From the Earth to the Moon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nevertheless," replied Colonel Blomsberry, "they are always
struggling in Europe to maintain the principle of nationalities."

"Well?"

"Well, there might be some field for enterprise down there; and
if they would accept our services----"

"What are you dreaming of?" screamed Bilsby; "work at gunnery
for the benefit of foreigners?"

"That would be better than doing nothing here," returned the colonel.

"Quite so," said J. T. Matson; "but still we need not dream of
that expedient."

"And why not?" demanded the colonel.

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

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

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

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

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

"Undoubtedly," replied Tom Hunter, stamping his crutch with fury.

"Well, then," replied J. T. Maston, "why should not England in
her turn belong to the Americans?"

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

"Go and propose it to the President of the United States," cried
J. T. Maston, "and see how he will receive you."

"Bah!" growled Bilsby between the four teeth which the war had
left him; "that will never do!"

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

"Nor on ours," replied unanimously all the bellicose invalids.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A thrill of excitement ran through the meeting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cheers for Edgar Poe!" roared the assemblage, electrified by
their president's words.

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

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

Long-continued applause resounded from all sides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was couched in the following terms:

_The Director of the Cambridge Observatory to the President
           of the Gun Club at Baltimore._

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

The questions which have been proposed to it are these--

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

"2. What is the exact distance which separates the earth from
its satellite?

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

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

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

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

Regarding the _first_ question, "Is it possible to transmit a
projectile up to the moon?"

_Answer._-- Yes; provided it possess an initial velocity of
1,200 yards per second; calculations prove that to be sufficient.
In proportion as we recede from the earth the action of gravitation
diminishes in the inverse ratio of the square of the distance;
that is to say, _at three times a given distance the action is
nine times less._  Consequently, the weight of a shot will decrease,
and will become reduced to _zero_ at the instant that the attraction
of the moon exactly counterpoises that of the earth; that is to say
at 47/52 of its passage.  At that instant the projectile will
have no weight whatever; and, if it passes that point, it will
fall into the moon by the sole effect of the lunar attraction.
The _theoretical possibility_ of the experiment is therefore
absolutely demonstrated; its _success_ must depend upon the power
of the engine employed.

As to the _second_ question, "What is the exact distance which
separates the earth from its satellite?"

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

To the _third_ question.

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

Regarding question _four_, "At what precise moment will the moon
present herself in the most favorable position, etc.?"

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

On the _fifth_ question, "At what point in the heavens ought the
cannon to be aimed?"

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

As to the _sixth_ question, "What place will the moon occupy in
the heavens at the moment of the projectile's departure?"

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

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

To sum up--

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

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

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

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

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

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

The staff of the Cambridge Observatory place themselves entirely
at their disposal in respect of all questions of theoretical
astronomy; and herewith add their congratulations to those of
all the rest of America.
               For the Astronomical Staff,
                               J. M. BELFAST,
_Director of the Observatory of Cambridge._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And now," said Barbicane, "let us quit the domain of poetry and
come direct to the question."

"By all means," replied the members, each with his mouth full
of sandwich.

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

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

"This," replied Barbicane, "is, I believe, the maximum velocity
ever attained?"

"It is so," replied the general.

"Ah!" groaned J. T. Maston, "if my mortar had not burst----"

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

"Why not?" demanded the major.

"Because the shot," quickly replied J. T. Maston, "must be big
enough to attract the attention of the inhabitants of the moon,
if there are any?"

"Yes," replied Barbicane, "and for another reason more important still."

"What mean you?" asked the major.

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

"What?" shouted the general and the major in great surprise.

"Undoubtedly," replied Barbicane composedly, "or our experiment
would produce no result."

"But then," replied the major, "you will have to give this
projectile enormous dimensions."

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

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

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

"Not so."

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

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

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

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

"So, then," cried J. T. Maston, "our projectile need not be more
than nine feet in diameter."

"Let me observe, however," interrupted Major Elphinstone, "this
will involve a weight such as----"

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

"Clearly," replied the major; "but what metal do you calculate
upon employing?"

"Simply cast iron," said General Morgan.

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

"Yes, if it were solid, not if it were hollow."

"Hollow? then it would be a shell?"

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

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

"If we follow the usual proportion," replied Morgan, "a diameter
of 108 inches would require sides of two feet thickness, or less."

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

"Nothing easier." replied the worthy secretary of the committee;
and, rapidly tracing a few algebraical formulae upon paper,
among which _n_^2 and _x_^2 frequently appeared, he presently said:

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

"Will that be enough?" asked the major doubtfully.

"Clearly not!" replied the president.

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

"Employ another metal instead of iron."

"Copper?" said Morgan.

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

"What then?" asked the major.

"Aluminum!" replied Barbicane.

"Aluminum?" cried his three colleagues in chorus.

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

"But, my dear president," said the major, "is not the cost price
of aluminum extremely high?"

"It was so at its first discovery, but it has fallen now to nine
dollars a pound."

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

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

"What will the projectile weigh then?" asked Morgan.

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

"Capital!" cried the major; "but do you know that, at nine
dollars a pound, this projectile will cost----"

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

"Adopted!" replied the three members of the committee.  So ended
the first meeting.  The question of the projectile was
definitely settled.

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

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

"There's the difficulty," broke in the major.

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

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

"Quite so," said the major.  "What is the rule in such a case?"

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

"That is not enough," cried J. T. Maston impetuously.

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

"Ridiculous!" rejoined Maston.  "As well take a pistol."

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

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

"But," said Elphinstone, "what thickness must we give it?"

"A thickness of six feet," replied Barbicane.

"You surely don't think of mounting a mass like that upon a
carriage?" asked the major.

"It would be a superb idea, though," said Maston.

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

"One simple question," said Elphinstone:  "is our gun to be rifled?"

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

"True," rejoined the major.

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

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

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

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

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

"I quite agree with you," replied Elphinstone.

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

"Cast iron is very brittle, though," replied Morgan.

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

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

"The cannon will weigh 68,040 tons.  And, at two cents a pound,
it will cost----"

"Two million five hundred and ten thousand seven hundred and
one dollars."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are certain of this amount?" broke in Barbicane.

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

"Quite true," said the general.

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

"What are you aiming at?" asked the president.

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

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

"Perfectly correct," said Morgan; "but before deciding the
quantity of powder necessary to give the impulse, I think it
would be as well----"

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

"No doubt about that," replied Morgan; "but it is very
destructive, and ends by enlarging the bore of the pieces."

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

"We must have," said Maston, "several touch-holes, so as to fire
it at different points at the same time."

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

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

The three members looked at one another.

"Two hundred thousand pounds." at last said Morgan.

"Five hundred thousand," added the major.

"Eight hundred thousand," screamed Maston.

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

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

"Sixteen hundred thousand pounds?" shouted Maston, leaping from
his seat.

"Just so."

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

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

"What is to be done then?" said the general.

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

"Good; but by what means?"

"I am going to tell you," replied Barbicane quietly.

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

"Nothing could be more simple," said Morgan.

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

"Perfect!" exclaimed the major.

"Only it is more expensive."

"What matter?" cried J. T. Maston.

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

"Will that be necessary?" asked the major.

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

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

This incident terminated the third meeting of the committee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barbicane continued his work without regarding these attacks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notwithstanding the importance of the challenge, on the 19th of
May he received a sealed packet containing the following
superbly laconic reply:
                              "BALTIMORE, October 19.
                          "Done.
                              "BARBICANE."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To this the _American Review_ replied that the soil of Florida,
although not equally rich, afforded the best conditions for the
moulding and casting of the Columbiad, consisting as it did of
sand and argillaceous earth.

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

"A pretty notion truly," replied the papers in the interest of
Florida, "that of Galveston bay _below the 29th parallel!_
Have we not got the bay of Espiritu Santo, opening precisely upon
_the 28th degree_, and by which ships can reach Tampa Town by
direct route?"

"A fine bay; half choked with sand!"

"Choked yourselves!" returned the others.

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

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

"Undoubtedly," replied the _Times_; "but we have belonged to the
Americans ever since 1820."

"Yes!" returned the _Tribune_; "after having been Spaniards or
English for two hundred years, you were sold to the United
States for five million dollars!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very well, let it bust up!" replied the Floridans, with a
brevity of the days of ancient Sparta.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir, there are Seminoles there."

"What do you mean by Seminoles?"

"Savages who scour the prairies.  We thought it best, therefore,
to escort you on your road."

"Pooh!" cried J. T. Maston, mounting his steed.

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

"Gentlemen," answered Barbicane, "I thank you for your kind
attention; but it is time to be off."

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

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

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

"My worthy friend, we cannot do better than sink our Columbiad
in these high grounds."

"To get nearer the moon, perhaps?" said the secretary of the Gun Club.

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

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

"I wish we were at the first stroke of the pickaxe," said the president.

"And I wish we were at the _last_," cried J. T. Maston.

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

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

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

"At last," cried Barbicane, rising in his stirrups, "here we are
at the region of pines!"

"Yes! and of savages too," replied the major.

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

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

"Halt!" said Barbicane, reining up.  "Has this place any
local appellation?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cast iron, however, if subjected to only one single fusion,
is rarely sufficiently homogeneous; and it requires a second
fusion completely to refine it by dispossessing it of its last
earthly deposits.  So long before being forwarded to Tampa Town,
the iron ore, molten in the great furnaces of Coldspring, and
brought into contact with coal and silicium heated to a high
temperature, was carburized and transformed into cast iron.
After this first operation, the metal was sent on to Stones Hill.
They had, however, to deal with 136,000,000 pounds of iron, a
quantity far too costly to send by railway.  The cost of
transport would have been double that of material.  It appeared
preferable to freight vessels at New York, and to load them with
the iron in bars.  This, however, required not less than sixty-
eight vessels of 1,000 tons, a veritable fleet, which, quitting
New York on the 3rd of May, on the 10th of the same month ascended
the Bay of Espiritu Santo, and discharged their cargoes, without
dues, in the port at Tampa Town.  Thence the iron was transported
by rail to Stones Hill, and about the middle of January this
enormous mass of metal was delivered at its destination.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I must be very careful, Maston.  The casting of the Columbiad
is an extremely delicate, not to say a dangerous operation, and
I should prefer its being done privately.  At the discharge of
the projectile, a _fete_ if you like-- till then, no!"

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

The casting was to take place at twelve o'clock precisely.
The previous evening each furnace had been charged with 114,000
pounds weight of metal in bars disposed cross-ways to each other,
so as to allow the hot air to circulate freely between them.
At daybreak the 1,200 chimneys vomited their torrents of flame
into the air, and the ground was agitated with dull tremblings.
As many pounds of metal as there were to cast, so many pounds of
coal were there to burn.  Thus there were 68,000 tons of coal
which projected in the face of the sun a thick curtain of smoke.
The heat soon became insupportable within the circle of furnaces,
the rumbling of which resembled the rolling of thunder.  The powerful
ventilators added their continuous blasts and saturated with
oxygen the glowing plates.  The operation, to be successful,
required to be conducted with great rapidity.  On a signal given
by a cannon-shot each furnace was to give vent to the molten
iron and completely to empty itself.  These arrangements made,
foremen and workmen waited the preconcerted moment with an
impatience mingled with a certain amount of emotion.  Not a soul
remained within the enclosure.  Each superintendent took his
post by the aperture of the run.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                FRANCE, PARIS,
                                    30 September, 4 A.M.
            Barbicane, Tampa Town, Florida, United States.

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

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

The contents of the dispatch, however, speedily became known;
for the telegraphic officials possessed but little discretion,
and Michel Ardan's proposition ran at once throughout the
several States of the Union.  Barbicane, had, therefore, no
further motives for keeping silence.  Consequently, he called
together such of his colleagues as were at the moment in Tampa
Town, and without any expression of his own opinions simply read
to them the laconic text itself.  It was received with every
possible variety of expressions of doubt, incredulity, and
derision from every one, with the exception of J. T. Maston, who
exclaimed, "It is a grand idea, however!"

When Barbicane originally proposed to send a shot to the moon
every one looked upon the enterprise as simple and practicable
enough-- a mere question of gunnery; but when a person,
professing to be a reasonable being, offered to take passage
within the projectile, the whole thing became a farce, or, in
plainer language a humbug.

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

"Gentlemen," replied Barbicane, "I know no more than you do."

"We must know," roared the impatient voices.

"Time will show," calmly replied the president.

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

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

"To the telegraph!" roared the crowd.

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

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

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

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

That very evening he wrote to the house of Breadwill and Co.,
requesting them to suspend the casting of the projectile until
the receipt of further orders.  On the 10th of October, at nine
A.M., the semaphores of the Bahama Canal signaled a thick smoke
on the horizon.  Two hours later a large steamer exchanged
signals with them.  the name of the Atlanta flew at once over
Tampa Town.  At four o'clock the English vessel entered the Bay
of Espiritu Santo.  At five it crossed the passage of
Hillisborough Bay at full steam.  At six she cast anchor at
Port Tampa.  The anchor had scarcely caught the sandy bottom when
five hundred boats surrounded the Atlanta, and the steamer was
taken by assault.  Barbicane was the first to set foot on deck,
and in a voice of which he vainly tried to conceal the emotion,
called "Michel Ardan."

"Here!" replied an individual perched on the poop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barbicane followed him without uttering a word.

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

"Yes," replied the president of the Gun Club.

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

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

"Quite decided."

"Nothing will stop you?"

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

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

"Reflected? have I any time to spare?  I find an opportunity of
making a tour in the moon, and I mean to profit by it.  There is
the whole gist of the matter."

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

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

"All right," replied Barbicane.

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

"He is a hero! a hero!" he cried, a theme of which he was never
tired of ringing the changes; "and we are only like weak, silly
women, compared with this European!"

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

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

On the following day Barbicane, fearing that indiscreet
questions might be put to Michel Ardan, was desirous of reducing
the number of the audience to a few of the initiated, his own
colleagues for instance.  He might as well have tried to
check the Falls of Niagara! he was compelled, therefore, to
give up the idea, and let his new friend run the chances of a
public conference.  The place chosen for this monster meeting
was a vast plain situated in the rear of the town.  In a few
hours, thanks to the help of the shipping in port, an immense
roofing of canvas was stretched over the parched prairie, and
protected it from the burning rays of the sun.  There three
hundred thousand people braved for many hours the stifling heat
while awaiting the arrival of the Frenchman.  Of this crowd of
spectators a first set could both see and hear; a second set saw
badly and heard nothing at all; and as for the third, it could
neither see nor hear anything at all.  At three o'clock Michel
Ardan made his appearance, accompanied by the principal members
of the Gun Club.  He was supported on his right by President
Barbicane, and on his left by J. T. Maston, more radiant than
the midday sun, and nearly as ruddy.  Ardan mounted a platform,
from the top of which his view extended over a sea of black hats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gentlemen," resumed the orator, "I repeat that the distance
between the earth and her satellite is a mere trifle, and
undeserving of serious consideration.  I am convinced that
before twenty years are over one-half of our earth will have
paid a visit to the moon.  Now, my worthy friends, if you have
any question to put to me, you will, I fear, sadly embarrass a
poor man like myself; still I will do my best to answer you."

Up to this point the president of the Gun Club had been
satisfied with the turn which the discussion had assumed.
It became now, however, desirable to divert Ardan from
questions of a practical nature, with which he was doubtless
far less conversant.  Barbicane, therefore, hastened to get in
a word, and began by asking his new friend whether he thought
that the moon and the planets were inhabited.

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

"No one could answer more logically or fairly," replied the
president.  "The question then reverts to this:  Are these
worlds habitable?  For my own part I believe they are."

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

"Nevertheless," retorted one of the audience, "there are many
arguments against the habitability of the worlds.  The conditions
of life must evidently be greatly modified upon the majority
of them.  To mention only the planets, we should be either
broiled alive in some, or frozen to death in others, according
as they are more or less removed from the sun."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir," said the unknown, "you pretend that our satellite is inhabited.
Very good, but if Selenites do exist, that race of beings assuredly
must live without breathing, for-- I warn you for your own sake--
there is not the smallest particle of air on the surface of the moon."

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

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

"The men of science."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Sir," replied Michel, "pleasantry apart, I have a profound
respect for men of science who do possess science, but a
profound contempt for men of science who do not."

"Do you know any who belong to the latter category?"

"Decidedly.  In France there are some who maintain that,
mathematically, a bird cannot possibly fly; and others who
demonstrate theoretically that fishes were never made to
live in water."

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

"Then, sir, you will sadly embarrass a poor ignorant, who,
besides, asks nothing better than to learn."

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir," replied Ardan's antagonist, "there are many and
incontrovertible reasons which prove the absence of an
atmosphere in the moon.  I might say that, _a priori_, if one
ever did exist, it must have been absorbed by the earth; but I
prefer to bring forward indisputable facts."

"Bring them forward then, sir, as many as you please."

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

"In point of fact," replied Ardan, "this is your chief, if not
your _only_ argument; and a really scientific man might be
puzzled to answer it.  For myself, I will simply say that it is
defective, because it assumes that the angular diameter of the
moon has been completely determined, which is not the case.
But let us proceed.  Tell me, my dear sir, do you admit the
existence of volcanoes on the moon's surface?"

"Extinct, yes!  In activity, no!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But is this established as a fact?"

"Absolutely certain!"

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

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

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

"No! but at the bottom of the valleys, and not exceeding a few
hundred feet in height."

"In any case you will do well to take every precaution, for the
air will be terribly rarified."

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

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

"Then," continued Ardan, with a careless air, "since we are in
accord regarding the presence of a certain atmosphere, we are
forced to admit the presence of a certain quantity of water.
This is a happy consequence for me.  Moreover, my amiable
contradictor, permit me to submit to you one further observation.
We only know _one_ side of the moon's disc; and if there is but
little air on the face presented to us, it is possible that there
is plenty on the one turned away from us."

"And for what reason?"

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

"Pure fancies!" cried the unknown.

"No!  Pure theories! which are based upon the laws of mechanics,
and it seems difficult to me to refute them.  I appeal then to
this meeting, and I put it to them whether life, such as exists
upon the earth, is possible on the surface of the moon?"

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

"Enough! enough!" cried some.

"Drive the intruder off!" shouted others.

"Turn him out!" roared the exasperated crowd.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But victuals and water?"

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

"But for air to breathe on the road?"

"I shall make it by a chemical process."

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

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

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

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

"But after all, supposing all difficulties surmounted, all
obstacles removed, supposing everything combined to favor you,
and granting that you may arrive safe and sound in the moon, how
will you come back?"

"I am not coming back!"

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

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

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

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

"Pray don't stand upon ceremony!"

"No! another person is responsible for your act."

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

"The ignoramus who organized this equally absurd and
impossible experiment!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Come!" he said shortly.

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

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

"Who are you?" asked Barbicane.

"Captain Nicholl!"

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

"I am come for that purpose."

"You have insulted me."

"Publicly!"

"And you will answer to me for this insult?"

"At this very moment."

"No!  I desire that all that passes between us shall be secret.
Their is a wood situated three miles from Tampa, the wood
of Skersnaw.  Do you know it?"

"I know it."

"Will you be so good as to enter it to-morrow morning at five
o'clock, on one side?"

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

"And you will not forget your rifle?" said Barbicane.

"No more than you will forget yours?" replied Nicholl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Barbicane must have passed the border half an hour ago.

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

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

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

"A hunter?" said Ardan.

"A hunter?  Yes," replied the bushman.

"Long ago?"

"About an hour."

"Too late!" cried Maston.

"Have you heard any gunshots?" asked Ardan.

"No!"

"Not one?"

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

"What is to be done?" said Maston.

"We must go into the wood, at the risk of getting a ball which
is not intended for us."

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

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

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

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

"It must be all over," said Maston, discouraged.  "A man like
Barbicane would not dodge with his enemy, or ensnare him, would
not even maneuver!  He is too open, too brave.  He has gone
straight ahead, right into the danger, and doubtless far enough
from the bushman for the wind to prevent his hearing the report
of the rifles."

"But surely," replied Michel Ardan, "since we entered the wood
we should have heard!"

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

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

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

"Hush!" said he, "there is some one down there!"

"Some one?" repeated Michel Ardan.

"Yes; a man!  He seems motionless.  His rifle is not in his hands.
What can he be doing?"

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

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

"And it is?"

"Captain Nicholl!"

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

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

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

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

On seeing him, they remained stupefied.

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

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

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

"You are indeed a brave man."

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

"And a kindhearted one!"

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

"To press your hand, Nicholl, and to prevent you from either
killing Barbicane or being killed by him."

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

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

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

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

"I will fight, sir!"

"No!"

"Captain," said J. T. Maston, with much feeling, "I am a friend
of the president's, his _alter ego_, his second self; if you
really must kill some one, _shoot me!_ it will do just as well!"

"Sir," Nicholl replied, seizing his rifle convulsively, "these
jokes----"

"Our friend Maston is not joking," replied Ardan.  "I fully
understand his idea of being killed himself in order to save
his friend.  But neither he nor Barbicane will fall before the balls
of Captain Nicholl.  Indeed I have so attractive a proposal to
make to the two rivals, that both will be eager to accept it."

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

"Patience!" exclaimed Ardan.  "I can only reveal it in the
presence of Barbicane."

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

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

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

"It is he!" said Maston.

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

"Barbicane!  Barbicane!"

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

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

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

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

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

"What?"

"My plan!"

"What plan?"

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

"Indeed?" said Michel Ardan, looking at the captain out of the
corner of his eye.

"Yes! water! simply water, which will act as a spring-- ah!
Maston," cried Barbicane, "you here also?"

"Himself," replied Ardan; "and permit me to introduce to you at
the same time the worthy Captain Nicholl!"

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

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

"Thank heaven!" said he.  "It is a happy thing that brave men
like you two did not meet sooner! we should now have been
mourning for one or other of you.  But, thanks to Providence,
which has interfered, there is now no further cause for alarm.
When one forgets one's anger in mechanics or in cobwebs, it is
a sign that the anger is not dangerous."

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

"I put it to you now," said he in conclusion, "are two such good
fellows as you are made on purpose to smash each other's skulls
with shot?"

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

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

"Make it," said Nicholl.

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

"Yes, certainly," replied the president.

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

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

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

"What?" exclaimed J. T. Maston, stupefied.

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

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

"Done!" cried Barbicane.

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

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

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

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

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

"Scarcely!"

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

"But the how and the wherefore?" asked Barbicane.

"Well, I can only give you the answer which Arago borrowed from
Plutarch, which is nineteen centuries old.  `Perhaps the stories
are not true!'"

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

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

He therefore declined all offers.

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

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

"Incomplete?" shrieked the valiant invalid.

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

"But still, if you arrive there in pieces, you will be as
incomplete as I am."

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

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

A hollow projectile had been prepared for this curious experiment.
A thick padding fastened upon a kind of elastic network, made of
the best steel, lined the inside of the walls.  It was a veritable
_nest_ most carefully wadded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There now remained only the question of air; for allowing for
the consumption of air by Barbicane, his two companions, and two
dogs which he proposed taking with him, it was necessary to
renew the air of the projectile.  Now air consists principally
of twenty-one parts of oxygen and seventy-nine of nitrogen.
The lungs absorb the oxygen, which is indispensable for the support
of life, and reject the nitrogen.  The air expired loses nearly
five per cent. of the former and contains nearly an equal volume
of carbonic acid, produced by the combustion of the elements of
the blood.  In an air-tight enclosure, then, after a certain
time, all the oxygen of the air will be replaced by the carbonic
acid-- a gas fatal to life.  There were two things to be done
then-- first, to replace the absorbed oxygen; secondly, to
destroy the expired carbonic acid; both easy enough to do, by
means of chlorate of potassium and caustic potash.  The former
is a salt which appears under the form of white crystals; when
raised to a temperature of 400 degrees it is transformed into
chlorure of potassium, and the oxygen which it contains is
entirely liberated.  Now twenty-eight pounds of chlorate of
potassium produces seven pounds of oxygen, or 2,400 litres-- the
quantity necessary for the travelers during twenty-four hours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the 22nd of November; the departure was to take place in
ten days.  One operation alone remained to be accomplished to
bring all to a happy termination; an operation delicate and
perilous, requiring infinite precautions, and against the
success of which Captain Nicholl had laid his third bet.  It was,
in fact, nothing less than the loading of the Columbiad, and the
introduction into it of 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton.  Nicholl had
thought, not perhaps without reason, that the handling of such
formidable quantities of pyroxyle would, in all probability,
involve a grave catastrophe; and at any rate, that this immense
mass of eminently inflammable matter would inevitably ignite when
submitted to the pressure of the projectile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What is that?" asked Nicholl.

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

The first of December had arrived! the fatal day! for, if the
projectile were not discharged that very night at 10h. 48m. 40s.
P.M., more than eighteen years must roll by before the moon
would again present herself under the same conditions of zenith
and perigee.

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

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

After dawn, an innumerable multitude covered the prairie which
extends, as far as the eye can reach, round Stones Hill.  Every
quarter of an hour the railway brought fresh accessions of
sightseers; and, according to the statement of the Tampa Town
_Observer_, not less than five millions of spectators thronged
the soil of Florida.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thirty-five!-- thirty-six!-- thirty-seven!-- thirty-eight!--
thirty-nine!-- forty!  FIRE!!!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The elements of this new star we have as yet been unable to
determine; we do not yet know the velocity of its passage.
The distance which separates it from the surface of the moon
may be estimated at about 2,833 miles.

However, two hypotheses come here into our consideration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ROUND THE MOON

A SEQUEL TO

FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON

ROUND THE MOON

PRELIMINARY CHAPTER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It is advisable here to make a remark which ought to be well
considered by hasty observers.  When a purely speculative
discovery is announced to the public, it cannot be done with too
much prudence.  No one is obliged to discover either a planet,
a comet, or a satellite; and whoever makes a mistake in such a
case exposes himself justly to the derision of the mass.
Far better is it to wait; and that is what the impatient Joseph
T. Maston should have done before sending this telegram forth to
the world, which, according to his idea, told the whole result
of the enterprise.  Indeed this telegram contained two sorts of
errors, as was proved eventually.  First, errors of observation,
concerning the distance of the projectile from the surface of
the moon, for on the 11th of December it was impossible to see
it; and what Joseph T. Maston had seen, or thought he saw, could
not have been the projectile of the Columbiad.  Second, errors of
theory on the fate in store for the said projectile; for in making
it a satellite of the moon, it was putting it in direct
contradiction of all mechanical laws.

One single hypothesis of the observers of Long's Peak could ever
be realized, that which foresaw the case of the travelers (if
still alive) uniting their efforts with the lunar attraction to
attain the surface of the disc.

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

The Gun Club is bored. With the Civil War over, these illustrious cannon-makers have nothing to do with their time, and they're kind of freaking out. Luckily, President Barbicane--head of the club--comes to the rescue. He suggests that they build a giant cannon, so powerful that it can launch a shot straight to the moon. This news is met with wild celebrations from both the Gun Club and the public at large. But excitement is the easy part; now they have to figure out how to actually get it done. After speaking to experts at the Cambridge Observatory, the Gun Club decides to launch the shot the following December from a spot near the equator. That only gives them two options within the U.S.--Florida and Texas. After a fierce competition, Florida wins out. The Gun Club relocates to Tampa to begin production, and things are going swell. Out of the blue, Barbicane receives a telegram from a Frenchman named Michel Ardan who wants to take a ride inside their moon-bound cannonball. The kid's got guts, we'll give him that. After altering the design to meet Ardan's requests, Barbicane agrees and the wild celebrations start anew. This time, though, the party is cut short by a man named Captain Nicholl. Nicholl and Barbicane have been rivals since the Civil War, and Nicholl is fed up, so he challenges Barbicane to a duel. Luckily, Ardan arrives in the nick of time and averts the situation with an enticing counter-proposal: that the three of them travel to the moon together. With their plans finally set in stone, and December fast approaching, the Gun Club prepares for launch. The cannon fires successfully, but it inadvertently triggers a series of harsh weather patterns that make it impossible to track the capsule. When the sky finally clears up, they discover that the capsule has missed its mark--it's now orbiting the moon. And no one knows what will happen next... including us.