J. T. MASTON REGRETS HE WAS NOT LYNCHED.
The capitals of the globe—and also the less important towns, and even
the humbler villages—were, as a rule, waiting for the result in a
paroxysm of terror. The newspapers took care that the exact moment
corresponding to midnight at Kilimanjaro should be thoroughly well
known.
The Sun travels a degree in four minutes, and the times given by the
newspapers for some of the cities was as follows:—
Berlin 11.20 a.m.
Constantinople 11.26 a.m.
London 9.30 a.m.
Madrid 9.15 a.m.
Paris 9.40 a.m.
St. Petersburg 11.31 a.m.
Rome 10.20 a.m.
Calcutta 3. 4 p.m.
Nanking 5. 5 p.m.
At Baltimore, as we are aware, twelve hours after the passage of the Sun
on the meridian of Kilimanjaro, it would be 5.24 p.m.
We need not enlarge on the agony of these moments. The most powerful pen
of modern times would be helpless to describe them.
That the inhabitants of Baltimore ran no danger of being swept away by
the rising sea may be very true! That they would not see Chesapeake Bay
empty itself, and Cape Hatteras at the end become a mountain crest above
the dried Atlantic, is agreed! But the city, like many others not
menaced with emersion or immersion, might be shattered by the shock, its
monuments thrown down, and its streets engulphed in the abysses that
might open in the ground! And was there not a justification for fearing
for those other parts of the world which would never survive the
displacement of the waters?
Why, certainly!
And so every human being in that city felt a cold shiver in the spinal
marrow during that fatal minute. Yes! all trembled with terror—but one!
And that one was Sulphuric Alcide, who was quietly sipping a cup of hot
coffee as if he and the old world would last for ever.
5.24 p.m., answering to Kilimanjaro midnight, passed.
At Baltimore—nothing occurred!
At London, Berlin, Paris, Rome, Constantinople—nothing! Not the least
shock!
Professor Milne, in the coal-pit at Kagoshima, in Japan, gazed steadily
at the tromometer, and saw not the least abnormal movement in the crust
of the Earth in that part of the world.
At Baltimore there was no sign of any disturbance whatsoever. The sky
was cloudy, and when the night came it was impossible to see if the
apparent movement of the stars had changed—which would, of course, have
indicated a change in the Earth’s axis.
What a night did J. T. Maston pass in his retreat, unknown to all save
Mrs. Scorbitt! He raged! He raved! He could not keep still. Would that
he had been a few days older, to see if the curve of the Sun was
modified—an indisputable proof of the success of the operation. On the
23rd the change would not be noticeable, for on that day the Sun
invariably rises due east in every country of the globe.
In the morning the Sun rose just as usual.
Major Donellan and his friends were on the terrace of their hotel. They
had furnished themselves with instruments of extreme precision, which
would show if the Sun described its curve in the plane of the Equator.
There was nothing to show that it did; and a few minutes after it had
risen the radiant disc inclined towards the southern hemisphere.
There was no change in its apparent path.
The Major and his colleagues expressed their delight by giving three
cheers for the Sun.
The sky was superb, the horizon quite clear from the mists of the night,
and never did the glorious orb present himself under greater conditions
of splendour before a wondering people.
“And in the very place noted by the laws of astronomy!” said Baldenak.
“Of our old astronomy,” said Karkof, “which these madmen attempted to
annihilate!”
“To their cost and shame,” said Jansen.
“And the Arctic regions will remain under their eternal ice!” said
Professor Harald.
“Hurrah for the Sun!” shouted Donellan. “He is good enough for us as he
is!”
“Hurrah! hurrah!” said the others on the balcony.
Then it was that Todrin, who had said nothing, remarked judiciously,
“Perhaps they have not fired!”
“Not fired?” ejaculated the Major aghast.
And that, with a different intonation, was what J. T. Maston and Mrs.
Scorbitt said.
“Not fired?”
And that was what the wise and the foolish were asking; and it was what
Alcide Pierdeux said, adding,—
“Whether they fired or no, it does not matter! The Earth will still spin
on its old axis!”
No one knew what had passed at Kilimanjaro; but before the end of the
day an answer was given to the question that puzzled humanity.
There was a telegram from Zanzibar:—
“To John S. Wright, Washington, U.S.A.
“Zanzibar, 23rd September, 7.27 a.m., local time. Discharge took place
at midnight from cannon on southern side of Kilimanjaro. Projectile
travelled with fearful shriek. Awful explosion. Province devastated by a
tornado. Sea risen in the Mozambique Channel. Many ships damaged and
driven on shore. Towns and villages annihilated. All well, as
usual.—Richard W. Trust, U.S. Consul.”
Yes. All well as usual! Nothing changed in the state of affairs except
the disasters among the Wamasai caused by the artificial tornado and the
wrecks caused by the risen sea.
And had it not been the same when the famous Columbiad had sent its
projectile towards the Moon? The shock communicated to the soil of
Florida had only been experienced for a hundred miles round. But this
time the effect ought to have been a hundred times as great.
Under any circumstances the telegram informed the world of two matters
of interest:—
1. The enormous cannon had been made in the flank of Kilimanjaro.
2. It had been fired at the time stated.
And then the world gave a shout of satisfaction, which was followed by
an immense shout of laughter.
Barbicane & Co.’s attempt had failed piteously! J. T. Maston’s
calculations might as well be put in the waste-paper basket! The North
Polar Practical Association had nothing now to do but go into another
kind of liquidation!
Could it be possible that the secretary of the Gun Club had made a
mistake?
“I would rather believe I am deceived in the affection with which he
inspires me,” said Mrs. Evangelina Scorbitt.
And if there was a discomfited being on the face of the planet it was J.
T. Maston. When he saw that nothing had changed in the conditions of the
Earth’s movement, he was buoyed up with hope that some accident had
retarded the work of Barbicane and Nicholl.
But since the Zanzibar telegram he had to admit that the experiment had
failed.
Failed? And the equations, the formulæ from which he had deduced the
success of the enterprise! Was the gun not long enough, the projectile
not heavy enough, the explosive not strong enough? No! It was
inadmissible!
J. T. Maston was in such a state of excitement that he declared he would
leave his retreat. Mrs. Scorbitt tried in vain to prevent him. Not that
she feared for his life, for the danger was over. But the pleasantries
that would be showered on the unhappy calculator, the jokes that would
rain on his work,—she would have spared him.
And, still more serious, what was the reception the Gun Club would give
him? Would they retain him as their secretary after a failure that
covered them with ridicule? Was not he, the author of the calculations,
entirely responsible for the collapse?
He would listen to nothing. He would yield neither to the tears nor
prayers of Mrs. Scorbitt. He came out of the house in which he was
hidden. He appeared in the streets of Baltimore. He was recognized, and
those whom he had menaced in their fortune and existence, whose anxiety
he had prolonged by his obstinate silence, took vengeance on him by
deriding him in every way.
The street boys shouted after him,—
“Go along, old pole-shifter!”
“Hallo, old clock-jobber!”
“How’s the figuring tinker?”
And a mob gathered and began to hustle him, and he had to seek refuge in
the New Park mansion, where Mrs. Scorbitt did her best to console him.
It was in vain.
J. T. Maston—after the example of Niobe—would not be consoled. His gun
had produced no more effect on the terrestrial spheroid than an ordinary
petard.
A fortnight went by, and the world had already forgotten the North Polar
Practical Association.
A fortnight, and no news of Barbicane or Captain Nicholl! Had they
perished in the counter-shock of the explosion, victims to the ravages
produced among the Wamasai? Had they paid with their lives for the
biggest mystification of modern times?
No.
At the explosion Barbicane and Nicholl had been thrown down; so had the
Sultan, and several thousand natives; but they had all got up again safe
and sound.
“Is it a success?” asked Bali-Bali rubbing his shoulders.
“Can you doubt it?”
“I—doubt it! But when shall we know?”
“In a day or two!” said Barbicane.
Did he see that the attempt had failed?
Possibly. But he never would have admitted it to the monarch of the
Wamasai.
Two days afterwards Barbicane and Nicholl took their leave of Bali-Bali,
not without paying a good round sum for the destruction done to the
surface of his kingdom. And as the money went to his own private pocket,
and his subjects got not a dollar, he had no cause to regret so
lucrative an affair.
Then the two friends, followed by their foremen, reached Zanzibar, where
they found a vessel starting for Suez. There, under assumed names, they
took passage to Marseilles, whence by the P.L.M. and the Ouest they
reached Havre, where they went on board the _Bourgogne_ and crossed the
Atlantic.
In twenty-two days after they left the Wamasai they were in New York.
On the 15th of October, at three o’clock in the afternoon, they knocked
at the door of the mansion in New Park.
A minute afterwards they were in the presence of Mrs. Scorbitt and J. T.
Maston.