HEROIC SILENCE.
It was a cannon that hurled the projectile up to the Moon; it was to be
a cannon that was to change the terrestrial axis! The cannon! Always the
cannon! Barbicane and Co. evidently suffered from chronic attacks of
aggravated “cannonism”! Was a cannon the _ultima ratio_ of the world?
was it to be the brutal sovereign of the universe? The canon rules
theology, was the cannon to give the law to commerce and cosmology?
A cannon was the engine Barbicane & Co. were to bring into action. They
had not devoted their lives to ballistics for nothing. After the
Columbiad of Tampa Town there was to come the monster cannon of—of—the
place _x_! And already there were people who could hear the sonorous
command.
“No. 1! Aim at the Moon! Fire!”
“No. 2! Change the Earth’s axis! Fire!”
And then for the “general upset” predicted by Sulphuric Alcide!
The publication of the report of the Commission produced an effect of
which it is impossible even to give an idea. There was nothing in it of
a soothing tendency, it must be admitted. By J. T. Maston’s
calculations, the problem had evidently been solved. The operation to be
attempted by Barbicane & Co. would, it was only too clear, introduce a
most regrettable modification in the diurnal movement. A new axis would
be substituted for the old. And we know what would be the consequences
of that substitution.
The enterprise of Barbicane & Co. was thus judged, cursed, and demitted
to general reprobation. Barbicane and Co. were dangers to society. If
they retained a few partisans in the United States, the partisans were
few indeed.
From the point of view of their own personal safety, Impey Barbicane and
Captain Nicholl had certainly done wisely to clear out. They would
assuredly have come to grief if they had not done so. It was not with
impunity that they could menace fourteen hundred millions of people,
upset their habits and customs, and disturb their very existence by
provoking a general catastrophe.
But how had these two men managed to disappear without leaving a trace?
How could they have got away unperceived with the men and material
necessary for their project? Hundreds of waggons, if they went by
railway, and hundreds of ships, if they went by sea, would be required
for the transport of the metal, the fuel, and the meli-melonite. It was
quite incomprehensible how the departure could have taken place
incognito. But it had taken place nevertheless.
Inquiries were made, but nothing was discovered as to any order being
sent to any of the metallurgical or chemical works of the world. It was
inexplicable! But the explanation would come—some day!
Barbicane and Nicholl having mysteriously disappeared, were beyond
immediate danger. But J. T. Maston! He was under lock and key; but were
not public reprisals to be feared? Bah! He did not trouble himself about
that in the least! Admirably obstinate was the calculator! He was of
iron—like his fore-arm! At nothing did he quail!
From the depths of his cell in the gaol of Baltimore the secretary of
the Gun Club became more and more absorbed in the distant contemplation
of the colleagues he had not accompanied. In his mind’s eye he could see
Barbicane and Nicholl preparing their gigantic enterprise in that
unknown region where no one could interfere with them. He saw them
making the cannon, mixing the meli-melonite, casting the projectile
which the Sun would soon count among its minor asteroids! That new star
which was to bear the name of Scorbitta, as a delicate compliment to the
millionaire of New Park! and J. T. Maston began to count the days that
would elapse before the word to fire was given.
It was the month of April. In two months and a half the Sun would halt
at the solstice on the Tropic of Cancer and retrograde towards the
Tropic of Capricorn. Three months later he would cross the Equator at
the autumnal equinox. And with that would finish the seasons that for
millions of ages had alternated with such regularity in every
terrestrial year. For the last time the spheroid would submit to the
inequality of its days and nights. For the future the number of hours
between sunrise and sunset would be equal all over the globe.
In truth it was a magnificent work! J. T. Maston forgot all about the
Polar coal-field in contemplating the cosmographical consequences of his
labours. The principal object of the Association had been forgotten in
the transformations the face of the earth would undergo—notwithstanding
that the earth did not care about these magnificent transformations.
J. T. Maston, alone and defenceless in his cell, resisted every pressure
brought to bear on him. The members of the Commission of Inquiry visited
him daily, and obtained nothing. It occurred at last to John Prestice to
make use of an influence that might succeed better than his—that of Mrs.
Scorbitt. No one was ignorant of the lengths to which the widow would go
when the celebrated calculator was in peril.
There was a meeting of the Commission, and Mrs. Scorbitt was authorized
to visit the prisoner as often as she thought fit. Was not she
threatened with the danger from the recoil of the monster cannon as much
as any other of the world’s inhabitants? Would her New Park mansion
escape the final catastrophe any more than the wigwam of the poor Indian
or the humble hut of the backwoodsman? Was not her life as much in
danger as that of the obscurest Samoyed or South Sea Islander? The
president of the Commission elaborately explained this to her, and
suggested that she should bring her influence to bear for the general
good.
If she could only get J. T. Maston to state where Barbicane and Nicholl
had gone, there would still be time to pursue them and save humanity
from the impending fate.
And so Mrs. Scorbitt had access to the gaol. What she desired above all
was to see J. T. Maston, who had been torn by the police from the
comforts of his cottage. Let it not be supposed that the heroic
Evangelina was a slave to human weakness. And if, on the 9th of April,
some indiscreet ear had been applied to the keyhole the first time that
the widow appeared in the cell, this is what would have met it,—
“At last, dear Maston, I see you again!”
“You, Mrs. Scorbitt!”
“Yes, my friend, after four weeks, four long weeks of separation—”
“Exactly twenty-eight days, five hours, forty-five minutes,” said
Maston, looking at his watch.
“At last we meet!”
“But why, Mrs. Scorbitt? Why have they allowed you to come here?”
“To use whatever influence a boundless admiration may have on him who is
its object!”
“What!” exclaimed J. T. Maston, “you have consented to talk thus to me!
You have imagined that I would betray my colleagues?”
“Do you think so meanly of me? I to ask you to sacrifice your safety to
your honour? I to urge you to an act which would be the disgrace of a
life consecrated to the highest speculations of the higher mechanics?”
“Bravo, Mrs. Scorbitt! I recognize the worthy shareholder of our
Association! Never did I doubt your courage!”
“Thank you, dear Maston.”
“As for me, to divulge our work; to reveal at what spot on the surface
of the earth our effort is to be made; to sell the secret I fortunately
kept hidden within me; to permit these barbarians to launch off in
pursuit of our friends, to interrupt the labours they are engaged in for
our profit and our glory! I would rather die first!”
“Maston, you are sublime!” said Evangelina.
In truth, these two beings, so closely united in enthusiasm—and equally
mad—were born to understand each other.
“No!” continued Maston. “Never shall they know the name of the country
which my calculations have designated, and which will become immortal.
They may kill me if they will, but they shall never possess my secret.”
“And they may kill me with you,” said Mrs. Scorbitt; “for I also will be
dumb.”
“Fortunately, they do not know that you possess the secret.”
[Illustration:
Attempted to knock him down.
Page 97.
]
“Do you think I am capable of revealing it because I am only a woman? to
betray our colleagues and you? No, my friend; no! The Philistines may
raise the world against you to tear you from your cell, but I will be
with you, and we shall have at least the consolation of dying together!”
And that was the way the conversation ended every time the widow visited
the prisoner. And every time the Commissioners inquired as to the result
the answer was the same.
“Nothing yet; but in time I hope to obtain what you want!”
Oh, the astuteness of woman!
“In time!” she said. But time marched on; weeks went by like days, days
like hours, hours like minutes.
It was now May. Mrs. Scorbitt had obtained nothing; and if she had
failed, who could hope to succeed? Was the world to resign itself to
this terrible blow without a chance of hindering it?
Well, no! in such things resignation is unacceptable. Our friends the
delegates were unceasing in fomenting the excitement. Jansen overwhelmed
the Commissioners daily. Karkof picked a quarrel with the secretary.
Donellan, to make things worse, directed attention to another victim in
the shape of the codfish merchant, Forster, who had sunk into
insignificance after the auction sale, to bid at which he had been
engaged. And in order to bring the phlegmatic fishmonger prominently to
the front, the Canadian attempted to knock him down. To complicate
matters further, “the friendly Powers” began “to bring pressure to bear”
on the Washington Government, which had quite enough to do to withstand
the “pressure” of its own people. In reply the Washington Government
issued a circular authorizing the arrest of the two “malefactors” by any
power whatsoever. But none the less did it remain impossible to discover
where the malefactors had got to.
Then the Powers hinted that if J. T. Maston were properly dealt with, J.
T. Maston would reveal the secret. But the Government might as well have
tried to extract a word from Harpocrates, the god of silence, or from
the chief deaf-mute of the New York Institute.
And then the exasperation increased with the general anxiety, and a few
practical minds drew attention to the fact that the torture system of
the Middle Ages was not without some advantages. So it was proposed to
introduce, for the benefit of J. T. Maston, a few experiments with the
“boot,” the “scavenger’s daughter,” “molten lead,” “boiling oil,” “the
wooden horse,” the “bastinado,” &c., &c. But such things were impossible
in the century which invented the magazine rifle, roburite, bellite,
panclastite, and other “ites,” not to mention the far superior
meli-melonite.
J. T. Maston had, then, no fear of being put to the torture. All that
could be done with him was to hope that he would speak, or that chance
would speak for him.