PRESIDENT BARBICANE'S COMMUNICATION.
On the 5th of October, at 8 p.m., a dense crowd pressed towards the
saloons of the Gun Club at No. 21, Union Square. All the members of
the association resident in Baltimore attended the invitation of their
president. As regards the corresponding members, notices were delivered
by hundreds throughout the streets of the city, and, large as was the
great hall, it was quite inadequate to accommodate the crowd of _savants_.
They overflowed into the adjoining rooms, down the narrow passages, into
the outer courtyards. There they ran against the vulgar herd who pressed
up to the doors, each struggling to reach the front ranks, all eager to
learn the nature of the important communication of President Barbicane;
all pushing, squeezing, crushing with that perfect freedom of action which
is peculiar to the masses when educated in ideas of "self-government."
On that evening a stranger who might have chanced to be in Baltimore
could not have gained admission for love or money into the great hall.
That was reserved exclusively for resident or corresponding members; no
one else could possibly have obtained a place; and the city magnates,
municipal councillors, and "select men" were compelled to mingle with the
mere townspeople in order to catch stray bits of news from the interior.
Nevertheless the vast hall presented a curious spectacle. Its immense
area was singularly adapted to the purpose. Lofty pillars formed of
cannon, superposed upon huge mortars as a base, supported the fine
ironwork of the arches, a perfect piece of cast-iron lacework. Trophies
of blunderbuses, matchlocks, arquebuses, carbines, all kinds of fire-arms,
ancient and modern, were picturesquely interlaced against the walls.
The gas lit up in full glare myriads of revolvers grouped in the form
of lustres, whilst groups of pistols, and candelabra formed of muskets
bound together, completed this magnificent display of brilliance. Models
of cannon, bronze castings, sights covered with dents, plates battered by
the shots of the Gun Club, assortments of rammers and sponges, chaplets
of shells, wreaths of projectiles, garlands of howitzers—in short, all
the apparatus of the artillerist, enchanted the eye by this wonderful
arrangement and induced a kind of belief that their real purpose was
ornamental rather than deadly.
At the further end of the saloon the president, assisted by four
secretaries, occupied a large platform. His chair, supported by a carved
gun-carriage, was modelled upon the ponderous proportions of a 32-inch
mortar. It was pointed at an angle of ninety degrees, and suspended upon
trunnions, so that the president could balance himself upon it as upon
a rocking-chair, a very agreeable fact in the very hot weather. Upon the
table (a huge iron plate supported upon six carronnades) stood an inkstand
of exquisite elegance, made of a beautifully chased Spanish piece, and a
sonnette, which, when required, could give forth a report equal to that
of a revolver. During violent debates this novel kind of bell scarcely
sufficed to drown the clamour of these excitable artillerists.
In front of the table benches arranged in zigzag form, like the
circumvallations of a retrenchment, formed a succession of bastions and
curtains set apart for the use of the members of the club; and on this
especial evening one might say, "All the world was on the ramparts." The
president was sufficiently well known, however, for all to be assured
that he would not put his colleagues to discomfort without some very
strong motive.
Impey Barbicane was a man of forty years of age, calm, cold, austere;
of a singularly serious and self-contained demeanour, punctual as a
chronometer, of imperturbable temper and immovable character; by no means
chivalrous, yet adventurous withal, and always bringing practical ideas
to bear upon the very rashest enterprises; an essentially New-Englander,
a Northern colonist, a descendant of the old anti-Stuart Roundheads,
and the implacable enemy of the gentlemen of the South, those ancient
Cavaliers of the mother-country. In a word, he was a Yankee to the
backbone.
Barbicane had made a large fortune as a timber-merchant. Being nominated
Director of Artillery during the war, he proved himself fertile in
invention. Bold in his conceptions, he contributed powerfully to
the progress of that arm and gave an immense impetus to experimental
researches.
He was a personage of the middle height, having, by a rare exception
in the Gun Club, all his limbs complete. His strongly-marked features
seemed drawn by square and rule; and if it be true that, in order to
judge of a man's character one must look at his profile, Barbicane, so
examined, exhibited the most certain indications of energy, audacity,
and _sang-froid._
At this moment he was sitting in his armchair, silent, absorbed, lost in
reflection, sheltered under his high-crowned hat—a kind of black silk
cylinder which always seems firmly screwed upon the head of an American.
Just when the deep-toned clock in the great hall struck eight, Barbicane,
as if he had been set in motion by a spring, raised himself up. A profound
silence ensued, and the speaker, in a somewhat emphatic tone of voice,
commenced as follows:—
"My brave colleagues, too long already a paralyzing peace has plunged
the members of the Gun Club in deplorable inactivity. After a period of
years full of incidents we have been compelled to abandon our labours,
and to stop short on the road of progress. I do not hesitate to state,
boldly, that any war which should recall us to arms would be welcome!"
(_Tremendous applause!_)
Illustration: PRESIDENT BARBICANE.
"But war, gentlemen, is impossible under existing circumstances; and,
however we may desire it, many years may elapse before our cannon shall
again thunder in the field of battle. We must make up our minds, then,
to seek in another train of ideas some field for the activity which we
all pine for."
The meeting felt that the president was now approaching the critical
point, and redoubled their attention accordingly.
"For some months past, my brave colleagues," continued Barbicane, "I
have been asking myself whether, while confining ourselves to our own
particular objects, we could not enter upon some grand experiment worthy
of the nineteenth century; and whether the progress of artillery science
would not enable us to carry it out to a successful issue. I have been
considering, working, calculating; and the result of my studies is the
conviction that we are safe to succeed in an enterprise which to any
other country would appear wholly impracticable. This project, the result
of long elaboration, is the object of my present communication. It is
worthy of yourselves, worthy of the antecedents of the Gun Club; and it
cannot fail to make some noise in the world."
A thrill of excitement ran through the meeting.
Barbicane, having by a rapid movement firmly fixed his hat upon his head,
calmly continued his harangue:—
"There is no one among you, my brave colleagues, who has not seen _the
Moon,_ or, at least, heard speak of it. Don't be surprised if I am about
to discourse to you regarding this Queen of the Night. It is perhaps
reserved for us to become the Columbuses of this unknown world. Only enter
into my plans, and second me with all your power, and I will lead you
to its conquest, and its name shall be added to those of the thirty-six
States which compose this Great Union."
"Three cheers for the Moon!" roared the Gun Club, with one voice.
"The moon, gentlemen, has been carefully studied," continued Barbicane;
"her mass, density, and weight; her constitution, motions, distance, as
well as her place in the solar system, have all been exactly determined.
Selenographic charts have been constructed with a perfection which equals,
if it does not even surpass, that of our terrestrial maps. Photography
has given us proofs of the incomparable beauty of our satellite; in short,
all is known regarding the moon which mathematical science, astronomy,
geology, and optics can learn about her. But up to the present moment no
direct communication has been established with her."
A violent movement of interest and surprise here greeted this remark of
the speaker.
"Permit me," he continued, "to recount to you briefly how certain ardent
spirits, starting on imaginary journeys, have penetrated the secrets
of our satellite. In the seventeenth century a certain David Fabricius
boasted of having seen with his own eyes the inhabitants of the moon. In
1649 a Frenchman, one Jean Baudoin, published a 'Journey performed from
the Earth to the Moon by Domingo Gonzalez,' a Spanish Adventurer. At
the same period Cyrano de Bergerac published that celebrated 'Journeys
in the Moon' which met with such success in France. Somewhat later
another Frenchman, named Fontenelle, wrote 'The Plurality of Worlds,'
a _chef-d'œuvre_ of its time. About 1835 a small treatise, translated
from the _New York American_, related how Sir John Herschell, having
been despatched to the Cape of Good Hope for the purpose of making there
some astronomical calculations, had, by means of a telescope brought to
perfection by means of internal lighting, reduced the apparent distance of
the moon to eighty yards! He then distinctly perceived caverns frequented
by hippopotami, green mountains bordered by golden lace-work, sheep with
horns of ivory, a white species of deer and inhabitants with membranous
wings, like bats. This _brochure,_ the work of an American named Locke,
had a great sale. But, to bring this rapid sketch to a close, I will
only add that a certain Hans Pfaal, of Rotterdam, launching himself in
a balloon filled with a gas extracted from nitrogen, thirty-seven times
lighter than hydrogen, reached the moon after a passage of nineteen
hours. This journey, like all the previous ones, was purely imaginary;
still, it was the work of a popular American author—I mean Edgar Poe!"
Illustration: MEETING OF THE GUN CLUB.
"Cheers for Edgar Poe!" roared the assemblage, electrified by their
president's words.
"I have now enumerated," said Barbicane, "the experiments which I
call purely paper ones, and wholly insufficient to establish serious
relations with the Queen of Night. Nevertheless, I am bound to add that
some practical geniuses have attempted to establish actual communication
with her. Thus, a few years ago, a German geometrician proposed to
send a scientific expedition to the steppes of Siberia. There, on those
vast plains, they were to describe enormous geometric figures, drawn
in characters of reflecting luminosity, amongst which was the prop.
regarding the 'square of the hypothenuse,' commonly called the '_Ass's
bridge_' by the French. 'Every intelligent being,' said the geometrician,
'must understand the scientific meaning of that figure. The Selenites, do
they exist, will respond by a similar figure; and, a communication being
thus once established, it will be easy to form an alphabet which shall
enable us to converse with the inhabitants of the moon.' So spoke the
German geometrician; but his project was never put into practice, and up
to the present day there is no bond in existence between the earth and
her satellite. It is reserved for the practical genius of Americans to
establish a communication with the sidereal world. The means of arriving
thither are simple, easy, certain, infallible—and that is the purpose
of my present proposal."
A storm of acclamations greeted these words. There was not a single
person in the whole audience who was not overcome, carried away, lifted
out of himself by the speaker's words!
Long continued applause resounded from all sides.
As soon as the excitement had partially subsided, Barbicane resumed his
speech in a somewhat graver voice.
"You know," said he, "what progress artillery science has made during
the last few years, and what a degree of perfection firearms of every
kind have reached. Moreover, you are well aware that, in general terms,
the resisting power of cannon and the expansive force of gunpowder are
practically unlimited. Well! starting from this principle, I ask myself
whether, supposing sufficient apparatus could be obtained constructed
upon the conditions of ascertained resistance, it might not be possible
to project a shot up to the moon?"
At these words a murmur of amazement escaped from a thousand panting
chests; then succeeded a moment of perfect silence, resembling that
profound stillness which precedes the bursting of a thunderstorm. In
point of fact, a thunderstorm did peal forth, but it was the thunder of
applause, of cries, and of uproar which made the very hall tremble. The
president attempted to speak, but could not. It was fully ten minutes
before he could make himself heard.
"Suffer me to finish," he calmly continued. "I have looked at the
question in all its bearings, I have resolutely attacked it, and by
incontrovertible calculations I find that a projectile endowed with an
initial velocity of 12,000 yards per second, and aimed at the moon, must
necessarily reach it. I have the honour, my brave colleagues, to propose
a trial of this little experiment."