumerable people he met, Caesar himself never wrote anything more\nlucid or more pointed. But nothing sets the extraordinary nature of this\ngreat man in a better light than the firm, commanding, masterly\ncharacter of the handwriting in which these records are made. The\nelegant penmanship all through might easily pass for copper plate\nengraving--except on one page, dated \"_Boston, after dinner_,\" where,\ncandor compels me to acknowledge, the \"Solid Men\" appear to have\nsucceeded in rendering his iron nerves the least bit wabbly.\n\nThe palace car had been so constructed that, by turning a few cranks and\npulling out a few bolts, it was transformed at once into a highly\ndecorated and extremely comfortable open barouche. Marston took the seat\nusually occupied by the driver: Ardan and M'Nicholl sat immediately\nunder him, face to face with Barbican, who, in order that everyone might\nbe able to distinguish him, was to keep all the back seat for himself,\nthe post of honor.\n\nOn Monday morning, the fifth of May, a month generally the pleasantest\nin the United States, the grand national banquet commenced in Baltimore,\nand lasted twenty-four hours. The Gun Club insisted on paying all the\nexpenses of the day, and the city compromised by being allowed to\ncelebrate in whatever way it pleased the reception of the Club men on\ntheir return.\n\nThey started on their trip that same day in the midst of one of the\ngrandest ovations possible to conceive. They stopped for a little while\nat Wilmington, but they took dinner in Philadelphia, where the splendor\nof Broad Street (at present the finest boulevard in the world, being 113\nfeet wide and five miles long) can be more easily alluded to than even\npartially described.\n\nThe house fronts glittered with flowers, flags, pictures, tapestries,\nand other decorations; the chimneys and roofs swarmed with men and boys\ncheerfully risking their necks every moment to get one glance at the\n\"Moon men\"; every window was a brilliant bouquet of beautiful ladies\nwaving their scented handkerchiefs and showering their sweetest smiles;\nthe elevated tables on the sidewalks, groaning with an abundance of\nexcellent and varied food, were lined with men, women, and children,\nwho, however occupied in eating and drinking, never forgot to salute the\nheroes, cheering them lustily as they slowly moved along; the spacious\nstreet itself, just paved from end to end with smooth Belgian blocks,\nwas a living moving panorama of soldiers, temperance men, free masons,\nand other societies, radiant in gorgeous uniforms, brilliant in flashing\nbanners, and simply perfect in the rhythmic cadence of their tread,\nwings of delicious music seeming to bear them onward in their proud and\nstately march.\n\nA vast awning, spanning the street from ridge to ridge, had been so\nprepared and arranged that, in case of rain or too strong a glare from\nthe summer sun, it could be opened out wholly or partially in the space\nof a very few minutes. There was not, however, the slightest occasion\nfor using it, the weather being exceedingly fine, almost paradisiacal,\nas Marston loved to phrase it.\n\n[Illustration: THEIR ARRIVAL WAS WELCOMED WITH EQUAL _FURORE_.]\n\nThe \"Moon men\" supped and spent the night in New York, where they were\nreceived with even greater enthusiasm than at Philadelphia. But no\ndetailed description can be given of their majestic progress from city\nto city through all portions of the mighty Republic. It is enough to say\nthat they visited every important town from Portland to San Francisco,\nfrom Salt Lake City to New Orleans, from Mobile to Charleston, and from\nSaint Louis to Baltimore; that, in every section of the great country,\npreparations for their reception were equally as enthusiastic, their\narrival was welcomed with equal _furore_, and their departure\naccompanied with an equal amount of affectionate and touching sympathy.\n\nThe _New York Herald_ reporter, Mr. Watkins, followed them closely\neverywhere in a palace car of his own, and kept the public fully\nenlightened regarding every incident worth regarding along the route,\nalmost as soon as it happened. He was enabled to do this by means of a\nportable telegraphic machine of new and most ingenious construction.\nThough its motive power was electricity, it could dispense with the\nordinary instruments and even with wires altogether, yet it managed to\ntransmit messages to most parts of the world with an accuracy that,\nconsidering how seldom it failed, is almost miraculous. The principle\nactuating it, though guessed at by many shrewd scientists, is still a\nprofound secret and will probably remain so for some time longer, the\n_Herald_ having purchased the right to its sole and exclusive use for\nfifteen years, at an enormous cost.\n\nWho shall say that the apotheosis of our three heroes was not worthy of\nthem, or that, had they lived in the old prehistoric times, they would\nnot have taken the loftiest places among the demi-gods?\n\nAs the tremendous whirl of excitement began slowly to die away, the\nmore thoughtful heads of the Great Republic began asking each other a\nfew questions:\n\nCan this wonderful journey, unprecedented in the annals of wonderful\njourneys, ever lead to any practical result?\n\nShall we ever live to see direct communication established with the\nMoon?\n\nWill any Air Line of space navigation ever undertake to start a system\nof locomotion between the different members of the solar system?\n\nHave we any reasonable grounds for ever expecting to see trains running\nbetween planet and planet, as from Mars to Jupiter and, possibly\nafterwards, from star to star, as from Polaris to Sirius?\n\nEven to-day these are exceedingly puzzling questions, and, with all our\nmuch vaunted scientific progress, such as \"no fellow can make out.\" But\nif we only reflect a moment on the audacious go-a-headiveness of the\nYankee branch of the Anglo Saxon race, we shall easily conclude that the\nAmerican people will never rest quietly until they have pushed to its\nlast result and to every logical consequence the astounding step so\ndaringly conceived and so wonderfully carried out by their great\ncountryman Barbican.\n\nIn fact, within a very few months after the return of the Club men from\nthe Continental Banquet, as it was called in the papers, the country was\nflooded by a number of little books, like Insurance pamphlets, thrust\ninto every letter box and pushed under every door, announcing the\nformation of a new company called _The Grand Interstellar Communication\nSociety_. The Capital was to be 100 million dollars, at a thousand\ndollars a share: J.P. BARBICAN, ESQ., P.G.C. was to be President;\nColonel JOSHUA D. M'NICHOLL, Vice-President; Hon. J.T. MARSTON,\nSecretary; Chevalier MICHAEL ARDAN, General Manager; JOHN MURPHY, ESQ.,\nChief Engineer; H. PHILLIPS COLEMAN, ESQ. (Philadelphia lawyer), Legal\nAdviser; and the Astrological Adviser was to be Professor HENRY of\nWashington. (Belfast's blunder had injured him so much in public\nestimation, his former partisans having become his most merciless\nrevilers, that it was considered advisable to omit his name altogether\neven in the list of the Directors.)\n\nFrom the very beginning, the moneyed public looked on the G.I.C.S, with\ndecided favor, and its shares were bought up pretty freely. Conducted on\nstrictly honorable principles, keeping carefully aloof from all such\ndamaging connection as the _Credit Mobilier_, and having its books\nalways thrown open for public inspection, its reputation even to-day is\nexcellent and continually improving in the popular estimation. Holding\nout no utopian inducements to catch the unwary, and making no wheedling\npromises to blind the guileless, it states its great objects with all\ntheir great advantages, without at the same time suppressing its\nenormous and perhaps insuperable difficulties. People know exactly what\nto think of it, and, whether it ever meets with perfect success or\nproves a complete failure, no one in the country will ever think of\ncasting a slur on the bright name of its peerless President, J.P.\nBarbican.\n\nFor a few years this great man devoted every faculty of his mind to the\nfurthering of the Company's objects. But in the midst of his labors, the\nrapid approach of the CENTENNIAL surprised him. After a long and careful\nconsultation on the subject, the Directors and Stockholders of the\nG.I.C.S. advised him to suspend all further labors in their behalf for a\nfew years, in order that he might be freer to devote the full energies\nof his giant intellect towards celebrating the first hundredth\nanniversary of his country's Independence--as all true Americans would\nwish to see it celebrated--in a manner every way worthy of the GREAT\nREPUBLIC OF THE WEST!\n\nObeying orders instantly and with the single-idea'd, unselfish\nenthusiasm of his nature, he threw himself at once heart and soul into\nthe great enterprise. Though possessing no official prominence--this he\nabsolutely insists upon--he is well known to be the great fountain head\nwhence emanate all the life, order, dispatch, simplicity, economy, and\nwonderful harmony which, so far, have so eminently characterized the\nmagnificent project. With all operations for raising the necessary\nfunds--further than by giving some sound practical advice--he positively\nrefused to connect himself (this may be the reason why subscriptions to\nthe Centennial stock are so slow in coming in), but in the proper\napportionment of expenses and the strict surveillance of the mechanical,\nengineering, and architectural departments, his services have proved\ninvaluable. His experience in the vast operations at Stony Hill has\ngiven him great skill in the difficult art of managing men. His voice is\nseldom heard at the meetings, but when it is, people seem to take a\npleasure in readily submitting to its dictates.\n\nIn wet weather or dry, in hot weather or cold, he may still be seen\nevery day at Fairmount Park, Philadelphia, leisurely strolling from\nbuilding to building, picking his steps quietly through the bustling\ncrowds of busy workmen, never speaking a word, not even to Marston his\nfaithful shadow, often pencilling something in his pocket book, stopping\noccasionally to look apparently nowhere, but never, you may be sure,\nallowing a single detail in the restless panorama around him to escape\nthe piercing shaft of his eagle glance.\n\nHe is evidently determined on rendering the great CENTENNIAL of his\ncountry a still greater and more wonderful success than even his own\nworld-famous and never to be forgotten JOURNEY through the boundless\nfields of ether, and ALL AROUND THE MOON!\n\nEND."