FIRE!
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!