THE NEW CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES
That same day all America heard of the affair of Captain Nicholl and
President Barbicane, as well as its singular _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.”