ATTACK AND RIPOSTE
As soon as the excitement had subsided, the following words were heard
uttered in a strong and determined voice:
“Now that the speaker has favored us with so much imagination, would he
be so good as to return to his subject, and give us a little practical
view of the question?”
All eyes were directed toward the person who spoke. He was a little
dried-up man, of an active figure, with an American “goatee” beard.
Profiting by the different movements in the crowd, he had managed by
degrees to gain the front row of spectators. There, with arms crossed
and stern gaze, he watched the hero of the meeting. After having put
his question he remained silent, and appeared to take no notice of the
thousands of looks directed toward himself, nor of the murmur of
disapprobation excited by his words. Meeting at first with no reply, he
repeated his question with marked emphasis, adding, “We are here to
talk about the _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.