accompany us to the moon."
"Ah! what fools we are!" cried Michel.
"Why this qualification?" asked Barbicane.
"Because we ought to have filled the projectile with useful objects,
books, instruments, tools, &c. We could have thrown them all out, and
they would all have followed in our wake! But, now I think of it, why
can't we take a walk outside this? Why can't we go into space through
the port-light? What delight it would be to be thus suspended in ether,
more favoured even than birds that are forced to flap their wings to
sustain them!"
"Agreed," said Barbicane, "but how are we to breathe?"
"Confounded air to fail so inopportunely!"
"But if it did not fail, Michel, your density being inferior to that of
the projectile, you would soon remain behind."
"Then it is a vicious circle."
"All that is most vicious."
"And we must remain imprisoned in our vehicle."
"Yes, we must."
"Ah!" cried Michel in a formidable voice.
"What is the matter with you?" asked Nicholl.
"I know, I guess what this pretended asteroid is! It is not a broken
piece of planet!"
"What is it, then?" asked Nicholl.
"It is our unfortunate dog! It is Diana's husband!"
In fact, this deformed object, reduced to nothing, and quite
unrecognisable, was the body of Satellite flattened like a bagpipe
without wind, and mounting, for ever mounting!
CHAPTER VII.
A MOMENT OF INTOXICATION.
Thus a curious but logical, strange yet logical phenomenon took place
under these singular conditions. Every object thrown out of the
projectile would follow the same trajectory and only stop when it did.
That furnished a text for conversation which the whole evening could not
exhaust. The emotion of the three travellers increased as they
approached the end of their journey. They expected unforeseen incidents,
fresh phenomena, and nothing would have astonished them under present
circumstances. Their excited imagination outdistanced the projectile,
the speed of which diminished notably without their feeling it. But the
moon grew larger before their eyes, and they thought they had only to
stretch out their hands to touch it.
The next day, the 5th of December, they were all wide awake at 5 a.m.
That day was to be the last of their journey if the calculations were
exact. That same evening, at midnight, within eighteen hours, at the
precise moment of full moon, they would reach her brilliant disc. The
next midnight would bring them to the goal of their journey, the most
extraordinary one of ancient or modern times. At early dawn, through the
windows made silvery with her rays, they saluted the Queen of Night with
a confident and joyful hurrah.
The moon was sailing majestically across the starry firmament. A few
more degrees and she would reach that precise point in space where the
projectile was to meet her. According to his own observations, Barbicane
thought that he should accost her in her northern hemisphere, where vast
plains extend and mountains are rare--a favourable circumstance if the
lunar atmosphere was, according to received opinion, stored up in deep
places only.
"Besides," observed Michel Ardan, "a plain is more suitable for landing
upon than a mountain. A Selenite landed in Europe on the summit of Mont
Blanc, or in Asia on a peak of the Himalayas, would not be precisely at
his destination!"
"What is more," added Nicholl, "on a plain the projectile will remain
motionless after it has touched the ground, whilst it would roll down a
hill like an avalanche, and as we are not squirrels we should not come
out safe and sound. Therefore all is for the best."
In fact, the success of the audacious enterprise no longer appeared
doubtful. Still one reflection occupied Barbicane; but not wishing to
make his two companions uneasy, he kept silence upon it.
The direction of the projectile towards the northern hemisphere proved
that its trajectory had been slightly modified. The aim, mathematically
calculated, ought to have sent the bullet into the very centre of the
lunar disc. If it did not arrive there it would be because it had
deviated. What had caused it? Barbicane could not imagine nor determine
the importance of this deviation, for there was no datum to go upon. He
hoped, however, that the only result would be to take them towards the
upper edge of the moon, a more suitable region for landing.
Barbicane, therefore, without saying anything to his friends, contented
himself with frequently observing the moon, trying to see if the
direction of the projectile would not change. For the situation would
have been so terrible had the bullet, missing its aim, been dragged
beyond the lunar disc and fallen into interplanetary space.
At that moment the moon, instead of appearing flat like a disc, already
showed her convexity. If the sun's rays had reached her obliquely the
shadow then thrown would have made the high mountains stand out. They
could have seen the gaping craters and the capricious furrows that cut
up the immense plains. But all relief was levelled in the intense
brilliancy. Those large spots that give the appearance of a human face
to the moon were scarcely distinguishable.
"It may be a face," said Michel Ardan, "but I am sorry for the amiable
sister of Apollo, her face is so freckled!"
In the meantime the travellers so near their goal ceaselessly watched
this new world. Their imagination made them take walks over these
unknown countries. They climbed the elevated peaks. They descended to
the bottom of the large amphitheatres. Here and there they thought they
saw vast seas scarcely kept together under an atmosphere so rarefied,
and streams of water that poured them their tribute from the mountains.
Leaning over the abyss they hoped to catch the noise of this orb for
ever mute in the solitudes of the void.
This last day left them the liveliest remembrances. They noted down the
least details. A vague uneasiness took possession of them as they
approached their goal. This uneasiness would have been doubled if they
had felt how slight their speed was. It appeared quite insufficient to
take them to the end of their journey. This was because the projectile
scarcely "weighed" anything. Its weight constantly decreased, and would
be entirely annihilated on that line where the lunar and terrestrial
attractions neutralise each other, causing surprising effects.
Nevertheless, in spite of his preoccupations, Michel Ardan did not
forget to prepare the morning meal with his habitual punctuality. They
ate heartily. Nothing was more excellent than their broth liquefied by
the heat of the gas. Nothing better than these preserved meats. A few
glasses of good French wine crowned the repast, and caused Michel Ardan
to remark that the lunar vines, warmed by this ardent sun, ought to
distil the most generous wines--that is, if they existed. Any way, the
far-seeing Frenchman had taken care not to forget in his collection some
precious cuttings of the Médoc and Côte d'Or, upon which he counted
particularly.
The Reiset and Regnault apparatus always worked with extreme precision.
The air was kept in a state of perfect purity. Not a particle of
carbonic acid resisted the potash, and as to the oxygen, that, as
Captain Nicholl said, was of "first quality." The small amount of
humidity in the projectile mixed with this air and tempered its dryness,
and many Paris, London, or New York apartments and many theatres do not
certainly fulfil hygienic conditions so well.
But in order to work regularly this apparatus had to be kept going
regularly. Each morning Michel inspected the escape regulators, tried
the taps, and fixed by the pyrometer the heat of the gas. All had gone
well so far, and the travellers, imitating the worthy J.T. Maston, began
to get so stout that they would not be recognisable if their
imprisonment lasted several months. They behaved like chickens in a
cage--they fattened.
Looking through the port lights Barbicane saw the spectre of the
dog, and the different objects thrown out of the projectile, which
obstinately accompanied it. Diana howled lamentably when she perceived
the remains of Satellite. All the things seemed as motionless as if they
had rested upon solid ground.
"Do you know, my friends," said Michel Ardan, "that if one of us had
succumbed to the recoil shock at departure we should have been much
embarrassed as to how to get rid of him? You see the accusing corpse
would have followed us in space like remorse!"
"That would have been sad," said Nicholl.
"Ah!" continued Michel, "what I regret is our not being able to take a
walk outside. What delight it would be to float in this radiant ether,
to bathe in these pure rays of the sun! If Barbicane had only thought of
furnishing us with diving-dresses and air-pumps I should have ventured
outside, and have assumed the attitude of a flying-horse on the summit
of the projectile."
"Ah, old fellow!" answered Barbicane, "you would not have stayed there
long in spite of your diving-dress; you would have burst like an obus by
the expansion of air inside you, or rather like a balloon that goes up
too high. So regret nothing, and do not forget this: while we are moving
in the void you must do without any sentimental promenade out of the
projectile."
Michel Ardan allowed himself to be convinced in a certain measure. He
agreed that the thing was difficult, but not "impossible;" that was a
word he never uttered.
The conversation passed from this subject to another, and never
languished an instant. It seemed to the three friends that under these
conditions ideas came into their heads like leaves in the first warm
days of spring.
Amidst the questions and answers that crossed each other during this
morning, Nicholl asked one that did not get an immediate solution.
"I say," said he, "it is all very well to go to the moon, but how shall
we get back again?"
"What do you mean by that, Nicholl?" asked Barbicane gravely.
"It seems to me very inopportune to ask about getting away from a
country before you get to it," added Michel.
"I don't ask that question because I want to draw back, but I repeat my
question, and ask, 'How shall we get back?'"
"I have not the least idea," answered Barbicane.
"And as for me," said Michel, "if I had known how to come back I should
not have gone."
"That is what you call answering," cried Nicholl.
"I approve of Michel's words, and add that the question has no actual
interest. We will think about that later on, when we want to return.
Though the Columbiad will not be there, the projectile will."
"Much good that will be, a bullet without a gun!"
"A gun can be made, and so can powder! Neither metal, saltpetre, nor
coal can be wanting in the bowels of the moon. Besides, in order to
return you have only the lunar attraction to conquer, and you will only
have 8,000 leagues to go so as to fall on the terrestrial globe by the
simple laws of weight."
"That is enough," said Michel, getting animated. "Let us hear no more
about returning. As to communicating with our ancient colleagues upon
earth, that will not be difficult."
"How are we to do that, pray?"
"By means of meteors hurled by the lunar volcanoes."
"A good idea, Michel," answered Barbicane. "Laplace has calculated that
a force five times superior to that of our cannons would suffice to send
a meteor from the moon to the earth. Now there is no volcano that has
not a superior force of propulsion."
"Hurrah!" cried Michel. "Meteors will be convenient postmen and will not
cost anything! And how we shall laugh at the postal service! But now I
think--"
"What do you think?"
"A superb idea! Why did we not fasten a telegraph wire to our bullet? We
could have exchanged telegrams with the earth!"
"And the weight of a wire 86,000 leagues long," answered Nicholl, "does
that go for nothing?"
"Yes, for nothing! We should have trebled the charge of the Columbiad!
We could have made it four times--five times--greater!" cried Michel,
whose voice became more and more violent.
"There is a slight objection to make to your project," answered
Barbicane. "It is that during the movement of rotation of the globe our
wire would have been rolled round it like a chain round a windlass, and
it would inevitably have dragged us down to the earth again."
"By the thirty-nine stars of the Union!" said Michel, "I have nothing
but impracticable ideas to-day--ideas worthy of J.T. Maston! But now I
think of it, if we do not return to earth J.T. Maston will certainly
come to us!"
"Yes! he will come," replied Barbicane; "he is a worthy and courageous
comrade. Besides, what could be easier? Is not the Columbiad still lying
in Floridian soil? Is cotton and nitric acid wanting wherewith to
manufacture the projectile? Will not the moon again pass the zenith of
Florida? In another eighteen years will she not occupy exactly the same
place that she occupies to-day?"
"Yes," repeated Michel--"yes, Maston will come, and with him our friends
Elphinstone, Blomsberry, and all the members of the Gun Club, and they
will be welcome! Later on trains of projectiles will be established
between the earth and the moon! Hurrah for J.T. Maston!"
It is probable that if the Honourable J.T. Maston did not hear the
hurrahs uttered in his honour his ears tingled at least. What was he
doing then? He was no doubt stationed in the Rocky Mountains at Long's
Peak, trying to discover the invisible bullet gravitating in space. If
he was thinking of his dear companions it must be acknowledged that they
were not behindhand with him, and that, under the influence of singular
exaltation, they consecrated their best thoughts to him.
But whence came the animation that grew visibly greater in the
inhabitants of the projectile? Their sobriety could not be questioned.
Must this strange erethismus of the brain be attributed to the
exceptional circumstances of the time, to that proximity of the Queen of
Night from which a few hours only separated them, or to some secret
influence of the moon acting on their nervous system? Their faces became
as red as if exposed to the reverberation of a furnace; their
respiration became more active, and their lungs played like
forge-bellows; their eyes shone with extraordinary flame, and their
voices became formidably loud, their words escaped like a champagne-cork
driven forth by carbonic acid gas; their gestures became disquieting,
they wanted so much room to perform them in. And, strange to say, they
in no wise perceived this excessive tension of the mind.
"Now," said Nicholl in a sharp tone--"now that I do not know whether we
shall come back from the moon, I will know what we are going there for!"
"What we are going there for!" answered Barbicane, stamping as if he
were in a fencing-room; "I don't know."
"You don't know!" cried Michel with a shout that provoked a sonorous
echo in the projectile.
"No, I have not the least idea!" answered Barbicane, shouting in unison
with his interlocutor.
"Well, then, I know," answered Michel.
"Speak, then," said Nicholl, who could no longer restrain the angry
tones of his voice.
"I shall speak if it suits me!" cried Michel, violently seizing his
companion's arm. "It must suit you!" said Barbicane, with eyes on fire
and threatening hands. "It was you who drew us into this terrible
journey, and we wish to know why!"
"Yes," said the captain, "now I don't know where I am going, I will know
why I am going."
"Why?" cried Michel, jumping a yard high--"why? To take possession of
the moon in the name of the United States! To add a fortieth State to
the Union! To colonise the lunar regions, to cultivate them, people
them, to take them all the wonders of art, science, and industry! To
civilise the Selenites, unless they are more civilised than we are, and
to make them into a republic if they have not already done it for
themselves!"
"If there are any Selenites!" answered Nicholl, who under the empire of
this inexplicable intoxication became very contradictory.
"Who says there are no Selenites?" cried Michel in a threatening tone.
"I do!" shouted Nicholl.
"Captain," said Michel, "do not repeat that insult or I will knock your
teeth down your throat!"
The two adversaries were about to rush upon one another, and this
incoherent discussion was threatening to degenerate into a battle, when
Barbicane interfered.
"Stop, unhappy men," said he, putting his two companions back to back,
"if there are no Selenites, we will do without them!"
"Yes!" exclaimed Michel, who did not care more about them than that. "We
have nothing to do with the Selenites! Bother the Selenites!"
"The empire of the moon shall be ours," said Nicholl. "Let us found a
Republic of three!"
"I shall be the Congress," cried Michel.
"And I the Senate," answered Nicholl.
"And Barbicane the President," shouted Michel.
"No President elected by the nation!" answered Barbicane.
"Well, then, a President elected by the Congress," exclaimed Michel;
"and as I am the Congress I elect you unanimously."
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah for President Barbicane!" exclaimed Nicholl.
"Hip--hip--hip! hurrah!" vociferated Michel Ardan.
Then the President and Senate struck up "Yankee Doodle" as loudly as
they could, whilst the Congress shouted the virile "Marseillaise."
Then began a frantic dance with maniacal gestures, mad stamping, and
somersaults of boneless clowns. Diana took part in the dance, howling
too, and jumped to the very roof of the projectile. An inexplicable
flapping of wings and cock-crows of singular sonority were heard. Five
or six fowls flew about striking the walls like mad bats.
Then the three travelling companions, whose lungs were disorganised
under some incomprehensible influence, more than intoxicated, burnt by
the air that had set their breathing apparatus on fire, fell motionless
upon the bottom of the projectile.
CHAPTER VIII.
AT SEVENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEEN LEAGUES.
What had happened? What was the cause of that singular intoxication, the
consequences of which might prove so disastrous? Simply carelessness on
Michel's part, which Nicholl was able to remedy in time.
After a veritable swoon, which lasted a few minutes, the captain, who
was the first to regain consciousness, soon collected his intellectual
faculties.
Although he had breakfasted two hours before, he began to feel as hungry
as if he had not tasted food for several days. His whole being, his
brain and stomach, were excited to the highest point.
He rose, therefore, and demanded a supplementary collation from Michel,
who was still unconscious, and did not answer. Nicholl, therefore,
proceeded to prepare some cups of tea, in order to facilitate the
absorption of a dozen sandwiches. He busied himself first with lighting
a fire, and so struck a match.
What was his surprise to see the sulphur burn with extraordinary and
almost unbearable brilliancy! From the jet of gas he lighted rose a
flame equal to floods of electric light.
A revelation took place in Nicholl's mind. This intensity of light, the
physiological disturbance in himself, the extra excitement of all his
moral and sensitive faculties--he understood it all.
"The oxygen!" he exclaimed.
And leaning over the air-apparatus, he saw that the tap was giving out a
flood of colourless, savourless, and odourless gas, eminently vital, but
which in a pure state produces the gravest disorders in the
constitution. Through carelessness Michel had left the tap full on.
Nicholl made haste to turn off this flow of oxygen with which the
atmosphere was saturated, and which would have caused the death of the
travellers, not by suffocation, but by combustion.
An hour afterwards the air was relieved, and gave their normal play to
the lungs. By degrees the three friends recovered from their
intoxication; but they were obliged to recover from their oxygen like a
drunkard from his wine.
When Michel knew his share of responsibility in this incident he did not
appear in the least disconcerted. This unexpected intoxication broke the
monotony of the journey. Many foolish things had been said under its
influence, but they had been forgotten as soon as said.
"Then," added the merry Frenchman, "I am not sorry for having
experienced the effect of this captious gas. Do you know, my friends,
that there might be a curious establishment set up with oxygen-rooms,
where people whose constitutions are weak might live a more active life
during a few hours at least? Suppose we had meetings where the air could
be saturated with this heroic fluid, theatres where the managers would
send it out in strong doses, what passion there would be in the souls of
actors and spectators, what fire and what enthusiasm! And if, instead of
a simple assembly, a whole nation could be saturated with it, what
activity, what a supplement of life it would receive! Of an exhausted
nation it perhaps would make a great and strong nation, and I know more
than one state in old Europe that ought to put itself under the oxygen
_régime_ in the interest of its health."
Michel spoke with as much animation as if the tap were still full on.
But with one sentence Barbicane damped his enthusiasm.
"All that is very well, friend Michel," he said, "but now perhaps you
will tell us where those fowls that joined in our concert came from."
"Those fowls?"
"Yes."
In fact, half-a-dozen hens and a superb cock were flying hither and
thither.
"Ah, the stupids!" cried Michel. "It was the oxygen that put them in
revolt."
"But what are you going to do with those fowls?" asked Barbicane.
"Acclimatise them in the moon of course! For the sake of a joke, my
worthy president; simply a joke that has unhappily come to nothing! I
wanted to let them out on the lunar continent without telling you! How
astounded you would have been to see these terrestrial poultry pecking
the fields of the moon!"
"Ah, _gamin_, you eternal boy!" answered Barbicane, "you don't want
oxygen to make you out of your senses! You are always what we were under
the influence of this gas! You are always insane!"
"Ah! how do we know we were not wiser then?" replied Michel Ardan.
After this philosophical reflection the three friends repaired the
disorder in the projectile. Cock and hens were put back in their cage.
But as they were doing this Barbicane and his two companions distinctly
perceived a fresh phenomenon.
Since the moment they had left the earth their own weight, that of the
bullet and the objects it contained, had suffered progressive
diminution. Though they could not have any experience of this in the
projectile, a moment must come when the effect upon themselves and the
tools and instruments they used would be felt.
Of course scales would not have indicated this loss of weight, for the
weights used would have lost precisely as much as the object itself; but
a spring weighing-machine, the tension of which is independent of
attraction, would have given the exact valuation of this diminution.
It is well known that attraction, or weight, is in proportion to the
bulk, and in inverse proportion to the square of distances. Hence this
consequence. If the earth had been alone in space, if the other heavenly
bodies were to be suddenly annihilated, the projectile, according to
Newton's law, would have weighed less according to its distance from the
earth, but without ever losing its weight entirely, for the terrestrial
attraction would always have made itself felt, no matter at what
distance.
But in the case with which we are dealing, a moment must come when the
projectile would not be at all under the law of gravitation, after
allowing for the other celestial bodies, whose effect could not be set
down as zero.
In fact, the trajectory of the projectile was between the earth and the
moon. As it went farther away from the earth terrestrial attraction
would be diminished in inverse proportion to the square of distances,
but the lunar attraction would be augmented in the same proportion. A
point must, therefore, be reached where these two attractions would
neutralise each other, and the bullet would have no weight at all. If
the volumes of the moon and earth were equal, this point would have been
reached at an equal distance between the two bodies. But by taking their
difference of bulk into account it was easy to calculate that this
point would be situated at 47/52 of the journey, or at 78,114 leagues
from the earth.
At this point a body that had no principle of velocity or movement in
itself would remain eternally motionless, being equally attracted by the
two heavenly bodies, and nothing drawing it more towards one than the
other.
Now if the force of impulsion had been exactly calculated the projectile
ought to reach that point with no velocity, having lost all weight like
the objects it contained.
What would happen then? Three hypotheses presented themselves.
Either the projectile would have kept some velocity, and passing the
point of equal attraction, would fall on the moon by virtue of the
excess of lunar attraction over terrestrial attraction.
Or velocity sufficient to reach the neutral point being wanting, it
would fall back on the earth by virtue of the excess of terrestrial
attraction over lunar attraction.
Or lastly, endowed with sufficient velocity to reach the neutral point,
but insufficient to pass it, it would remain eternally suspended in the
same place, like the pretended coffin of Mahomet, between the zenith and
nadir.
Such was the situation, and Barbicane clearly explained the consequences
to his travelling companions. They were interested to the highest
degree. How were they to know when they had reached this neutral point,
situated at 78,114 leagues from the earth, at the precise moment when
neither they nor the objects contained in the projectile should be in
any way subject to the laws of weight?
Until now the travellers, though they had remarked that this action
diminished little by little, had not yet perceived its total absence.
But that day, about 11 a.m., Nicholl having let a tumbler escape from
his hand, instead of falling, it remained suspended in the air.
"Ah!" cried Michel Ardan, "this is a little amusing chemistry!"
And immediately different objects, weapons, bottles, &c, left to
themselves, hung suspended as if by miracle. Diana, too, lifted up by
Michel into space, reproduced, but without trickery, the marvellous
suspensions effected by Robert-Houdin and Maskelyne and Cook.
The three adventurous companions, surprised and stupefied in spite of
their scientific reasoning, carried into the domain of the marvellous,
felt weight go out of their bodies. When they stretched out their arms
they felt no inclination to drop them. Their heads vacillated on their
shoulders. Their feet no longer kept at the bottom of the projectile.
They were like staggering drunkards. Imagination has created men
deprived of their reflection, others deprived of their shadows! But here
reality, by the neutrality of active forces, made men in whom nothing
had any weight, and who weighed nothing themselves.
Suddenly Michel, making a slight spring, left the floor and remained
suspended in the air like the good monk in Murillo's _Cuisine des
Anges_. His two friends joined him in an instant, and all three, in the
centre of the projectile, figured a miraculous ascension.
"Is it believable? Is it likely? Is it possible?" cried Michel. "No. And
yet it exists! Ah! if Raphael could have seen us like this what an
Assumption he could have put upon canvas!"
"The Assumption cannot last," answered Barbicane. "If the projectile
passes the neutral point, the lunar attraction will draw us to the
moon."
"Then our feet will rest upon the roof of the projectile,' answered
Michel.
"No," said Barbicane, "because the centre of gravity in the projectile
is very low, and it will turn over gradually."
"Then all our things will be turned upside down for certain!"
"Do not alarm yourself, Michel," answered Nicholl. "There is nothing of
the kind to be feared. Not an object will move; the projectile will turn
insensibly."
"In fact," resumed Barbicane, "when it has cleared the point of equal
attraction, its bottom, relatively heavier, will drag it perpendicularly
down to the moon. But in order that such a phenomenon should take place
we must pass the neutral line."
"Passing the neutral line!" cried Michel. "Then let us do like the
sailors who pass the equator--let us water our passage!"
A slight side movement took Michel to the padded wall. Thence he took a
bottle and glasses, placed them "in space" before his companions, and
merrily touching glasses, they saluted the line with a triple hurrah.
This influence of the attractions lasted scarcely an hour. The
travellers saw themselves insensibly lowered towards the bottom, and
Barbicane thought he remarked that the conical end of the projectile
deviated slightly from the normal direction towards the moon. By an
inverse movement the bottom side approached it. Lunar attraction was
therefore gaining over terrestrial attraction. The fall towards the moon
began, insensibly as yet; it could only be that of a millimetre (0.03937
inch), and a third in the first second. But the attractive force would
gradually increase, the fall would be more accentuated, the projectile,
dragged down by its bottom side, would present its cone to the earth,
and would fall with increasing velocity until it reached the Selenite
surface. Now nothing could prevent the success of the enterprise, and
Nicholl and Michel Ardan shared Barbicane's joy.
Then they chatted about all the phenomena that had astounded them one
after another, especially about the neutralisation of the laws of
weight. Michel Ardan, always full of enthusiasm, wished to deduce
consequences which were only pure imagination.
"Ah! my worthy friends," he cried, "what progress we should make could
we but get rid upon earth of this weight, this chain that rivets us to
her! It would be the prisoner restored to liberty! There would be no
more weariness either in arms or legs. And if it is true that, in order
to fly upon the surface of the earth, to sustain yourself in the air by
a simple action of the muscles, it would take a force 150 times superior
to that we possess, a simple act of will, a caprice, would transport us
into space, and attraction would not exist."
"In fact," said Nicholl, laughing, "if they succeeded in suppressing
gravitation, like pain is suppressed by anaesthesia, it would change the
face of modern society!"
"Yes," cried Michel, full of his subject, "let us destroy weight and
have no more burdens! No more cranes, screw-jacks, windlasses, cranks,
or other machines will be wanted."
"Well said," replied Barbicane; "but if nothing had any weight nothing
would keep in its place, not even the hat on your head, worthy Michel;
nor your house, the stones of which only adhere by their weight! Not
even ships, whose stability upon the water is only a consequence of
weight. Not even the ocean, whose waves would no longer be held in
equilibrium by terrestrial attraction. Lastly, not even the atmosphere,
the molecules of which, being no longer held together, would disperse
into space!"
"That is a pity," replied Michel. "There is nothing like positive people
for recalling you brutally to reality!"
"Nevertheless, console yourself, Michel," resumed Barbicane, "for if no
star could exist from which the laws of weight were banished, you are at
least going to pay a visit where gravity is much less than upon earth."
"The moon?"
"Yes, the moon, on the surface of which objects weigh six times less
than upon the surface of the earth, a phenomenon very easy to
demonstrate."
"And shall we perceive it?" asked Michel. "Evidently, for 400 lbs. only
weigh 60 lbs. on the surface of the moon."
"Will not our muscular strength be diminished?"
"Not at all. Instead of jumping one yard you will be able to rise six."
"Then we shall be Hercules in the moon," cried Michel.
"Yes," replied Nicholl, "and the more so because if the height of the
Selenites is in proportion to the bulk of their globe they will be
hardly a foot high."
"Liliputians!" replied Michel. "Then I am going to play the _rôle_ of
Gulliver! We shall realise the fable of the giants! That is the
advantage of leaving one's own planet to visit the solar world!"
"But if you want to play Gulliver," answered Barbicane, "only visit the
inferior planets, such as Mercury, Venus, or Mars, whose bulk is rather
less than that of the earth. But do not venture into the big planets,
Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, for there the _rôles_ would be
inverted, and you would become Liliputian."
"And in the sun?"
"In the sun, though its density is four times less than that of the
earth, its volume is thirteen hundred and twenty-four thousand times
greater, and gravitation there is twenty-seven times greater than upon
the surface of our globe. Every proportion kept, the inhabitants ought
on an average to be two hundred feet high."
"The devil!" exclaimed Michel. "I should only be a pigmy!"
"Gulliver amongst the giants," said Nicholl.
"Just so," answered Barbicane.
"It would not have been a bad thing to carry some pieces of artillery to
defend oneself with."
"Good," replied Barbicane; "your bullets would have no effect on the
sun, and they would fall to the ground in a few minutes."
"That's saying a great deal!"
"It is a fact," answered Barbicane. "Gravitation is so great on that
enormous planet that an object weighing 70 lbs. on the earth would weigh
1,930 lbs. on the surface of the sun. Your hat would weigh 20 lbs.! your
cigar 1/2 lb.! Lastly, if you fell on the solar continent your weight
would be so great--about 5,000 lbs.--that you could not get up again."
"The devil!" said Michel, "I should have to carry about a portable
crane! Well, my friends, let us be content with the moon for to-day.
There, at least, we shall cut a great figure! Later on we shall see if
we will go to the sun, where you can't drink without a crane to lift the
glass to your mouth."
CHAPTER IX.
THE CONSEQUENCES OF DEVIATION.
Barbicane had now no fear, if not about the issue of the journey, at
least about the projectile's force of impulsion. Its own speed would
carry it beyond the neutral line. Therefore it would not return to the
earth nor remain motionless upon the point of attraction. One hypothesis
only remained to be realised, the arrival of the bullet at its goal
under the action of lunar attraction.
In reality it was a fall of 8,296 leagues upon a planet, it is true,
where the gravity is six times less than upon the earth. Nevertheless it
would be a terrible fall, and one against which all precautions ought to
be taken without delay.
These precautions were of two sorts; some were for the purpose of
deadening the shock at the moment the projectile would touch lunar
ground; others were to retard the shock, and so make it less violent.
In order to deaden the shock, it was a pity that Barbicane was no longer
able to employ the means that had so usefully weakened the shock at
departure--that is to say, the water used as a spring and the movable
partitions. The partitions still existed, but water was wanting, for
they could not use the reserve for this purpose--that would be precious
in case the liquid element should fail on the lunar soil.
Besides, this reserve would not have been sufficient for a spring. The
layer of water stored in the projectile at their departure, and on which
lay the waterproof disc, occupied no less than three feet in depth, and
spread over a surface of not less than fifty-four feet square. Now the
receptacles did not contain the fifth part of that. They were therefore
obliged to give up this effectual means of deadening the shock.
Fortunately Barbicane, not content with employing water, had furnished
the movable disc with strong spring buffers, destined to lessen the
shock against the bottom, after breaking the horizontal partitions.
These buffers were still in existence; they had only to be fitted on and
the movable disc put in its place. All these pieces, easy to handle, as
they weighed scarcely anything, could be rapidly mounted.
This was done. The different pieces were adjusted without difficulty. It
was only a matter of bolts and screws. There were plenty of tools. The
disc was soon fixed on its steel buffers like a table on its legs. One
inconvenience resulted from this arrangement. The lower port-hole was
covered, and it would be impossible for the travellers to observe the
moon through that opening whilst they were being precipitated
perpendicularly upon her. But they were obliged to give it up. Besides,
through the lateral openings they could still perceive the vast lunar
regions, like the earth is seen from the car of a balloon.
This placing of the disc took an hour's work. It was more than noon when
the preparations were completed. Barbicane made fresh observations on
the inclination of the projectile, but to his great vexation it had not
turned sufficiently for a fall; it appeared to be describing a curve
parallel with the lunar disc. The Queen of Night was shining splendidly
in space, whilst opposite the orb of day was setting her on fire with
his rays.
This situation soon became an anxious one.
"Shall we get there?" said Nicholl.
"We must act as though we should," answered Barbicane.
"You are faint-hearted fellows," replied Michel Ardan. "We shall get
there, and quicker than we want."
This answer recalled Barbicane to his preparations, and he occupied
himself with placing the contrivances destined to retard the fall.
It will be remembered that, at the meeting held in Tampa Town, Florida,
Captain Nicholl appeared as Barbicane's enemy, and Michel Ardan's
adversary. When Captain Nicholl said that the projectile would be broken
like glass, Michel answered that he would retard the fall by means of
fusees properly arranged.
In fact, powerful fusees, resting upon the bottom, and being fired
outside, might, by producing a recoil action, lessen the speed of the
bullet. These fusees were to burn in the void it is true, but oxygen
would not fail them, for they would furnish that themselves like the
lunar volcanoes, the deflagration of which has never been prevented by
the want of atmosphere around the moon.
Barbicane had therefore provided himself with fireworks shut up in
little cannons of bored steel, which could be screwed on to the bottom
of the projectile. Inside these cannons were level with the bottom;
outside they went half a foot beyond it. There were twenty of them. An
opening in the disc allowed them to light the match with which each was
provided. All the effect took place outside. The exploding mixture had
been already rammed into each gun. All they had to do, therefore, was to
take up the metallic buffers fixed in the base, and to put these cannons
in their place, where they fitted exactly.
This fresh work was ended about 3 p.m., and all precaution taken they
had now nothing to do but to wait.
In the meantime the projectile visibly drew nearer the moon. It was,
therefore, submitted in some proportion to its influence; but its own
velocity also inclined it in an oblique line. Perhaps the result of
these two influences would be a line that would become a tangent. But it
was certain that the projectile was not falling normally upon the
surface of the moon, for its base, by reason of its weight, ought to
have been turned towards her.
Barbicane's anxiety was increased on seeing that his bullet resisted the
influence of gravitation. It was the unknown that was before him--the
unknown of the interstellar regions. He, the _savant_, believed that he
had foreseen the only three hypotheses that were possible--the return to
the earth, the fall upon the moon, or stagnation upon the neutral line!
And here a fourth hypothesis, full of all the terrors of the infinite,
cropped up inopportunely. To face it without flinching took a resolute
_savant_ like Barbicane, a phlegmatic being like Nicholl, or an
audacious adventurer like Michel Ardan.
Conversation was started on this subject. Other men would have
considered the question from a practical point of view. They would have
wondered where the projectile would take them to. Not they, however.
They sought the cause that had produced this effect.
"So we are off the line," said Michel. "But how is that?"
"I am very much afraid," answered Nicholl, "that notwithstanding all the
precautions that were taken, the Columbiad was not aimed correctly. The
slightest error would suffice to throw us outside the pale of lunar
attraction."
"Then the cannon was pointed badly?" said Michel.
"I do not think so," answered Barbicane. "The cannon was rigorously
perpendicular, and its direction towards the zenith of the place was
incontestable. The moon passing the zenith, we ought to have reached her
at the full. There is another reason, but it escapes me."
"Perhaps we have arrived too late," suggested Nicholl.
"Too late?" said Barbicane.
"Yes," resumed Nicholl. "The notice from the Cambridge Observatory said
that the transit ought to be accomplished in ninety-seven hours thirteen
minutes and twenty seconds. That means that before that time the moon
would not have reached the point indicated, and after she would have
passed it."
"Agreed," answered Barbicane. "But we started on the 1st of December at
11h. 13m. 25s. p.m., and we ought to arrive at midnight on the 5th,
precisely as the moon is full. Now this is the 5th of December. It is
half-past three, and eight hours and a half ought to be sufficient to
take us to our goal. Why are we not going towards it?"
"Perhaps the velocity was greater than it ought to have been," answered
Nicholl, "for we know now that the initial velocity was greater than it
was supposed to be."
"No! a hundred times no!" replied Barbicane. "An excess of velocity,
supposing the direction of the projectile to have been correct, would
not have prevented us reaching the moon. No! There has been a deviation.
We have deviated!"
"Through whom? through what?" asked Nicholl.
"I cannot tell," answered Barbicane.
"Well, Barbicane," then said Michel, "should you like to know what I
think about why we have deviated?"
"Say what you think."
"I would not give half a dollar to know! We have deviated, that is a
fact. It does not matter much where we are going. We shall soon find
out. As we are being carried along into space we shall end by falling
into some centre of attraction or another."
Barbicane could not be contented with this indifference of Michel
Ardan's. Not that he was anxious about the future. But what he wanted to
know, at any price, was why his projectile had deviated.
In the meantime the projectile kept on its course sideways to the moon,
and the objects thrown out along with it. Barbicane could even prove by
the landmarks upon the moon, which was only at 2,000 leagues' distance,
that its speed was becoming uniform--a fresh proof that they were not
falling. Its force of impulsion was prevailing over the lunar
attraction, but the trajectory of the projectile was certainly taking
them nearer the lunar disc, and it might be hoped that at a nearer point
the weight would predominate and provoke a fall.
The three friends, having nothing better to do, went on with their
observations. They could not, however, yet determine the topography of
the satellite. Every relief was levelled under the action of the solar
rays.
They watched thus through the lateral windows until 8 p.m. The moon then
looked so large that she hid half the firmament from them. The sun on
one side, and the Queen of Night on the other, inundated the projectile
with light.
At that moment Barbicane thought he could estimate at 700 leagues only
the distance that separated them from their goal. The velocity of the
projectile appeared to him to be 200 yards a second, or about 170
leagues an hour. The base of the bullet had a tendency to turn towards
the moon under the influence of the centripetal force; but the
centrifugal force still predominated, and it became probable that the
rectilinear trajectory would change to some curve the nature of which
could not be determined.
Barbicane still sought the solution of his insoluble problem. The hours
went by without result. The projectile visibly drew nearer to the moon,
but it was plain that it would not reach her. The short distance at
which it would pass her would be the result of two forces, attractive
and repulsive, which acted upon the projectile.
"I only pray for one thing," repeated Michel, "and that is to pass near
enough to the moon to penetrate her secrets."
"Confound the cause that made our projectile deviate!" cried Nicholl.
"Then," said Barbicane, as if he had been suddenly struck with an idea,
"confound that asteroid that crossed our path!"
"Eh?" said Michel Ardan.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Nicholl.
"I mean," resumed Barbicane, who appeared convinced, "I mean that our
deviation is solely due to the influence of that wandering body."
"But it did not even graze us," continued Michel.
"What does that matter? Its bulk, compared with that of our projectile,
was enormous, and its attraction was sufficient to have an influence
upon our direction."
"That influence must have been very slight," said Nicholl.
"Yes, Nicholl, but slight as it was," answered Barbicane, "upon a
distance of 84,000 leagues it was enough to make us miss the moon!"
CHAPTER X.
THE OBSERVERS OF THE MOON.
Barbicane had evidently found the only plausible reason for the
deviation. However slight it had been, it had been sufficient to modify
the trajectory of the projectile. It was a fatality. The audacious
attempt had miscarried by a fortuitous circumstance, and unless anything
unexpected happened, the lunar disc could no longer be reached. Would
they pass it near enough to resolve certain problems in physics and
geology until then unsolved? This was the only question that occupied
the minds of these bold travellers. As to the fate the future held in
store for them, they would not even think about it. Yet what was to
become of them amidst these infinite solitudes when air failed them? A
few more days and they would fall suffocated in this bullet wandering at
hazard. But a few days were centuries to these intrepid men, and they
consecrated every moment to observing the moon they no longer hoped to
reach.
The distance which then separated the projectile from the satellite was
estimated at about 200 leagues. Under these conditions, as far as
regards the visibility of the details of the disc, the travellers were
farther from the moon than are the inhabitants of the earth with their
powerful telescopes.
It is, in fact, known that the instrument set up by Lord Rosse at
Parsonstown, which magnifies 6,500 times, brings the moon to within
sixteen leagues; and the powerful telescope set up at Long's Peak
magnifies 48,000 times, and brings the moon to within less than two
leagues, so that objects twelve yards in diameter were sufficiently
distinct.
Thus, then, at that distance the topographical details of the moon, seen
without a telescope, were not distinctly determined. The eye caught the
outline of those vast depressions inappropriately called "seas," but
they could not determine their nature. The prominence of the mountains
disappeared under the splendid irradiation produced by the reflection of
the solar rays. The eye, dazzled as if leaning over a furnace of molten
silver, turned from it involuntarily.
However, the oblong form of the orb was already clearly seen.
It appeared like a gigantic egg, with the small end turned towards the
earth. The moon, liquid and pliable in the first days of her formation,
was originally a perfect sphere. But soon, drawn within the pale of the
earth's gravitation, she became elongated under its influence. By
becoming a satellite she lost her native purity of form; her centre of
gravity was in advance of the centre of her figure, and from this fact
some _savants_ draw the conclusion that air and water might have taken
refuge on the opposite side of the moon, which is never seen from the
earth.
This alteration in the primitive forms of the satellite was only visible
for a few moments. The distance between the projectile and the moon
diminished visibly; its velocity was considerably less than its initial
velocity, but eight or nine times greater than that of our express
trains. The oblique direction of the bullet, from its very obliquity,
left Michel Ardan some hope of touching the lunar disc at some point or
other. He could not believe that he should not get to it. No, he could
not believe it, and this he often repeated. But Barbicane, who was a
better judge, always answered him with pitiless logic.
"No, Michel, no. We can only reach the moon by a fall, and we are not
falling. The centripetal force keeps us under the moon's influence, but
the centrifugal force sends us irresistibly away from it."
This was said in a tone that deprived Michel Ardan of his last hopes.
The portion of the moon the projectile was approaching was the northern
hemisphere. The selenographic maps make it the lower one, because they
are generally drawn up according to the image given by the telescopes,
and we know that they reverse the objects. Such was the _Mappa
Selenographica_ of Boeer and Moedler which Barbicane consulted. This
northern hemisphere presented vast plains, relieved by isolated
mountains.
At midnight the moon was full. At that precise moment the travellers
ought to have set foot upon her if the unlucky asteroid had not made
them deviate from their direction. The orb was exactly in the condition
rigorously determined by the Cambridge Observatory. She was
mathematically at her perigee, and at the zenith of the twenty-eighth
parallel. An observer placed at the bottom of the enormous Columbiad
while it is pointed perpendicularly at the horizon would have framed the
moon in the mouth of the cannon. A straight line drawn through the axis
of the piece would have passed through the centre of the moon.
It need hardly be stated that during the night between the 5th and 6th
of December the travellers did not take a minute's rest. Could they have
closed their eyes so near to a new world? No. All their feelings were
concentrated in one thought--to see! Representatives of the earth, of
humanity past and present, all concentrated in themselves, it was
through their eyes that the human race looked at these lunar regions and
penetrated the secrets of its satellite! A strange emotion filled their
hearts, and they went silently from one window to another.
Their observations were noted down by Barbicane, and were made
rigorously exact. To make them they had telescopes. To control them they
had maps.
The first observer of the moon was Galileo. His poor telescope only
magnified thirty times. Nevertheless, in the spots that pitted the lunar
disc "like eyes in a peacock's tail," he was the first to recognise
mountains, and measure some heights to which he attributed,
exaggerating, an elevation equal to the 20th of the diameter of the
disc, or 8,000 metres. Galileo drew up no map of his observations.
A few years later an astronomer of Dantzig, Hevelius--by operations
which were only exact twice a month, at the first and second
quadrature--reduced Galileo's heights to one-twenty-sixth only of the
lunar diameter. This was an exaggeration the other way. But it is to
this _savant_ that the first map of the moon is due. The light round
spots there form circular mountains, and the dark spots indicate vast
seas which, in reality, are plains. To these mountains and extents of
sea he gave terrestrial denominations. There is a Sinai in the middle of
an Arabia, Etna in the centre of Sicily, the Alps, Apennines,
Carpathians, the Mediterranean, the Black Sea, the Caspian, &c.--names
badly applied, for neither mountains nor seas recalled the configuration
of their namesakes on the globe. That large white spot, joined on the
south to vaster continents and terminated in a point, could hardly be
recognised as the inverted image of the Indian Peninsula, the Bay of
Bengal, and Cochin-China. So these names were not kept. Another
chartographer, knowing human nature better, proposed a fresh
nomenclature, which human vanity made haste to adopt.
This observer was Father Riccioli, a contemporary of Hevelius. He drew
up a rough map full of errors. But he gave to the lunar mountains the
names of great men of antiquity and _savants_ of his own epoch.
A third map of the moon was executed in the seventeenth century by
Dominique Cassini; superior to that of Riccioli in the execution, it is
inexact in the measurements. Several smaller copies were published, but
the plate long kept in the _Imprimerie Nationale_ was sold by weight as
old brass.
La Hire, a celebrated mathematician and designer, drew up a map of the
moon four and a half yards high, which was never engraved.
After him, a German astronomer, Tobie Marger, about the middle of the
eighteenth century, began the publication of a magnificent selenographic
map, according to lunar measures, which he rigorously verified; but his
death, which took place in 1762, prevented the termination of this
beautiful work.
It was in 1830 that Messrs. Boeer and Moedler composed their celebrated
_Mappa Selenographica_, according to an orthographical projection. This
map reproduces the exact lunar disc, such as it appears, only the
configurations of the mountains and plains are only correct in the
central part; everywhere else--in the northern or southern portions,
eastern or western--the configurations foreshortened cannot be compared
with those of the centre. This topographical map, one yard high and
divided into four parts, is a masterpiece of lunar chartography.
After these _savants_ may be cited the selenographic reliefs of the
German astronomer Julius Schmidt, the topographical works of Father
Secchi, the magnificent sheets of the English amateur, Waren de la Rue,
and lastly a map on orthographical projection of Messrs. Lecouturier and
Chapuis, a fine model set up in 1860, of very correct design and clear
outlines.
Such is the nomenclature of the different maps relating to the lunar
world. Barbicane possessed two, that of Messrs. Boeer and Moedler and
that of Messrs. Chapuis and Lecouturier. They were to make his work of
observer easier.
They had excellent marine glasses specially constructed for this
journey. They magnified objects a hundred times; they would therefore
have reduced the distance between the earth and the moon to less than
1,000 leagues. But then at a distance which towards 3 a.m. did not
exceed a hundred miles, and in a medium which no atmosphere obstructed,
these instruments brought the lunar level to less than fifteen hundred
metres.
CHAPTER XI.
IMAGINATION AND REALITY.
"Have you ever seen the moon?" a professor asked one of his pupils
ironically.
"No, sir," answered the pupil more ironically still, "but I have heard
it spoken of."
In one sense the jocose answer of the pupil might have been made by the
immense majority of sublunary beings. How many people there are who have
heard the moon spoken of and have never seen it--at least through a
telescope! How many even have never examined the map of their satellite!
Looking at a comprehensive selenographic map, one peculiarity strikes us
at once. In contrast to the geographical arrangements of the earth and
Mars, the continents occupy the more southern hemisphere of the lunar
globe. These continents have not such clear and regular boundary-lines
as those of South America, Africa, and the Indian Peninsula. Their
angular, capricious, and deeply-indented coasts are rich in gulfs and
peninsulas. They recall the confusion in the islands of the Sound, where
the earth is excessively cut up. If navigation has ever existed upon the
surface of the moon it must have been exceedingly difficult and
dangerous, and the Selenite mariners and hydrographers were greatly to
be pitied, the former when they came upon these perilous coasts, the
latter when they were marine surveying on the stormy banks.
It may also be noticed that upon the lunar spheroid the South Pole is
much more continental than the North Pole. On the latter there is only a
slight strip of land capping it, separated from the other continents by
vast seas. (When the word "seas" is used the vast plains probably
covered by the sea formerly must be understood.) On the south the land
covers nearly the whole hemisphere. It is, therefore, possible that the
Selenites have already planted their flag on one of their poles, whilst
Franklin, Ross, Kane, Dumont d'Urville, and Lambert have been unable to
reach this unknown point on the terrestrial globe.
Islands are numerous on the surface of the moon. They are almost all
oblong or circular, as though traced with a compass, and seem to form a
vast archipelago, like that charming group lying between Greece and Asia
Minor which mythology formerly animated with its most graceful legends.
Involuntarily the names of Naxos, Tenedos, Milo, and Carpathos come into
the mind, and you seek the ship of Ulysses or the "clipper" of the
Argonauts. That was what it appeared to Michel Ardan; it was a Grecian
Archipelago that he saw on the map. In the eyes of his less imaginative
companions the aspect of these shores recalled rather the cut-up lands
of New Brunswick and Nova Scotia; and where the Frenchman looked for
traces of the heroes of fable, these Americans were noting favourable
points for the establishment of mercantile houses in the interest of
lunar commerce and industry.
Some remarks on the orographical disposition of the moon must conclude
the description of its continents, chains of mountains, isolated
mountains, amphitheatres, and watercourses. The moon is like an immense
Switzerland--a continual Norway, where Plutonic influence has done
everything. This surface, so profoundly rugged, is the result of the
successive contractions of the crust while the orb was being formed. The
lunar disc is propitious for the study of great geological phenomena.
According to the remarks of some astronomers, its surface, although more
ancient than the surface of the earth, has remained newer. There there
is no water to deteriorate the primitive relief, the continuous action
of which produces a sort of general levelling. No air, the decomposing
influence of which modifies orographical profiles. There Pluto's work,
unaltered by Neptune's, is in all its native purity. It is the earth as
she was before tides and currents covered her with layers of soil.
After having wandered over these vast continents the eye is attracted by
still vaster seas. Not only does their formation, situation, and aspect
recall the terrestrial oceans, but, as upon earth, these seas occupy the
largest part of the globe. And yet these are not liquid tracts, but
plains, the nature of which the travellers hoped soon to determine.
Astronomers, it must be owned, have decorated these pretended seas with
at least odd names which science has respected at present. Michel Ardan
was right when he compared this map to a "map of tenderness," drawn up
by Scudery or Cyrano de Bergerac.
"Only," added he, "it is no longer the map of sentiment like that of the
18th century; it is the map of life, clearly divided into two parts, the
one feminine, the other masculine. To the women, the right hemisphere;
to the men, the left!"
When he spoke thus Michel made his prosaic companions shrug their
shoulders. Barbicane and Nicholl looked at the lunar map from another
point of view to that of their imaginative friend. However, their
imaginative friend had some reason on his side. Judge if he had not.
In the left hemisphere stretches the "Sea of Clouds," where human reason
is so often drowned. Not far off appears the "Sea of Rains," fed by all
the worries of existence. Near lies the "Sea of Tempests," where man
struggles incessantly against his too-often victorious passions. Then,
exhausted by deceptions, treasons, infidelities, and all the procession
of terrestrial miseries, what does he find at the end of his career? The
vast "Sea of Humours," scarcely softened by some drops from the waters
of the "Gulf of Dew!" Clouds, rain, tempests, humours, does the life of
man contain aught but these? and is it not summed up in these four
words?
The right-hand hemisphere dedicated to "the women" contains smaller
seas, the significant names of which agree with every incident of
feminine existence. There is the "Sea of Serenity," over which bends the
young maiden, and the "Lake of Dreams," which reflects her back a happy
future. The "Sea of Nectar," with its waves of tenderness and breezes of
love! The "Sea of Fecundity," the "Sea of Crises," and the "Sea of
Vapours," the dimensions of which are, perhaps, too restricted, and
lastly, that vast "Sea of Tranquillity" where all false passions, all
useless dreams, all unassuaged desires are absorbed, and the waves of
which flow peacefully into the "Lake of Death!"
What a strange succession of names! What a singular division of these
two hemispheres of the moon, united to one another like man and woman,
and forming a sphere of life, carried through space. And was not the
imaginative Michel right in thus interpreting the fancies of the old
astronomers?
But whilst his imagination thus ran riot on the "seas," his grave
companions were looking at things more geographically. They were
learning this new world by heart. They were measuring its angles and
diameters.
To Barbicane and Nicholl the "Sea of Clouds" was an immense depression
of ground, with circular mountains scattered about on it; covering a
great part of the western side of the southern hemisphere, it covered
184,800 square leagues, and its centre was in south latitude 15°, and
west longitude 20°. The Ocean of Tempests, _Oceanus Procellarum_, the
largest plain on the lunar disc, covered a surface of 328,300 square
leagues, its centre being in north latitude 10°, and east longitude 45°.
From its bosom emerge the admirable shining mountains of Kepler and
Aristarchus.
More to the north, and separated from the Sea of Clouds by high chains
of mountains, extends the Sea of Rains, _Mare Imbrium_, having its
central point in north latitude 35° and east longitude 20°; it is of a
nearly circular form, and covers a space of 193,000 leagues. Not far
distant the Sea of Humours, _Mare Humorum_, a little basin of 44,200
square leagues only, was situated in south latitude 25°, and east
longitude 40°. Lastly, three gulfs lie on the coast of this
hemisphere--the Torrid Gulf, the Gulf of Dew, and the Gulf of Iris,
little plains inclosed by high chains of mountains.
The "Feminine" hemisphere, naturally more capricious, was distinguished
by smaller and more numerous seas. These were, towards the north, the
_Mare Frigoris_, in north latitude 55° and longitude 0°, with 76,000
square leagues of surface, which joined the Lake of Death and Lake of
Dreams; the Sea of Serenity, _Mare Serenitatis_, by north latitude 25°
and west longitude 20°, comprising a surface of 80,000 square leagues;
the Sea of Crises, _Mare Crisium_, round and very compact, in north
latitude 17° and west longitude 55°, a surface of 40,000 square leagues,
a veritable Caspian buried in a girdle of mountains. Then on the
equator, in north latitude 5° and west longitude 25°, appeared the Sea
of Tranquillity, _Mare Tranquillitatis_, occupying 121,509 square
leagues of surface; this sea communicated on the south with the Sea of
Nectar, _Mare Nectaris_, an extent of 28,800 square leagues, in south
latitude 15° and west longitude 35°, and on the east with the Sea of
Fecundity, _Mare Fecunditatis_, the vastest in this hemisphere,
occupying 219,300 square leagues, in south latitude 3° and west
longitude 50°. Lastly, quite to the north and quite to the south lie two
more seas, the Sea of Humboldt, _Mare Humboldtianum_, with a surface of
6,500 square leagues, and the Southern Sea, _Mare Australe_, with a
surface of 26,000.
In the centre of the lunar disc, across the equator and on the zero
meridian, lies the centre gulf, _Sinus Medii_, a sort of hyphen between
the two hemispheres.
Thus appeared to the eyes of Nicholl and Barbicane the surface always
visible of the earth's satellite. When they added up these different
figures they found that the surface of this hemisphere measured
4,738,160 square leagues, 3,317,600 of which go for volcanoes, chains of
mountains, amphitheatres, islands--in a word, all that seems to form the
solid portion of the globe--and 1,410,400 leagues for the seas, lake,
marshes, and all that seems to form the liquid portion, all of which was
perfectly indifferent to the worthy Michel.
It will be noticed that this hemisphere is thirteen and a-half times
smaller than the terrestrial hemisphere. And yet upon it selenographers
have already counted 50,000 craters. It is a rugged surface worthy of
the unpoetical qualification of "green cheese" which the English have
given it.
When Barbicane pronounced this disobliging name Michel Ardan gave a
bound.
"That is how the Anglo-Saxons of the 19th century treat the beautiful
Diana, the blonde Phoebe, the amiable Isis, the charming Astarte, the
Queen of Night, the daughter of Latona and Jupiter, the younger sister
of the radiant Apollo!"
CHAPTER XII.
OROGRAPHICAL DETAILS.
It has already been pointed out that the direction followed by the
projectile was taking us towards the northern hemisphere of the moon.
The travellers were far from that central point which they ought to have
touched if their trajectory had not suffered an irremediable deviation.
It was half-past twelve at night. Barbicane then estimated his distance
at 1,400 kilometres, a distance rather greater than the length of the
lunar radius, and which must diminish as he drew nearer the North Pole.
The projectile was then not at the altitude of the equator, but on the
tenth parallel, and from that latitude carefully observed on the map as
far as the Pole, Barbicane and his two companions were able to watch the
moon under the most favourable circumstances.
In fact, by using telescopes, this distance of 1,400 kilometres was
reduced to fourteen miles, or four and a-half leagues. The telescope of
the Rocky Mountains brought the moon still nearer, but the terrestrial
atmosphere singularly lessened its optical power. Thus Barbicane, in his
projectile, by looking through his glass, could already perceive certain
details almost imperceptible to observers on the earth.
"My friends," then said the president in a grave voice, "I do not know
where we are going, nor whether we shall ever see the terrestrial globe
again. Nevertheless, let us do our work as if one day it would be of use
to our fellow-creatures. Let us keep our minds free from all
preoccupation. We are astronomers. This bullet is the Cambridge
Observatory transported into space. Let us make our observations."
That said, the work was begun with extreme precision, and it faithfully
reproduced the different aspects of the moon at the variable distances
which the projectile reached in relation to that orb.
Whilst the bullet was at the altitude of the 10th north parallel it
seemed to follow the 20th degree of east longitude.
Here may be placed an important remark on the subject of the map which
they used for their observations. In the selenographic maps, where, on
account of the reversal of objects by the telescope, the south is at the
top and the north at the bottom, it seems natural that the east should
be on the left and the west on the right. However, it is not so. If the
map were turned upside down, and showed the moon as she appears, the
east would be left and the west right, the inverse of the terrestrial
maps. The reason of this anomaly is the following:--Observers situated
in the northern hemisphere--in Europe, for example--perceive the moon in
the south from them. When they look at her they turn their backs to the
north, the opposite position they take when looking at a terrestrial
map. Their backs being turned to the north, they have the east to the
left and the west to the right. For observers in the southern
hemisphere--in Patagonia, for example--the west of the moon would be on
their left and the east on their right, for the south would be behind
them.
Such is the reason for the apparent reversal of these two cardinal
points, and this must be remembered whilst following the observations of
President Barbicane.
Helped by the _Mappa Selenographica_ of Boeer and Moedler, the
travellers could, without hesitating, survey that portion of the disc in
the field of their telescopes.
"What are we looking at now?" asked Michel.
"At the northern portion of the Sea of Clouds," answered Barbicane. "We
are too far off to make out its nature. Are those plains composed of
dry sand, as the first astronomers believed? Or are they only immense
forests, according to the opinion of Mr. Waren de la Rue, who grants a
very low but very dense atmosphere to the moon? We shall find that out
later on. We will affirm nothing till we are quite certain."
"This Sea of Clouds is rather doubtfully traced upon the maps. It is
supposed that this vast plain is strewn with blocks of lava vomited by
the neighbouring volcanoes on its right side, Ptolemy, Purbach, and
Arzachel. The projectile was drawing sensibly nearer, and the summits
which close in this sea on the north were distinctly visible. In front
rose a mountain shining gloriously, the top of which seemed drowned in
the solar rays."
"That mountain is--?" asked Michel.
"Copernicus," answered Barbicane.
"Let us have a look at Copernicus," said Michel.
This mountain, situated in north latitude 9°, and east longitude 20°,
rises to a height of nearly 11,000 feet above the surface of the moon.
It is quite visible from the earth, and astronomers can study it with
ease, especially during the phase between the last quarter and the new
moon, because then shadows are thrown lengthways from east to west, and
allow the altitudes to be taken.
Copernicus forms the most important radiating system in the southern
hemisphere, according to Tycho Brahe. It rises isolated like a gigantic
lighthouse over that of the Sea of Clouds bordering on the Sea of
Tempests, and it lights two oceans at once with its splendid rays. Those
long luminous trails, so dazzling at full moon, made a spectacle without
an equal; they pass the boundary chains on the north, and stretch as far
as the Sea of Rains. At 1 a.m., terrestrial time, the projectile, like a
balloon carried into space, hung over this superb mountain.
Barbicane could perfectly distinguish its chief features. Copernicus is
comprehended in the series of annular mountains of the first order in
the division of the large amphitheatres. Like the mountains of Kepler
and Aristarchus, which overlook the Ocean of Tempests, it appears
sometimes like a brilliant point through the pale light, and used to be
taken for a volcano in activity. But it is only an extinct volcano, like
those on that side of the moon. Its circumference presented a diameter
of about twenty-two leagues. The glasses showed traces of
stratifications in it produced by successive eruptions, and its
neighbourhood appeared strewn with volcanic remains, which were still
seen in the crater.
"There exist," said Barbicane, "several sorts of amphitheatres an the
surface of the moon, and it is easy to see that Copernicus belongs to
the radiating class. If we were nearer it we should perceive the cones
which bristle in the interior, and which were formerly so many fiery
mouths. A curious arrangement, and one without exception on the lunar
disc, is presented on the interior surface of these amphitheatres, being
notably downward from the exterior plane, a contrary form to that which
terrestrial craters present. It follows, therefore, that the general
curvature at the bottom of these amphitheatres gives us fear of an
inferior diameter to that of the moon."
"What is the reason of this special arrangement?" asked Nicholl.
"It is not known," answered Barbicane.
"How splendidly it shines!" said Michel. "I think it would be difficult
to see a more beautiful spectacle!"
"What should you say, then," answered Barbicane, "if the chances of our
journey should take us towards the southern hemisphere?"
"Well, I should say it is finer still," replied Michel Ardan.
At that moment the projectile hung right over the amphitheatre. The
circumference of Copernicus formed an almost perfect circle, and its
steep ramparts were clearly defined. A second circular inclosure could
even be distinguished. A grey plain of wild aspect spread around on
which every relief appeared yellow. At the bottom of the amphitheatre,
as if in a jewel-case, sparkled for one instant two or three eruptive
cones like enormous dazzling gems. Towards the north the sides of the
crater were lowered into a depression which would probably have given
access to the interior of the crater.
As they passed above the surrounding plain Barbicane was able to note a
large number of mountains of slight importance, amongst others a little
circular mountain called "Gay-Lussac," more than twenty-three kilometres
wide. Towards the south the plain was very flat, without one elevation
or projection of the soil. Towards the north, on the contrary, as far as
the place where it borders on the Ocean of Tempests, it was like a
liquid surface agitated by a storm, of which the hills and hollows
formed a succession of waves suddenly coagulated. Over the whole of
this, and in all directions, ran the luminous trails which converged to
the summit of Copernicus. Some had a width of thirty kilometres over a
length that could not be estimated.
The travellers discussed the origin of these strange rays, but they
could not determine their nature any better than terrestrial observers.
"Why," said Nicholl, "may not these rays be simply the spurs of the
mountains reflecting the light of the sun more vividly?"
"No," answered Barbicane, "if it were so in certain conditions of the
moon they would throw shadows, which they do not."
In fact, these rays only appear when the sun is in opposition with the
moon, and they disappear as soon as its rays become oblique.
"But what explanation of these trails of light have been imagined?"
asked Michel, "for I cannot believe that _savants_ would ever stop short
for want of explanation."
"Yes," answered Barbicane, "Herschel has uttered an opinion, but he does
not affirm it."
"Never mind; what is his opinion?"
"He thought that these rays must be streams of cold lava which shone
when the sun struck them normally."
"That may be true, but nothing is less certain. However, if we pass
nearer to Tycho we shall be in a better position to find out the cause
of this radiation."
"What do you think that plain is like, seen from the height we are at?"
asked Michel.
"I don't know," answered Nicholl.
"Well, with all these pieces of lava, sharpened like spindles, it looks
like 'an immense game of spilikins,' thrown down pell-mell. We only want
a hook to draw them up."
"Be serious for once in your life," said Barbicane.
"I will be serious," replied Michel tranquilly, "and instead of
spilikins let us say they are bones. This plain would then be only an
immense cemetery upon which would repose the immortal remains of a
thousand distinct generations. Do you like that comparison better?"
"One is as good as the other," answered Barbicane.
"The devil! You are difficult to please," replied Michel.
"My worthy friend," resumed the prosaic Barbicane, "it does not matter
what it looks like when we don't know what it is."
"A good answer," exclaimed Michel; "that will teach me to argue with
_savants_."
In the meantime the projectile went with almost uniform speed round the
lunar disc. It may be easily imagined that the travellers did not dream
of taking a minute's rest. A fresh landscape lay before their eyes every
instant. About half-past one in the morning they caught a glimpse of the
summit of another mountain. Barbicane consulted his map, and recognised
Eratosthenes.
It was a circular mountain 4,500 metres high, one of those amphitheatres
so numerous upon the satellite. Barbicane informed his friends of
Kepler's singular opinion upon the formation of these circles.
According to the celebrated mathematician, these crateriform cavities
had been dug out by the hand of man.
"What for?" asked Nicholl.
"In order to preserve themselves from the ardour of the solar rays,
which strike the moon during fifteen consecutive days."
"The Selenites were not fools!" said Michel.
"It was a singular idea!" answered Nicholl. "But it is probable that
Kepler did not know the real dimensions of these circles, for digging
them would have been giants' labour, impracticable for Selenites."
"Why so, if the weight on the surface of the moon is six times less than
upon the surface of the earth?" said Michel.
"But if the Selenites are six times smaller?" replied Nicholl.
"And if there are no Selenites?" added Barbicane, which terminated the
discussion.
Eratosthenes soon disappeared from the horizon without the projectile
having been sufficiently near it to allow a rigorous observation. This
mountain separated the Apennines from the Carpathians.
In lunar orography, several chains of mountains have been distinguished
which are principally distributed over the northern hemisphere. Some,
however, occupy certain portions of the southern hemisphere.
The following is a list of these different chains, with their latitudes
and the height of their highest summits:--
deg. deg. metres.
Mounts Doerfel 84 to 0 S. lat. 7,603
" Leibnitz 65 " 0 " 7,600
" Rook 20 " 30 " 1,600
" Altai 17 " 28 " 4,047
" Cordilleras 10 " 20 " 3,898
" Pyrenees 8 " 18 " 3,631
" Oural 5 " 13 " 838
" Alembert 4 " 10 " 5,847
" Hoemus 8 " 21 N. lat. 2,021
" Carpathians 15 " 19 " 1,939
" Apennines 14 " 27 " 5,501
" Taurus 21 " 28 " 2,746
" Riphees 25 " 33 " 4,171
" Hercynians 17 " 29 " 1,170
" Caucasia 32 " 41 " 5,567
" Alps 42 " 49 " 3,617
The most important of these different chains is that of the Apennines,
the development of which extends 150 leagues, and is yet inferior to
that of the great orographical movements of the earth. The Apennines run
along the eastern border of the Sea of Rains, and are continued on the
north by the Carpathians, the profile of which measures about 100
leagues.
The travellers could only catch a glimpse of the summit of these
Apennines which lie between west long. 10° and east long. 16°; but the
chain of the Carpathians was visible from 18° to 30° east long., and
they could see how they were distributed.
One hypothesis seemed to them very justifiable. Seeing that this chain
of the Carpathians was here and there circular in form and with high
peaks, they concluded that it anciently formed important amphitheatres.
These mountainous circles must have been broken up by the vast cataclysm
to which the Sea of Rains was due. These Carpathians looked then what
the amphitheatres of Purbach, Arzachel, and Ptolemy would if some
cataclysm were to throw down their left ramparts and transform them into
continuous chains. They present an average height of 3,200 metres, a
height comparable to certain of the Pyrenees. Their southern slopes fall
straight into the immense Sea of Rains.
About 2 a.m. Barbicane was at the altitude of the 20th lunar parallel,
not far from that little mountain, 1,559 metres high, which bears the
name of Pythias. The distance from the projectile to the moon was only
1,200 kilometres, brought by means of telescopes to two and a half
leagues.
The "Mare Imbrium" lay before the eyes of the travellers like an immense
depression of which the details were not very distinct. Near them on the
left rose Mount Lambert, the altitude of which is estimated at 1,813
metres, and farther on, upon the borders of the Ocean of Tempests, in
north lat. 23° and east long. 29°, rose the shining mountain of Euler.
This mountain, which rises only 1,815 metres above the lunar surface,
has been the object of an interesting work by the astronomer Schroeter.
This _savant_, trying to find out the origin of the lunar mountains,
asked himself whether the volume of the crater always looked equal to
the volume of the ramparts that formed it. Now this he found to be
generally the case, and he hence concluded that a single eruption of
volcanic matter had sufficed to form these ramparts, for successive
eruptions would have destroyed the connection. Mount Euler alone was an
exception to this general law, and it must have taken several successive
eruptions to form it, for the volume of its cavity is double that of its
inclosure.
All these hypotheses were allowable to terrestrial observers whose
instruments were incomplete; but Barbicane was no longer contented to
accept them, and seeing that his projectile drew regularly nearer the
lunar disc he did not despair of ultimately reaching it, or at least of
finding out the secrets of its formation.
CHAPTER XIII.
LUNAR LANDSCAPES.
At half-past two in the morning the bullet was over the 30th lunar
parallel at an effective distance of 1,000 kilometres, reduced by the
optical instruments to ten. It still seemed impossible that it could
reach any point on the disc. Its movement of translation, relatively
slow, was inexplicable to President Barbicane. At that distance from the
moon it ought to have been fast in order to maintain it against the
power of attraction. The reason of that phenomenon was also
inexplicable; besides, time was wanting to seek for the cause. The
reliefs on the lunar surface flew beneath their eyes, and they did not
want to lose a single detail.
The disc appeared through the telescopes at a distance of two and a half
leagues. If an aëronaut were taken up that distance from the earth, what
would he distinguish upon its surface? No one can tell, as the highest
ascensions have not exceeded 8,000 metres.
The following, however, is an exact description of what Barbicane and
his companions saw from that height:--
Large patches of different colours appeared on the disc. Selenographers
do not agree about their nature. They are quite distinct from each
other. Julius Schmidt is of opinion that if the terrestrial oceans were
dried up, a Selenite observer could only tell the difference between the
terrestrial oceans and continental plains by patches of colour as
distinctly varied as those which a terrestrial observer sees upon the
moon. According to him, the colour common to the vast plains, known
under the name of "seas," is dark grey, intermingled with green and
brown. Some of the large craters are coloured in the same way.
Barbicane knew this opinion of the German selenographer; it is shared by
Messrs. Boeer and Moedler. He noticed that they were right, whilst
certain astronomers, who only allow grey colouring on the surface of the
moon, are wrong. In certain places the green colour was very vivid;
according to Julius Schmidt, it is so in the Seas of Serenity and
Humours. Barbicane likewise remarked the wide craters with no interior
cones, which are of a bluish colour, analogous to that of fresh-polished
sheets of steel. These colours really belonged to the lunar disc, and
did not result, as certain astronomers think, either from some
imperfection in the object-glasses of the telescopes or the
interposition of the terrestrial atmosphere. Barbicane had no longer any
doubt about it. He was looking at it through the void, and could not
commit any optical error. He considered that the existence of this
different colouring was proved to science. Now were the green shades
owing to tropical vegetation, kept up by a low and dense atmosphere? He
could not yet be certain.
Farther on he noticed a reddish tinge, quite sufficiently distinct. A
similar colour had already been observed upon the bottom of an isolated
inclosure, known under the name of the Lichtenberg Amphitheatre, which
is situated near the Hercynian Mountains, on the border of the moon. But
he could not make out its nature.
He was not more fortunate about another peculiarity of the disc, for he
could not find out its cause. The peculiarity was the following one:--
Michel Ardan was watching near the president when he remarked some long
white lines brilliantly lighted up by the direct rays of the sun. It was
a succession of luminous furrows, very different from the radiation that
Copernicus had presented. They ran in parallel lines.
Michel, with his usual readiness, exclaimed--
"Why, there are cultivated fields!"
"Cultivated fields!" repeated Nicholl, shrugging his shoulders.
"Ploughed fields, at all events," replied Michel Ardan. "But what
ploughmen these Selenites must be, and what gigantic oxen they must
harness to their ploughs, to make such furrows!"
"They are not furrows, they are crevices!"
"Crevices let them be," answered Michel with docility. "Only what do you
mean by crevices in the world of science?" Barbicane soon told his
companions all he knew about lunar crevices. He knew that they were
furrows observed upon all the non-mountainous parts of the lunar disc;
that these furrows, generally isolated, were from four to five leagues
only; that their width varies from 1,000 to 1,500 metres, and their
edges are rigorously parallel. But he knew nothing more about their
formation or their nature.
Barbicane watched these furrows through his telescope very attentively.
He noticed that their banks were exceedingly steep. They were long
parallel ramparts; with a little imagination they might be taken for
long lines of fortifications raised by Selenite engineers.
Some of these furrows were as straight as if they had been cut by line,
others were slightly curved through with edges still parallel. Some
crossed each other. Some crossed craters. Some furrowed the circular
cavities, such as Posidonius or Petavius. Some crossed the seas, notably
the Sea of Serenity.
These accidents of Nature had naturally exercised the imagination of
terrestrial astronomers. The earliest observations did not discover
these furrows. Neither Hevelius, Cassini, La Hire, nor Herschel seems to
have known them. It was Schroeter who in 1789 first attracted the
attention of _savants_ to them. Others followed who studied them, such
as Pastorff, Gruithuysen, Boeer, and Moedler. At present there are
seventy-six; but though they have been counted, their nature has not yet
been determined. They are not fortifications certainly, anymore than
they are beds of dried-up rivers, for water so light on the surface of
the moon could not have dug such ditches, and there furrows often cross
craters at a great elevation.
It must, however, be acknowledged that Michel Ardan had an idea, and
that, without knowing it, he shared it with Julius Schmidt.
"Why," said he, "may not these inexplicable appearances be simply
phenomena of vegetation?"
"In what way do you mean?" asked Barbicane.
"Now do not be angry, worthy president," answered Michel, "but may not
these black lines be regular rows of trees?"
"Do you want to find some vegetation?" said Barbicane.
"I want to explain what you scientific men do not explain! My hypothesis
will at least explain why these furrows disappear, or seem to disappear,
at regular epochs."
"Why should they?"
"Because trees might become invisible when they lose their leaves, and
visible when they grow again."
"Your explanation is ingenious, old fellow," answered Barbicane, "but it
cannot be admitted."
"Why?"
"Because it cannot be said to be any season on the surface of the moon,
and, consequently, the phenomena of vegetation on the surface of the
moon cannot be produced."
In fact, the slight obliquity of the lunar axis keeps the sun there at
an almost equal altitude under every latitude. Above the equatorial
regions the radiant orb almost invariably occupies the zenith, and
hardly passes the limit of the horizon in the polar regions. Therefore,
in each region, according to its position, there reigns perpetual
spring, summer, autumn, or winter, as in the planet Jupiter, whose axis
is also slightly inclined upon its orbit.
The origin of these furrows is a difficult question to solve. They are
certainly posterior to the formation of the craters and amphitheatres,
for several have crossed them, and broken their circular ramparts. It
may be that they are contemporary with the latest geographical epochs,
and are only owing to the expansion of natural forces.
In the meantime the projectile had reached the altitude of the 40th
degree of lunar latitude at a distance that could not be greater than
800 kilometres. Objects appeared through the telescopes at two leagues
only. At this point rose under their feet the Helicon, 505 metres high,
and on the left were the mediocre heights, which inclose a small portion
of the Sea of Rains under the name of the Gulf of Iris.
The terrestrial atmosphere ought to be 170 times more transparent than
it is in order to allow astronomers to make complete observations on the
surface of the moon. But in the void the projectile was moving in no
fluid lay between the eye of the observer and the object observed. What
is more, Barbicane was at a less distance than the most powerful
telescopes, even that of Lord Rosse or the one on the Rocky Mountains,
could give. It was, therefore, in circumstances highly favourable for
solving the great question of the habitability of the moon. Yet the
solution of this question escaped him still. He could only distinguish
the deserted beds of the immense plains, and, towards the north, arid
mountains. No labour betrayed the hand of man. No ruin indicated his
passage. No agglomeration of animals indicated that life was developed
there, even in an inferior degree. There was no movement anywhere, no
appearance of vegetation anywhere. Of the three kingdoms represented on
the terrestrial globe, one only was represented on that of the
moon--viz., the mineral kingdom.
"So," said Michel Ardan, looking rather put out, "there is nobody after
all."
"No," answered Nicholl; "we have seen neither man, animal, nor tree as
yet. After all, if the atmosphere has taken refuge at the bottom of
cavities, in the interior of the amphitheatres, or even on the opposite
face of the moon, we cannot decide the question."
"Besides," added Barbicane, "even for the most piercing sight a man is
not visible at a distance of more than four miles. Therefore if there
are any Selenites they can see our projectile, but we cannot see them."
About 11 a.m., at the altitude of the 50th parallel, the distance was
reduced to 300 miles. On the left rose the capricious outlines of a
chain of mountains, outlined in full light. Towards the right, on the
contrary, was a large black hole like a vast dark and bottomless well
bored in the lunar soil.
That hole was the Black Lake, or Pluto, a deep circle from which the
earth could be conveniently studied between the last quarter and the new
moon, when the shadows are thrown from west to east.
This black colour is rarely met with on the surface of the satellite. It
has, as yet, only been seen in the depths of the circle of Endymion, to
the east of the Cold Sea, in the northern hemisphere, and at the bottom
of the circle of Grimaldi upon the equator towards the eastern border of
the orb.
Pluto is a circular mountain, situated in north lat. 51° and east long.
9°. Its circle is fifty miles long and thirty wide. Barbicane regretted
not passing perpendicularly over this vast opening. There was an abyss
to see, perhaps some mysterious phenomenon to become acquainted with.
But the course of the projectile could not be guided. There was nothing
to do but submit. A balloon could not be guided, much less a projectile
when you are inside.
About 5 a.m. the northern limit of the Sea of Rains was at last passed.
Mounts La Condamine and Fontenelle remained, the one on the left, the
other on the right. That part of the disc, starting from the 60th
degree, became absolutely mountainous. The telescopes brought it to
within one league, an inferior distance to that between the summit of
Mont Blanc and the sea level. All this region was bristling with peaks
and amphitheatres. Mount Philolaus rose about the 70th degree to a
height of 3,700 metres, opening an elliptical crater sixteen leagues
long and four wide.
Then the disc, seen from that distance, presented an exceedingly strange
aspect. The landscapes were very different to earthly ones, and also
very inferior.
The moon having no atmosphere, this absence of vaporous covering had
consequences already pointed out. There is no twilight on its surface,
night following day and day following night, with the suddenness of a
lamp extinguished or lighted in profound darkness. There is no
transition from cold to heat: the temperature falls in one instant from
boiling water heat to the cold of space.
Another consequence of this absence of air is the following:--Absolute
darkness reigns where the sun's rays do not penetrate. What is called
diffused light upon the earth, the luminous matter that the air holds
in suspension, which creates twilights and dawns, which produces
shadows, penumbrae, and all the magic of the chiaro-oscuro, does not
exist upon the moon. Hence the harshness of contrasts that only admit
two colours, black and white. If a Selenite shades his eyes from the
solar rays the sky appears absolutely dark, and the stars shine as in
the darkest nights.
The impression produced on Barbicane and his two friends by this strange
state of things may well be imagined. They did not know how to use their
eyes. They could no longer seize the respective distances in
perspective. A lunar landscape, which does not soften the phenomenon of
the chiaro-oscuro, could not be painted by a landscape-painter of the
earth. It would be nothing but blots of ink upon white paper.
This aspect of things did not alter even when the projectile, then at
the altitude of the 80th degree, was only separated from the moon by a
distance of fifty miles, not even when, at 5 a.m., it passed at less
than twenty-five miles from the mountain of Gioja, a distance which the
telescopes reduced to half-a-mile. It seemed as if they could have
touched the moon. It appeared impossible that before long the projectile
should not knock against it, if only at the North Pole, where the
brilliant mountains were clearly outlined against the dark background of
the sky. Michel Ardan wanted to open one of the port-lights and jump
upon the lunar surface. What was a fall of twelve leagues? He thought
nothing of that. It would, however, have been a useless attempt, for if
the projectile was not going to reach any point on the satellite, Michel
would have been hurled along by its movement, and not have reached it
either.
At that moment, 6 a.m., the lunar pole appeared. Only half the disc,
brilliantly lighted, appeared to the travellers, whilst the other half
disappeared in the darkness. The projectile suddenly passed the line of
demarcation between intense light and absolute darkness, and was
suddenly plunged into the profoundest night.
CHAPTER XIV.
A NIGHT OF THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY-FOUR HOURS AND A HALF.
At the moment this phenomenon took place the projectile was grazing the
moon's North Pole, at less that twenty-five miles' distance. A few
seconds had, therefore, sufficed to plunge it into the absolute darkness
of space. The transition had taken place so rapidly, without gradations
of light or attenuation of the luminous undulations, that the orb seemed
to have been blown out by a powerful gust.
"The moon has melted, disappeared!" cried Michel Ardan, wonder-stricken.
In fact, no ray of light or shade had appeared on the disc, formerly so
brilliant. The obscurity was complete, and rendered deeper still by the
shining of the stars. It was the darkness of lunar night, which lasts
354 hours and a half on each point of the disc--a long night, the result
of the equality of the movements of translation and rotation of the
moon, the one upon herself, the other round the earth. The projectile in
the satellite's cone of shadow was no longer under the action of the
solar rays.
In the interior darkness was, therefore, complete. The travellers could
no longer see one another. Hence came the necessity to lighten this
darkness. However desirous Barbicane might be to economise the gas, of
which he had so small a reserve, he was obliged to have recourse to it
for artificial light--an expensive brilliancy which the sun then
refused.
"The devil take the radiant orb!" cried Michel Ardan; "he is going to
force us to spend our gas instead of giving us his rays for nothing."
"We must not accuse the sun," said Nicholl. "It is not his fault, it is
the moon's fault for coming and putting herself like a screen between us
and him."
"It's the sun!" said Michel again.
"It's the moon!" retorted Nicholl.
An idle dispute began, which Barbicane put an end to by saying--
"My friends, it is neither the fault of the sun nor the moon. It is the
projectile's fault for deviating from its course instead of rigorously
following it. Or, to be juster still, it is the fault of that
unfortunate asteroid which so deplorably altered our first direction."
"Good!" answered Michel Ardan; "as that business is settled let us have
our breakfast. After a night entirely passed in making observations, we
want something to set us to rights a little."
This proposition met with no contradiction. Michel prepared the repast
in a few minutes. But they ate for the sake of eating. They drank
without toasts or hurrahs. The bold travellers, borne away into the
darkness of space without their accustomed escort of rays, felt a vague
uneasiness invade their hearts. The "farouche" darkness, so dear to the
pen of Victor Hugo, surrounded them on all sides.
In the meantime they talked about this interminable night, 354 hours, or
nearly 15 days, long, which physical laws have imposed upon the
inhabitants of the moon. Barbicane gave his friends some explanation of
the causes and consequences of this curious phenomenon.
"Curious it certainly is," said he, "for if each hemisphere of the moon
is deprived of solar light for fifteen days, the one over which we are
moving at this moment does not even enjoy, during its long night, a
sight of the brilliantly-lighted earth. In a word, there is no moon,
applying that qualification to our spheroid, except for one side of the
disc. Now, if it was the same upon earth--if, for example, Europe never
saw the moon, and she was only visible at the antipodes--you can figure
to yourselves the astonishment of a European on arriving in Australia."
"They would make the voyage for nothing but to go and see the moon,"
answered Michel.
"Well," resumed Barbicane, "that astonishment is reserved to the
Selenite who inhabits the opposite side of the moon to the earth, a side
for ever invisible to our fellow-beings of the terrestrial globe."
"And which we should have seen," added Nicholl, "if we had arrived here
at the epoch when the moon is new--that is to say, a fortnight later."
"To make amends," resumed Barbicane, "an inhabitant of the visible face
is singularly favoured by Nature to the detriment on the invisible face.
The latter, as you see, has dark nights of 354 hours long, without a ray
of light to penetrate the obscurity. The other, on the contrary, when
the sun, which has lighted him for a fortnight, sets under the horizon,
sees on the opposite horizon a splendid orb rise. It is the earth,
thirteen times larger than that moon which we know--the earth, which is
developed to a diameter of two degrees, and which sheds a light thirteen
times greater, which no atmosphere qualifies; the earth, which only
disappears when the sun reappears."
"A fine sentence," said Michel Ardan; "rather academical perhaps."
"It follows," resumed Barbicane, nowise put out, "that the visible face
of the disc must be very agreeable to inhabit, as it is always lighted
by the sun or the moon."
"But," said Nicholl, "this advantage must be quite compensated by the
unbearable heat which this light must cause."
"This inconvenience is the same under two faces, for the light reflected
by the earth is evidently deprived of heat. However, this invisible face
is still more deprived of heat than the visible face. I say that for
you, Nicholl; Michel would probably not understand."
"Thank you," said Michel.
"In fact," resumed Barbicane, "when the invisible face receives the
solar light and heat the moon is new--that is to say, that she is in
conjunction, that she is situated between the sun and the earth. She is
then, on account of the situation which she occupies in opposition when
she is full, nearer the sun by the double of her distance from the
earth. Now this distance may be estimated at the two-hundredth part of
that which separates the sun and the earth; or, in round numbers, at two
hundred thousand leagues. Therefore this visible face is nearer the sun
by two hundred thousand leagues when it receives his rays."
"Quite right," replied Nicholl.
"Whilst--" resumed Barbicane.
"Allow me," said Michel, interrupting his grave companion.
"What do you want?"
"I want to go on with the explanation."
"Why?"
"To prove that I have understood."
"Go on, then," said Barbicane, smiling.
"Whilst," said Michel, imitating the tone and gestures of President
Barbicane, "when the visible face of the moon is lighted by the sun the
moon is full--that is to say, situated with regard to the earth the
opposite to the sun. The distance which separates it from the radiant
orb is then increased in round numbers by 200,000 leagues, and the heat
which it receives must be rather less."
"Well done!" exclaimed Barbicane. "Do you know, Michel, for an artist
you are intelligent."
"Yes," answered Michel carelessly, "we are all intelligent on the
Boulevard des Italiens."
Barbicane shook hands gravely with his amiable companion, and went on
enumerating the few advantages reserved to the inhabitants of the
visible face.
Amongst others he quoted the observations of the sun's eclipses, which
can only be seen from one side of the lunar disc, because the moon must
be in opposition before they can take place. These eclipses, caused by
the interposition of the earth between the sun and the moon, may last
two hours, during which, on account of the rays refracted by its
atmosphere, the terrestrial globe can only appear like a black spot upon
the sun.
"Then," said Nicholl, "the invisible hemisphere is very ill-treated by
Nature."
"Yes," answered Barbicane, "but not the whole of it. By a certain
movement of liberation, a sort of balancing on its centre, the moon
presents more than the half of her disc to the earth. She is like a
pendulum, the centre of gravity of which is towards the terrestrial
globe, and which oscillates regularly. Whence comes that oscillation?
Because her movement of rotation on her axis is animated with uniform
velocity, whilst her movement of translation, following an elliptical
orb round the earth, is not. At the perigee the velocity of translation
is greater, and the moon shows a certain portion of her western border.
At her apogee the velocity of rotation is greater, and a morsel of her
eastern border appears. It is a strip of about eight degrees, which
appears sometimes on the west, sometimes on the east. The result is,
therefore, that of a thousand parts the moon shows five hundred and
sixty-nine."
"No matter," answered Michel; "if we ever become Selenites, we will
inhabit the visible face. I like light."
"Unless," replied Nicholl, "the atmosphere should be condensed on the
other side, as certain astronomers pretend."
"That is a consideration," answered Michel simply.
In the meantime breakfast was concluded, and the observers resumed their
posts. They tried to see through the dark port-light by putting out all
light in the projectile. But not one luminous atom penetrated the
obscurity.
One inexplicable fact preoccupied Barbicane. How was it that though the
projectile had been so near the moon, within a distance of twenty-five
miles, it had not fallen upon her? If its speed had been enormous, he
would have understood why it had not fallen. But with a relatively
slight speed the resistance to lunar attraction could not be explained.
Was the projectile under the influence of some strange force? Did some
body maintain it in the ether? It was henceforth evident that it would
not touch any point upon the moon. Where was it going? Was it going
farther away from or nearer to the disc? Was it carried along in the
gloom across infinitude? How were they to know, how calculate in the
dark? All these questions made Barbicane anxious, but he could not solve
them.
In fact, the invisible orb was there, perhaps, at a distance of some
leagues only, but neither his companions nor he could any longer see it.
If any noise was made on its surface they could not hear it. The air,
that vehicle of transmission, was wanting to convey to them the groans
of that moon which the Arabian legends make "a man already half-granite,
but still palpitating."
It will be agreed that it was enough to exasperate the most patient
observers. It was precisely the unknown hemisphere that was hidden from
their eyes. That face which a fortnight sooner or a fortnight later had
been, or would be, splendidly lighted up by the solar rays, was then
lost in absolute darkness. Where would the projectile be in another
fortnight? Where would the hazards of attraction have taken it? Who
could say?
It is generally admitted that the invisible hemisphere of the moon is,
by its constitution, absolutely similar to the visible hemisphere.
One-seventh of it is seen in those movements of libration Barbicane
spoke of. Now upon the surface seen there were only plains and
mountains, amphitheatres and craters, like those on the maps. They could
there imagine the same arid and dead nature. And yet, supposing the
atmosphere to have taken refuge upon that face? Suppose that with the
air water had given life to these regenerated continents? Suppose that
vegetation still persists there? Suppose that animals people these
continents and seas? Suppose that man still lives under those conditions
of habitability? How many questions there were it would have been
interesting to solve! What solutions might have been drawn from the
contemplation of that hemisphere! What delight it would have been to
glance at that world which no human eye has seen!
The disappointment of the travellers in the midst of this darkness may
be imagined. All observation of the lunar disc was prevented. The
constellations alone were visible, and it must be acknowledged that no
astronomers, neither Faye, Chacornac, nor the Secchi, had ever been in
such favourable conditions to observe them.
In fact, nothing could equal the splendour of this starry world, bathed
in limpid ether. Diamonds set in the celestial vault threw out superb
flames. One look could take in the firmament from the Southern Cross to
the North Star, those two constellations which will in 12,000 years, on
account of the succession of equinoxes, resign their _rôles_ of polar
stars, the one to Canopus in the southern hemisphere, the other to Wega
in the northern. Imagination lost itself in this sublime infinitude,
amidst which the projectile was moving like a new star created by the
hand of man. From natural causes these constellations shone with a soft
lustre; they did not twinkle because there was no atmosphere to
intervene with its strata unequally dense, and of different degrees of
humidity, which causes this scintillation.
The travellers long watched the constellated firmament, upon which the
vast screen of the moon made an enormous black hole. But a painful
sensation at length drew them from their contemplation. This was an
intense cold, which soon covered the glasses of the port-lights with a
thick coating of ice. The sun no longer warmed the projectile with his
rays, and it gradually lost the heat stored up in its walls. This heat
was by radiation rapidly evaporated into space, and a considerable
lowering of the temperature was the result. The interior humidity was
changed into ice by contact with the window-panes, and prevented all
observation.
Nicholl, consulting the thermometer, said that it had fallen to 17°
(centigrade) below zero (1° Fahr). Therefore, notwithstanding every
reason for being economical, Barbicane was obliged to seek heat as well
as light from gas. The low temperature of the bullet was no longer
bearable. Its occupants would have been frozen to death.
"We will not complain about the monotony of the journey," said Michel
Ardan. "What variety we have had, in temperature at all events! At times
we have been blinded with light, and saturated with heat like the
Indians of the Pampas! Now we are plunged into profound darkness amidst
boreal cold, like the Esquimaux of the pole! No, indeed! We have no
right to complain, and Nature has done many things in our honour!"
"But," asked Nicholl, "what is the exterior temperature?"
"Precisely that of planetary space," answered Barbicane.
"Then," resumed Michel Ardan, "would not this be an opportunity for
making that experiment we could not attempt when we were bathed in the
solar rays?"
"Now or never," answered Barbicane, "for we are usefully situated in
order to verify the temperature of space, and see whether the
calculations of Fourier or Pouillet are correct."
"Any way it is cold enough," said Michel. "Look at the interior humidity
condensing on the port-lights. If this fall continues the vapour of our
respiration will fall around us in snow."
"Let us get a thermometer," said Barbicane.
It will be readily seen that an ordinary thermometer would have given no
result under the circumstances in which it was going to be exposed. The
mercury would have frozen in its cup, for it does not keep liquid below
44° below zero. But Barbicane had provided himself with a spirit
thermometer, on the Walferdin system, which gives the minima of
excessively low temperature.
Before beginning the experiment this instrument was compared with an
ordinary thermometer, and Barbicane prepared to employ it.
"How shall we manage it?" asked Nicholl.
"Nothing is easier," answered Michel Ardan, who was never at a loss.
"Open the port-light rapidly, throw out the instrument; it will follow
the projectile with exemplary docility; a quarter of an hour after take
it in."
"With your hand?" asked Barbicane.
"With my hand," answered Michel.
"Well, then, my friend, do not try it," said Barbicane, "for the hand
you draw back will be only a stump, frozen and deformed by the frightful
cold."
"Really?"
"You would feel the sensation of a terrible burn, like one made with a
red-hot iron, for the same thing happens when heat is brutally
abstracted from our body as when it is inserted. Besides, I am not sure
that objects thrown out still follow us."
"Why?" said Nicholl.
"Because if we are passing through any atmosphere, however slightly
dense, these objects will be delayed. Now the darkness prevents us
verifying whether they still float around us. Therefore, in order not to
risk our thermometer, we will tie something to it, and so easily pull it
back into the interior."
Barbicane's advice was followed. Nicholl threw the instrument out of the
rapidly-opened port-light, holding it by a very short cord, so that it
could be rapidly drawn in. The window was only open one second, and yet
that one second was enough to allow the interior of the projectile to
become frightfully cold.
"_Mille diables!_" cried Michel Ardan, "it is cold enough here to freeze
white bears!"
Barbicane let half-an-hour go by, more than sufficient time to allow the
instrument to descend to the level of the temperature of space. The
thermometer was then rapidly drawn in.
Barbicane calculated the quantity of mercury spilt into the little phial
soldered to the lower part of the instrument, and said--
"One hundred and forty degrees centigrade below zero!" (218° Fahr.)
M. Pouillet was right, not Fourier. Such was the frightful temperature
of sidereal space! Such perhaps that of the lunar continents when the
orb of night loses by radiation all the heat which she absorbs during
the fifteen days of sunshine.
CHAPTER XV.
HYPERBOLA OR PARABOLA.
Our readers will probably be astonished that Barbicane and his
companions were so little occupied with the future in store for them in
their metal prison, carried along in the infinitude of ether. Instead of
asking themselves where they were going, they lost their time in making
experiments, just as if they had been comfortably installed in their
own studies.
It might be answered that men so strong-minded were above such
considerations, that such little things did not make them uneasy, and
that they had something else to do than to think about their future.
The truth is that they were not masters of their projectile--that they
could neither stop it nor alter its direction. A seaman can direct the
head of his ship as he pleases; an aëronaut can give his balloon
vertical movement. They, on the contrary, had no authority over their
vehicle. No manoeuvre was possible to them. Hence their not troubling
themselves, or "let things go" state of mind.
Where were they at that moment, 8 a.m. during that day called upon earth
the sixth of December? Certainly in the neighbourhood of the moon, and
even near enough for her to appear like a vast black screen upon the
firmament. As to the distance which separated them, it was impossible to
estimate it. The projectile, kept up by inexplicable forces, has grazed
the north pole of the satellite at less than twenty-five miles'
distance. But had that distance increased or diminished since they had
been in the cone of shadow? There was no landmark by which to estimate
either the direction or the velocity of the projectile. Perhaps it was
going rapidly away from the disc and would soon leave the pure shadow.
Perhaps, on the contrary, it was approaching it, and would before long
strike against some elevated peak in the invisible atmosphere, which
would have terminated the journey, doubtless to the detriment of the
travellers.
A discussion began upon this subject, and Michel Ardan, always rich in
explanations, gave out the opinion that the bullet, restrained by lunar
attraction, would end by falling on the moon like an aërolite on to the
surface of the terrestrial globe.
"In the first place," answered Barbicane, "all aërolites do not fall
upon the surface of the earth; only a small proportion do so. Therefore,
if we are aërolites it does not necessarily follow that we shall fall
upon the moon."
"Still," answered Michel, "if we get near enough--"
"Error," replied Barbicane. "Have you not seen shooting stars by
thousands in the sky at certain epochs?"
"Yes."
"Well, those stars, or rather corpuscles, only shine by rubbing against
the atmospheric strata. Now, if they pass through the atmosphere, they
pass at less than 16 miles from our globe, and yet they rarely fall. It
is the same with our projectile. It may approach very near the moon, and
yet not fall upon it."
"But then," asked Michel, "I am curious to know how our vehicle would
behave in space."
"I only see two hypotheses," answered Barbicane, after some minutes'
reflection.
"What are they?"
"The projectile has the choice between two mathematical curves, and it
will follow the one or the other according to the velocity with which it
is animated, and which I cannot now estimate."
"Yes, it will either describe a parabola or an hyperbola."
"Yes," answered Barbicane, "with some speed it will describe a parabola,
and with greater speed an hyperbola."
"I like those grand words!" exclaimed Michel Ardan. "I know at once what
you mean. And what is your parabola, if you please?"
"My friend," answered the captain, "a parabola is a conic section
arising from cutting a cone by a plane parallel to one of its sides."
"Oh!" said Michel in a satisfied tone.
"It is about the same trajectory that the bomb of a howitzer describes."
"Just so. And an hyperbola?" asked Michel.
"It is a curve formed by a section of a cone when the cutting plane
makes a greater angle with the base than the side of the cone makes."