THE COLUMBIAD
Had the casting succeeded? They were reduced to mere conjecture. There
was indeed every reason to expect success, since the mould has absorbed
the entire mass of the molten metal; still some considerable time must
elapse before they could arrive at any certainty upon the matter.
The patience of the members of the Gun Club was sorely tried during
this period of time. But they could do nothing. J. T. Maston escaped
roasting by a miracle. Fifteen days after the casting an immense column
of smoke was still rising in the open sky and the ground burned the
soles of the feet within a radius of two hundred feet round the summit
of Stones Hill. It was impossible to approach nearer. All they could do
was to wait with what patience they might.
“Here we are at the 10th of August,” exclaimed J. T. Maston one
morning, “only four months to the 1st of December! We shall never be
ready in time!” Barbicane said nothing, but his silence covered serious
irritation.
However, daily observations revealed a certain change going on in the
state of the ground. About the 15th of August the vapors ejected had
sensibly diminished in intensity and thickness. Some days afterward the
earth exhaled only a slight puff of smoke, the last breath of the
monster enclosed within its circle of stone. Little by little the belt
of heat contracted, until on the 22nd of August, Barbicane, his
colleagues, and the engineer were enabled to set foot on the iron sheet
which lay level upon the summit of Stones Hill.
“At last!” exclaimed the president of the Gun Club, with an immense
sigh of relief.
The work was resumed the same day. They proceeded at once to extract
the interior mould, for the purpose of clearing out the boring of the
piece. Pickaxes and boring irons were set to work without intermission.
The clayey and sandy soils had acquired extreme hardness under the
action of the heat; but, by the aid of the machines, the rubbish on
being dug out was rapidly carted away on railway wagons; and such was
the ardor of the work, so persuasive the arguments of Barbicane’s
dollars, that by the 3rd of September all traces of the mould had
entirely disappeared.
Immediately the operation of boring was commenced; and by the aid of
powerful machines, a few weeks later, the inner surface of the immense
tube had been rendered perfectly cylindrical, and the bore of the piece
had acquired a thorough polish.
At length, on the 22d of September, less than a twelvemonth after
Barbicane’s original proposition, the enormous weapon, accurately
bored, and exactly vertically pointed, was ready for work. There was
only the moon now to wait for; and they were pretty sure that she would
not fail in the rendezvous.
The ecstasy of J. T. Maston knew no bounds, and he narrowly escaped a
frightful fall while staring down the tube. But for the strong hand of
Colonel Blomsberry, the worthy secretary, like a modern Erostratus,
would have found his death in the depths of the Columbiad.
The cannon was then finished; there was no possible doubt as to its
perfect completion. So, on the 6th of October, Captain Nicholl opened
an account between himself and President Barbicane, in which he debited
himself to the latter in the sum of two thousand dollars. One may
believe that the captain’s wrath was increased to its highest point,
and must have made him seriously ill. However, he had still three bets
of three, four, and five thousand dollars, respectively; and if he
gained two out of these, his position would not be very bad. But the
money question did not enter into his calculations; it was the success
of his rival in casting a cannon against which iron plates sixty feet
thick would have been ineffectual, that dealt him a terrible blow.
After the 23rd of September the enclosure of Stones hill was thrown
open to the public; and it will be easily imagined what was the
concourse of visitors to this spot! There was an incessant flow of
people to and from Tampa Town and the place, which resembled a
procession, or rather, in fact, a pilgrimage.
It was already clear to be seen that, on the day of the experiment
itself, the aggregate of spectators would be counted by millions; for
they were already arriving from all parts of the earth upon this narrow
strip of promontory. Europe was emigrating to America.
Up to that time, however, it must be confessed, the curiosity of the
numerous comers was but scantily gratified. Most had counted upon
witnessing the spectacle of the casting, and they were treated to
nothing but smoke. This was sorry food for hungry eyes; but Barbicane
would admit no one to that operation. Then ensued grumbling,
discontent, murmurs; they blamed the president, taxed him with
dictatorial conduct. His proceedings were declared “un-American.” There
was very nearly a riot round Stones Hill; but Barbicane remained
inflexible. When, however, the Columbiad was entirely finished, this
state of closed doors could no longer be maintained; besides it would
have been bad taste, and even imprudence, to affront the public
feeling. Barbicane, therefore, opened the enclosure to all comers; but,
true to his practical disposition, he determined to coin money out of
the public curiosity.
It was something, indeed, to be enabled to contemplate this immense
Columbiad; but to descend into its depths, this seemed to the Americans
the _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.”