A NEW STAR.
That very night, the startling news so impatiently awaited, burst like
a thunderbolt over the United States of the Union, and thence, darting
across the ocean, ran through all the telegraphic wires of the globe.
The projectile had been detected, thanks to the gigantic reflector of
Long's Peak! Here is the note received by the Director of the Observatory
of Cambridge. It contains the scientific conclusion regarding this great
experiment of the Gun Club.
"Long's Peak December 12.
"To the Officers of the Observatory of Cambridge.
"The projectile discharged by the Columbiad at Stones Hill has been
detected by Messrs. Belfast and J. T. Maston, 12th December, at 8.47
p.m., the moon having entered her last quarter. This projectile has not
arrived at its destination. It has passed by the side; but sufficiently
near to be retained by the lunar attraction.
"The rectilinear movement has thus become changed into a circular motion
of extreme velocity, and it is now pursuing an elliptical orbit round
the moon, of which it has become a true satellite.
"The elements of this new star we have as yet been unable to determine;
we do not yet know the velocity of its passage. The distance which
separates it from the surface of the moon may be estimated at about 2833
miles.
"However, two hypothesis come here into our consideration.
"1. Either the attraction of the moon will end by drawing them into
itself, and the travellers will attain their destination; or,—
"2. The projectile, following an immutable law, will continue to gravitate
round the moon till the end of time.
"At some future time, our observations will be able to determine this
point, but till then the experiment of the Gun Club can have no other
result than to have provided our solar system with a new star.
"J. Belfast."
To how many questions did this unexpected denouement give rise? What
mysterious results was the future reserving for the investigations of
science? At all events, the names of Nicholl, Barbicane, and Michel Ardan
were certain to be immortalized in the annals of astronomy!
When the despatch from Long's Peak had once become known, there was but
one universal feeling of surprise and alarm. Was it possible to go to the
aid of these bold travellers? No! for they had placed themselves beyond
the pale of humanity, by crossing the limits imposed by the Creator on
his earthly creatures. They had air enough for _two_ months; they had
victuals enough for _twelve;—but after that?_ There was only one man
who would not admit that the situation was desperate,—he alone had
confidence; and that was their devoted friend J. T. Maston.
Besides, he never let them get out of sight. His home was henceforth the
post at Long's Peak; his horizon, the mirror of that immense reflector.
As soon as the moon rose above the horizon, he immediately caught her in
the field of the telescope; he never let her go for an instant out of
his sight, and followed her assiduously in her course through the stellar
spaces. He watched with untiring patience the passage of the projectile
across her silvery disc, and really the worthy man remained in perpetual
communication with his three friends, whom he did not despair of seeing
again some day.
"Those three men," said he, "have carried into space all the resources
of art, science, and industry. With that, one can do anything; and you
will see that, some day, they will come out all right."
ROUND THE MOON:
A Sequel To
FROM THE EARTH TO THE MOON.
——————
PRELIMINARY CHAPTER.
RECAPITULATING THE FIRST PART OF THIS WORK, AND
SERVING AS A PREFACE TO THE SECOND.
During the year 186—, the whole world was greatly excited by a scientific
experiment unprecedented in the annals of science. The members of the
Gun Club, a circle of artillerymen formed at Baltimore after the American
war, conceived the idea of putting themselves in communication with the
moon!—yes, with the moon,—by sending to her a projectile. Their
president, Barbicane, the promoter of the enterprise, having consulted
the astronomers of the Cambridge Observatory upon the subject, took all
necessary means to ensure the success of this extraordinary enterprise,
which had been declared practicable by the majority of competent judges.
After setting on foot a public subscription, which realized nearly
1,200,000_l._ they began the gigantic work.
According to the advice forwarded from the members of the Observatory,
the gun destined to launch the projectile had to be fixed in a country
situated between the 0 and 28th degrees of north or south latitude, in
order to aim at the moon when at the zenith; and its initiatory velocity
was fixed at twelve thousand yards to the second. Launched on the 1st
of December, at 10hrs. 46m. 40s. p.m., it ought to reach the moon four
days after its departure, that is on the 5th of December, at midnight
precisely, at the moment of her attaining her _perigee_, that is her
nearest distance from the earth, which is exactly 86,410 leagues (French),
or 238,833 miles _mean distance_ (English).
The principal members of the Gun Club, President Barbicane, Major
Elphinstone, the secretary Joseph T. Maston, and other learned men, held
several meetings, at which the shape and composition of the projectile
were discussed, also the position and nature of the gun, and the quality
and quantity of the powder to be used. It was decided: 1st, that the
projectile should be a shell made of aluminium with a diameter of 108
inches and a thickness of twelve inches to its walls; and should weigh
19,250 lbs. 2ndly, that the gun should be a Columbiad cast in iron,
900 feet long, and run perpendicularly into the earth. 3rdly, that the
charge should contain 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton, which, giving out
six billions of litres of gas in rear of the projectile, would easily
carry it towards the orb of night.
These questions determined President Barbicane, assisted by Murchison
the engineer, to choose a spot situated in Florida, in 27° 7' North
latitude, and 77° 3' West (Greenwich) longitude. It was on this spot,
after stupendous labour, that the Columbiad was cast with full success.
Things stood thus, when an incident took place which increased the
interest attached to this great enterprise a hundredfold.
A Frenchman, an enthusiastic Parisian, as witty as he was bold, asked
to be enclosed in the projectile, in order that he might reach the moon,
and reconnoitre this terrestrial satellite. The name of this intrepid
adventurer was Michel Ardan. He landed in America, was received with
enthusiasm, held meetings, saw himself carried in triumph, reconciled
President Barbicane to his mortal enemy, Captain Nicholl, and, as a
token of reconciliation, persuaded them both to start with him in the
projectile. The proposition being accepted, the shape of the projectile
was slightly altered. It was made of a cylindro-conical form. This species
of aerial car was lined with strong springs and partitions to deaden the
shock of departure. It was provided with food for a year, water for some
months, and gas for some days. A self-acting apparatus supplied the three
travellers with air to breathe. At the same time, on one of the highest
points of the Rocky Mountains, the Gun Club had a gigantic telescope
erected, in order that they might be able to follow the course of the
projectile through space. All was then ready.
On the 30th November, at the hour fixed upon, from the midst of an
extraordinary crowd of spectators, the departure took place; and for the
first time, three human beings quitted the terrestrial globe, and launched
into interplanetary space with almost a certainty of reaching their
destination. These bold travellers, Michel Ardan, President Barbicane,
and Captain Nicholl, ought to make the passage in ninety-seven hours,
thirteen minutes, and twenty seconds. Consequently, their arrival on
the lunar disc could not take place until the 5th December at twelve at
night, at the exact moment when the moon should be full, and not on the
4th, as some badly-informed journals had announced.
But an unforeseen circumstance, viz., the detonation produced by
the Columbiad, had the immediate effect of troubling the terrestrial
atmosphere, by accumulating a large quantity of vapour, a phenomenon
which excited universal indignation, for the moon was hidden from the
eyes of the watchers for several nights.
The worthy Joseph T. Maston, the staunchest friend of the three
travellers, started for the Rocky Mountains, accompanied by the Hon. J.
Belfast, director of the Cambridge Observatory, and reached the station
of Long's Peak, where the telescope was erected which brought the moon
within an apparent distance of two leagues. The honorable secretary of
the Gun Club wished himself to observe the vehicle of his daring friends.
The accumulation of clouds in the atmosphere prevented all observations
on the 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th of December. Indeed it was
thought that all observations would have to be put off to the 3rd of
January in the following year; for the moon entering its last quarter on
the 11th, would then only present an ever-decreasing portion of her disc,
insufficient to allow of their following the course of the projectile.
At length, to the general satisfaction, a heavy storm cleared the
atmosphere on the night of the 11th and 12th December, and the moon, with
half illuminated disc, was plainly to be seen upon the black
sky.
That very night a telegram was sent from the station of Long's Peak
by Joseph T. Maston and Belfast to the gentlemen of the Cambridge
Observatory, announcing that on the 11th of December at 8h. 47m. p.m.,
the projectile launched by the Columbiad of Stones Hill had been detected
by Messrs. Belfast and Maston,—that it had deviated from its course
from some unknown cause, and had not reached its destination; but that
it had passed near enough to be retained by the lunar attraction; that
its rectilinear movement had been changed to a circular one, and that
following an elliptical orbit round the star of night it had become its
_satellite._ The telegram added that the elements of this new star had
not yet been calculated; and indeed three observations made upon a star
in three different positions are necessary to determine these elements.
Then it showed that the distance separating the projectile from the lunar
surface "might" be reckoned at about 2833 miles.
It ended with this double hypothesis; either the attraction of the moon
would draw it to herself, and the travellers thus attain their end; or
that the projectile, held in one immutable orbit, would gravitate around
the lunar disc to all eternity.
With such alternatives, what would be the fate of the travellers?
Certainly they had food for some time. But supposing they did succeed
in their rash enterprise, how would they return? Could they ever return?
Should they hear from them? These questions, debated by the most learned
pens of the day, strongly engrossed the public attention.
It is advisable here to make a remark which ought to be well considered
by hasty observers. When a purely speculative discovery is announced to
the public, it cannot be done with too much prudence. No one is obliged
to discover either a planet, a comet, or a satellite; and whoever makes
a mistake in such a case exposes himself justly to the derision of the
mass. Far better is it to wait; and that is what the impatient Joseph T.
Maston should have done before sending this telegram forth to the world,
which, according to his idea, told the whole result of the enterprise.
Indeed this telegram contained two sorts of errors, as was proved
eventually. 1st, errors of observation, concerning the distance of the
projectile from the surface of the moon, for on the 11th December it was
impossible to see it; and what Joseph T. Maston had seen, or thought he
saw, could not have been the projectile of the Columbiad. 2ndly, errors
of theory on the fate in store for the said projectile; for in making it
a satellite of the moon, it was putting it in direct contradiction to
all mechanical laws.
One single hypothesis of the observers of Long's Peak could ever be
realized, that which foresaw the case of the travellers (if still alive)
uniting their efforts with the lunar attraction to attain the surface of
the disc.
Now these men, as clever as they were daring, _had_ survived the terrible
shock consequent on their departure, and it is their journey in the
projectile car which is here related in its most dramatic as well as in
its most singular details. This recital will destroy many illusions and
surmises; but it will give a true idea of the singular changes in store
for such an enterprise; it will bring out the scientific instincts of
Barbicane, the industrious resources of Nicholl, and the audacious humour
of Michel Ardan.
Besides this, it will prove that their worthy friend, Joseph T. Maston,
was wasting his time, while leaning over the gigantic telescope he
watched the course of the moon through the starry space.
CHAPTER I.
FROM TWENTY MINUTES PAST TEN TO FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES
PAST TEN P.M.
As ten o'clock struck, Michel Ardan, Barbicane, and Nicholl, took leave
of the numerous friends they were leaving on the earth. The two dogs,
destined to propagate the canine race on the lunar continents, were
already shut up in the projectile.
The three travellers approached the orifice of the enormous cast-iron
tube, and a crane let them down to the conical top of the projectile.
There, an opening made for the purpose gave them access to the aluminium
car. The tackle belonging to the crane being hauled from outside, the
mouth of the Columbiad was instantly disencumbered of its last supports.
Nicholl, once introduced with his companions inside the projectile,
began to close the opening by means of a strong plate, held in position
by powerful screws. Other plates, closely fitted, covered the lenticular
glasses, and the travellers, hermetically enclosed in their metal prison,
were plunged in profound darkness.
"And now, my dear companions," said Michel Ardan, "let us make ourselves
at home; I am a domesticated man and strong in housekeeping. We are bound
to make the best of our new lodgings, and make ourselves comfortable.
And first let us try and see a little. Gas was not invented for moles."
So saying, the thoughtless fellow lit a match by striking it on the
sole of his boot; and approached the burner fixed to the receptacle,
in which the carbonized hydrogen, stored at high pressure, sufficed for
the lighting and warming of the projectile for a hundred and forty-four
hours, or six days and six nights. The gas caught fire, and thus lighted
the projectile looked like a comfortable room with thickly padded walls,
furnished with a circular divan, and a roof rounded in the shape of a
dome.
The objects it contained, arms, instruments, and utensils securely
fastened against the rounds of wadding, could bear the shock of departure
with impunity. Humanly speaking, every possible precaution had been taken
to bring this rash experiment to a successful termination.
Michel Ardan examined everything, and declared himself satisfied with
his installation.
"It is a prison," said he, "but a travelling prison; and, with the right
of putting my nose to the window, I could well stand a lease of a hundred
years. You smile, Barbicane. Have you any _arrière-pensée?_ Do you say
to yourself, 'This prison may be our tomb?' Tomb, perhaps; still I would
not change it for Mahomet's, which floats in space but never advances an
inch!"
Whilst Michel Ardan was speaking, Barbicane and Nicholl were making their
last preparations.
Nicholl's chronometer marked twenty minutes past ten p.m. when the three
travellers were finally enclosed in their projectile. This chronometer
was set within the tenth of a second by that of Murchison the engineer.
Barbicane consulted it.
"My friends," said he, "it is twenty minutes past ten. At forty-seven
minutes past ten Murchison will launch the electric spark on the wire
which communicates with the charge of the Columbiad. At that precise
moment we shall leave our spheroid. Thus we have still twenty-seven
minutes to remain on the earth."
"Twenty-six minutes thirteen seconds," replied the methodical Nicholl.
"Well!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, in a good-humoured tone, "much may be
done in twenty-six minutes. The gravest questions of morals and politics
may be discussed, and even solved. Twenty-six minutes well employed are
worth more than twenty-six years in which nothing is done. Some
_seconds_ of a Pascal or a Newton are more precious than the whole
existence of a crowd of raw simpletons—"
Illustration: THE GAS CAUGHT FIRE.
"And you conclude, then, you everlasting talker?" asked Barbicane.
"I conclude that we have twenty-six minutes left," replied Ardan.
"Twenty-four only," said Nicholl.
"Well, twenty-four, if you like, my noble captain," said Ardan;
"twenty-four minutes in which to investigate—"
"Michel," said Barbicane, "during the passage we shall have plenty of
time to investigate the most difficult questions. For the present we must
occupy ourselves with our departure."
"Are we not ready?"
"Doubtless; but there are still some precautions to be taken, to deaden
as much as possible the first shock."
"Have we not the water-cushions placed between the partition-breaks,
whose elasticity will sufficiently protect us?"
"I hope so, Michel," replied Barbicane gently, "but I am not sure."
"Ah, the joker!" exclaimed Michel Ardan. "He hopes!—He is not
sure!—and he waits for the moment when we are encased to make this
deplorable admission! I beg to be allowed to get out!"
"And how?" asked Barbicane.
"Humph!" said Michel Ardan, "it is not easy; we are in the train, and
the guard's whistle will sound before twenty-four minutes are over."
"_Twenty_," said Nicholl.
For some moments the three travellers looked at each other. Then they
began to examine the objects imprisoned with them.
"Everything is in its place," said Barbicane. "We have now to decide how
we can best place ourselves to resist the shock. Position cannot be an
indifferent matter; and we must, as much as possible, prevent the rush
of blood to the head."
"Just so," said Nicholl.
"Then," replied Michel Ardan, ready to suit the action to the word, "let
us put our heads down and our feet in the air, like the clowns in the
grand circus."
"No," said Barbicane, "let us stretch ourselves on our sides; we shall
resist the shock better that way. Remember that, when the projectile
starts, it matters little whether we are in it or before it; it amounts
to much the same thing."
"If it is only 'much the same thing,' I may cheer up," said Michel Ardan.
"Do you approve of my idea, Nicholl?" asked Barbicane.
"Entirely," replied the captain. "We've still thirteen minutes and a
half."
"That Nicholl is not a man," exclaimed Michel; "he is a chronometer with
seconds, an escape, and eight holes."
But his companions were not listening; they were taking up their last
positions with the most perfect coolness. They were like two methodical
travellers in a car, seeking to place themselves as comfortably as
possible.
We might well ask ourselves of what materials are the hearts of these
Americans made, to whom the approach of the most frightful danger added
no pulsation.
Three thick and solidly-made couches had been placed in the projectile.
Nicholl and Barbicane placed them in the centre of the disc forming the
floor. There the three travellers were to stretch themselves some moments
before their departure.
During this time, Ardan, not being able to keep still, turned in his
narrow prison like a wild beast in a cage, chatting with his friends,
speaking to the dogs Diana and Satellite, to whom, as may be seen, he
had given significant names.
"Ah, Diana! Ah, Satellite!" he exclaimed, teazing them; "so you are going
to show the moon-dogs the good habits of the dogs of the earth! That
will do honour to the canine race! If ever we do come down again, I will
bring a cross type of 'moon-dogs,' which will make a stir!"
Illustration: DIANA AND SATELLITE.
"If there _are_ dogs in the moon," said Barbicane.
"There are," said Michel Ardan, "just as there are horses, cows, donkeys,
and chickens. I bet that we shall find chickens."
"A hundred dollars we shall find none!" said Nicholl.
"Done, my captain!" replied Ardan, clasping Nicholl's hand. "But, by
the bye, you have already lost three bets with our president, as the
necessary funds for the enterprise have been found, as the operation of
casting has been successful, and lastly, as the Columbiad has been loaded
without accident, six thousand dollars."
"Yes," replied Nicholl. "Thirty-seven minutes six seconds past ten."
"It is understood, captain. Well, before another quarter of an hour
you will have to count 9000 dollars to the president; 4000 because the
Columbiad will not burst, and 5000 because the projectile will rise more
than six miles in the air."
"I have the dollars," replied Nicholl, slapping the pocket of his coat.
"I only ask to be allowed to pay."
"Come, Nicholl, I see that you are a man of method, which I could never
be; but indeed you have made a series of bets of very little advantage
to yourself, allow me to tell you."
"And why?" asked Nicholl.
"Because, if you gain the first, the Columbiad will have burst, and the
projectile with it; and Barbicane will no longer be there to reimburse
your dollars."
"My stake is deposited at the bank in Baltimore," replied Barbicane
simply; "and if Nicholl is not there, it will go to his heirs."
"Ah, you practical men!" exclaimed Michel Ardan; "I admire you the more
for not being able to understand you."
"Forty-two minutes past ten!" said Nicholl.
"Only five minutes more!" answered Barbicane.
"Yes, five little minutes!" replied Michel Ardan; "and we are enclosed
in a projectile, at the bottom of a gun 900 feet long! And under this
projectile are rammed 400,000 lbs. of gun-cotton, which is equal to
1,600,000 lbs. of ordinary powder! And friend Murchison, with his
chronometer in hand, his eye fixed on the needle, his finger on the
electric apparatus, is counting the seconds preparatory to launching us
into interplanetary space."
"Enough, Michel, enough!" said Barbicane, in a serious voice; "let us
prepare. A few instants alone separate us from an eventful moment. One
clasp of the hand, my friends."
"Yes," exclaimed Michel Ardan, more moved than he wished to appear; and
the three bold companions were united in a last embrace.
"God preserve us!" said the religious Barbicane.
Michel Ardan and Nicholl stretched themselves on the couches placed in
the centre of the disc.
"Forty seven minutes past ten!" murmured the captain.
"Twenty seconds more!" Barbicane quickly put out the gas and lay down by
his companions, and the profound silence was only broken by the ticking
of the chronometer marking the seconds.
Suddenly a dreadful shock was felt, and the projectile, under the force
of six billions of litres of gas, developed by the combustion of the
pyroxyle, mounted into space.
Illustration: THE COURAGEOUS FRENCHMAN.
CHAPTER II.
THE FIRST HALF-HOUR.
What had happened? What effect had this frightful shock produced? Had
the ingenuity of the constructors of the projectile obtained any happy
result? Had the shock been deadened, thanks to the springs, the four
plugs, the water-cushions, and the partition-breaks? Had they been able
to subdue the frightful pressure of the initiatory speed of more than
11,000 yards, which was enough to traverse Paris or New York in a second?
This was evidently the question suggested to the thousand spectators
of this moving scene. They forgot the aim of the journey, and thought
only of the travellers. And if one amongst them—Joseph T. Maston for
example—could have cast one glimpse into the projectile, what would he
have seen?
Nothing then. The darkness was profound. But its cylindro-conical
partitions had resisted wonderfully. Not a rent or a dent anywhere! The
wonderful projectile was not even heated under the intense deflagration
of the powder, nor liquefied, as they seemed to fear, in a shower of
aluminium.
The interior showed but little disorder; indeed, only a few objects had
been violently thrown towards the roof; but the most important seemed
not to have suffered from the shock at all; their fixtures were intact.
On the movable disc, sunk down to the bottom by the smashing of the
partition-breaks and the escape of the water, three bodies lay apparently
lifeless. Barbicane, Nicholl, and Michel Ardan— did they still breathe?
or was the projectile nothing now but a metal coffin, bearing three
corpses into space?
Some minutes after the departure of the projectile, one of the bodies
moved, shook its arms, lifted its head, and finally succeeded in getting
on its knees. It was Michel Ardan. He felt himself all over, gave a
sonorous "Hem!" and then said,—
"Michel Ardan is whole. How about the others?"
The courageous Frenchman tried to rise, but could not stand. His head
swam, from the rush of blood; he was blind; he was like a drunken man.
"Bur-r!" said he. "It produces the same effect as two bottles of Corton,
though perhaps less agreeable to swallow." Then, passing his hand several
times across his forehead and rubbing his temples, he called in a firm
voice,—
"Nicholl! Barbicane!"
He waited anxiously. No answer; not even a sigh to show that the hearts
of his companions were still beating. He called again. The same silence.
"The devil!" he exclaimed. They look as if they had fallen from a fifth
story on their heads. "Bah!" he added, with that imperturbable confidence
which nothing could check, "if a Frenchman can get on his knees, two
Americans ought to be able to get on their feet. But first let us light
up."
Ardan felt the tide of life return by degrees. His blood became calm,
and returned to its accustomed circulation. Another effort restored his
equilibrium. He succeeded in rising, drew a match from his pocket, and
approaching the burner lighted it. The receiver had not suffered at all.
The gas had not escaped. Besides, the smell would have betrayed it; and
in that case Michel Ardan could not have carried a lighted match with
impunity through the space filled with hydrogen. The gas mixing with the
air would have produced a detonating mixture, and the explosion would
have finished what the shock had perhaps begun. When the burner was lit,
Ardan leaned over the bodies of his companions: they were lying one on
the other, an inert mass, Nicholl above, Barbicane underneath.
Illustration: THEY RAISED BARBICANE.
Ardan lifted the captain, propped him up against the divan, and began to
rub vigorously. This means, used with judgment, restored Nicholl, who
opened his eyes, and instantly recovering his presence of mind, seized
Ardan's hand and looked around him.
"And Barbicane?" said he.
"Each in turn," replied Michel Ardan. "I began with you, Nicholl, because
you were on the top. Now let us look to Barbicane." Saying which, Ardan
and Nicholl raised the president of the Gun Club and laid him on the
divan. He seemed to have suffered more than either of his companions; he
was bleeding, but Nicholl was reassured by finding that the hemorrhage
came from a slight wound on the shoulder, a mere graze, which he bound
up carefully.
Still, Barbicane was a long time coming to himself, which frightened his
friends, who did not spare friction.
"He breathes though," said Nicholl, putting his ear to the chest of the
wounded man.
"Yes," replied Ardan, "he breathes like a man who has some notion of that
daily operation. Rub, Nicholl; let us rub harder." And the two improvised
practitioners worked so hard and so well that Barbicane recovered his
senses. He opened his eyes, sat up, took his two friends by the hands,
and his first words were—
"Nicholl, are we moving?"
Nicholl and Barbicane looked at each other; they had not yet troubled
themselves about the projectile; their first thought had been for the
traveller, not for the car.
"Well, are we really moving?" repeated Michel Ardan.
"Or quietly resting on the soil of Florida?" asked Nicholl.
"Or at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico?" added Michel Ardan.
"What an idea!" exclaimed the president.
And this double hypothesis suggested by his companions had the effect
of recalling him to his senses. In any case they could not yet decide
on the position of the projectile. Its apparent immovability, and the
want of communication with the outside, prevented them from solving the
question. Perhaps the projectile was unwinding its course through space.
Perhaps after a short rise it had fallen upon the earth, or even in the
Gulf of Mexico—a fall which the narrowness of the peninsula of Florida
would render not impossible.
The case was serious, the problem interesting, and one that must be
solved as soon as possible. Thus, highly excited, Barbicane's moral
energy triumphed over physical weakness, and he rose to his feet. He
listened. Outside was perfect silence; but the thick padding was enough
to intercept all sounds coming from the earth. But one circumstance
struck Barbicane, viz., that the temperature inside the projectile was
singularly high. The president drew a thermometer from its case and
consulted it. The instrument showed 81° Fahr.
"Yes," he exclaimed, "yes, we are moving! This stifling heat, penetrating
through the partitions of the projectile, is produced by its friction on
the atmospheric strata. It will soon diminish, because we are already
floating in space, and after having been nearly stifled, we shall have
to suffer intense cold."
"What!" said Michel Ardan. "According to your showing, Barbicane, we are
already beyond the limits of the terrestrial atmosphere?"
"Without a doubt, Michel. Listen to me. It is fifty-five minutes past
ten; we have been gone about eight minutes; and if our initiatory speed
has not been checked by the friction, six seconds would be enough for us
to pass through the forty miles of atmosphere which surrounds the globe."
"Just so," replied Nicholl; "but in what proportion do you estimate the
diminution of speed by friction?"
"In the proportion of one-third, Nicholl. This diminution is considerable,
but according to my calculations it is nothing less. If, then, we had
an initiatory speed of 12,000 yards, on leaving the atmosphere this
speed would be reduced to 9165 yards. In any case we have already passed
through this interval, and—"
"And then," said Michel Ardan, "friend Nicholl has lost his two bets:
four thousand dollars because the Columbiad did not burst; five thousand
dollars because the projectile has risen more than six miles. Now,
Nicholl, pay up."
"Let us prove it first," said the captain, "and we will pay afterwards.
It is quite possible that Barbicane's reasoning is correct, and that I
have lost my nine thousand dollars. But a new hypothesis presents itself
to my mind, and it annuls the wager."
"What is that?" asked Barbicane quickly.
"The hypothesis that, for some reason or other, fire was never set to
the powder, we have not started at all."
"My goodness, captain," exclaimed Michel Ardan, "that hypothesis is
worthy of my brain! It cannot be a serious one. For have we not been
half annihilated by the shock? Did I not recall you to life? Is not the
president's shoulder still bleeding from the blow it has received?"
"Granted," replied Nicholl; "but one question."
"Well, captain?"
"Did you hear the detonation, which certainly ought to be loud?"
"No," replied Ardan, much surprised; "certainly I did not hear the
detonation."
"And you, Barbicane?"
"Nor I, either."
"Very well," said Nicholl.
"Well now," murmured the president "why did we not hear the detonation?"
The three friends looked at each other with a disconcerted air. It
was quite an inexplicable phenomenon. The projectile had started, and
consequently there must have been a detonation.
"Let us first find out where we are," said Barbicane, "and let down the
panel."
This very simple operation was soon accomplished.
The nuts which held the bolts to the outer plates of the right-hand
scuttle gave way under the pressure of the English wrench. These bolts
were pushed outside, and buffers covered with india-rubber stopped up
the holes which let them through. Immediately the outer plate fell back
upon its hinges like a porthole, and the lenticular glass which closed
the scuttle appeared. A similar one was let into the thick partition on
the opposite side of the projectile, another in the top of the dome, and
finally a fourth in the middle of the base. They could, therefore, make
observations in four different directions: the firmament by the side
and most direct windows, the earth or the moon by the upper and under
openings in the projectile.
Barbicane and his two companions immediately rushed to the uncovered
window. But it was lit by no ray of light. Profound darkness surrounded
them, which, however, did not prevent the president from exclaiming,—
"No, my friends, we have not fallen back upon the earth; no, nor are we
submerged in the Gulf of Mexico. Yes! we are mounting into space. See
those stars shining in the night, and that impenetrable darkness heaped
up between the earth and us!"
"Hurrah! hurrah!" exclaimed Michel Ardan and Nicholl in one voice.
Indeed, this thick darkness proved that the projectile had left the earth,
for the soil, brilliantly lit by the moonbeams, would have been visible
to the travellers, if they had been lying on its surface. This darkness
also showed that the projectile had passed the atmospheric strata, for
the diffused light spread in the air would have been reflected on the
metal walls, which reflection was wanting. This light would have lit
the window, and the window was dark. Doubt was no longer possible; the
travellers had left the earth.
Illustration: IT WAS AN ENORMOUS DISC.
"I have lost," said Nicholl.
"I congratulate you," replied Ardan.
"Here are the nine thousand dollars," said the captain, drawing a roll
of paper dollars from his pocket.
"Will you have a receipt for it?" asked Barbicane, taking the sum.
"If you do not mind," answered Nicholl; "it is more business-like."
And coolly and seriously, as if he had been at his strong-box, the
president drew forth his note-book, tore out a blank leaf, wrote a proper
receipt in pencil, dated and signed it with the usual flourish,* and gave
it to the captain, who carefully placed it in his pocketbook. Michel
Ardan, taking off his hat, bowed to his two companions without speaking.
So much formality under such circumstances left him speechless. He had
never before seen anything so "American."
* This is a purely French habit.
This affair settled, Barbicane and Nicholl had returned to the window,
and were watching the constellations. The stars looked like bright points
on the black sky. But from that side they could not see the orb of night,
which, travelling from east to west, would rise by degrees towards the
zenith. Its absence drew the following remark from Ardan.
"And the moon; will she perchance fail at our rendezvous?"
"Do not alarm yourself," said Barbicane; "our future globe is at its
post, but we cannot see her from this side; let us open the other."
As Barbicane was about leaving the window to open the opposite scuttle,
his attention was attracted by the approach of a brilliant object. It
was an enormous disc, whose colossal dimension could not be estimated.
Its face, which was turned to the earth, was very bright. One might have
thought it a small moon reflecting the light of the larger one. She
advanced with great speed, and seemed to describe an orbit round the
earth, which would intersect the passage of the projectile. This body
revolved upon its axis, and exhibited the phenomena of all celestial
bodies abandoned in space.
"Ah!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, "what is that? another projectile?"
Barbicane did not answer. The appearance of this enormous body surprised
and troubled him. A collision was possible, and might be attended with
deplorable results; either the projectile would deviate from its path,
or a shock, breaking its impetus, might precipitate it to the earth; or,
lastly, it might be irresistibly drawn away by the powerful asteroid. The
president caught at a glance the consequences of these three hypotheses,
either of which would, one way or the other, bring their experiment to
an unsuccessful and fatal termination. His companions stood silently
looking into space. The object grew rapidly as it approached them, and
by an optical illusion the projectile seemed to be throwing itself before
it.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, "we shall run into one another!"
Instinctively the travellers drew back. Their dread was great, but it
did not last many seconds. The asteroid passed several hundred yards
from the projectile and disappeared, not so much from the rapidity of
its course, as that its face being opposite the moon, it was suddenly
merged into the perfect darkness of space.
"A happy journey to you," exclaimed Michel Ardan, with a sigh of relief.
"Surely infinity of space is large enough for a poor little projectile
to walk through without fear. Now, what is this portentous globe which
nearly struck us?"
"I know," replied Barbicane.
"Oh, indeed! you know everything."
"It is," said Barbicane, "a simple meteorite, but an enormous one, which
the attraction of the earth has retained as a satellite."
"Is it possible!" exclaimed Michel Ardan; "the earth then has two moons
like Neptune?"
"Yes, my friend, two moons, though it passes generally for having only
one; but this second moon is so small, and its speed so great, that the
inhabitants of the earth cannot see it. It was by noticing disturbances
that a French astronomer, M. Petit, was able to determine the existence
of this second satellite and calculate its elements. According to his
observations, this meteorite will accomplish its revolution round the
earth in three hours and twenty minutes, which implies a wonderful rate
of speed."
"Do all astronomers admit the existence of this satellite?" asked Nicholl.
"No," replied Barbicane; "but if, like us, they had met it, they could
no longer doubt it. Indeed, I think that this meteorite, which, had it
struck the projectile, would have much embarrassed us, will give us the
means of deciding what our position in space is."
"How?" said Ardan.
"Because its distance is known, and when we met it, we were exactly 4650
miles from the surface of the terrestrial globe."
"More than 2000 French leagues," exclaimed Michel Ardan. "That beats the
express trains of the pitiful globe called the earth."
"I should think so," replied Nicholl, consulting his chronometer; "it
is eleven o'clock, and it is only thirteen minutes since we left the
American Continent."
"Only thirteen minutes?" said Barbicane.
"Yes," said Nicholl; "and if our initiatory speed of 12,000 yards has
been kept up, we shall have made about 20,000 miles in the hour."
"That is all very well, my friends," said the president, "but the
insoluble question still remains. Why did we not hear the detonation of
the Columbiad?"
For want of an answer the conversation dropped, and Barbicane began
thoughtfully to let down the shutter of the second side. He succeeded;
and through the uncovered glass the moon filled the projectile with
a brilliant light. Nicholl, as an economical man, put out the gas,
now useless, and whose brilliancy prevented any observation of the
interplanetary space.
The lunar disc shone with wonderful purity. Her rays, no longer filtered
through the vapoury atmosphere of the terrestrial globe, shone through
the glass, filling the air in the interior of the projectile with silvery
reflections. The black curtain of the firmament in reality heightened the
moon's brilliancy, which in this void of ether unfavourable to diffusion
did not eclipse the neighbouring stars. The heavens, thus seen, presented
quite a new aspect, and one which the human eye could never dream of.
One may conceive the interest with which these bold men watched the orb
of night, the great aim of their journey.
In its motion the earth's satellite was insensibly nearing the zenith,
the mathematical point which it ought to attain ninety-six hours later.
Her mountains, her plains, every projection was as clearly discernible
to their eyes as if they were observing it from some spot upon the earth;
but its light was developed through space with wonderful intensity. The
disc shone like a platinum mirror. Of the earth flying from under their
feet, the travellers had lost all recollection.
It was Captain Nicholl who first recalled their attention to the vanishing
globe.
"Yes," said Michel Ardan, "do not let us be ungrateful to it. Since we
are leaving our country, let our last looks be directed to it. I wish to
see the earth once more before it is quite hidden from my eyes."
To satisfy his companions, Barbicane began to uncover the window at the
bottom of the projectile, which would allow them to observe the earth
direct. The disc, which the force of the projection had beaten down to
the base, was removed, not without difficulty. Its fragments, placed
carefully against the wall, might serve again upon occasion. Then a
circular gap appeared, nineteen inches in diameter, hollowed out of
the lower part of the projectile. A glass cover, six inches thick and
strengthened with upper fastenings, closed it tightly. Beneath was fixed
an aluminium plate, held in place by bolts. The screws being undone,
and the bolts let go, the plate fell down, and visible communication was
established between the interior and the exterior.
Michel Ardan knelt by the glass. It was cloudy, seemingly opaque.
"Well!" he exclaimed, "and the earth?"
"The earth?" said Barbicane. "There it is."
"What! that little thread; that silver crescent?"
"Doubtless, Michel. In four days, when the moon will be full, at the
very time we shall reach it, the earth will be new, and will only appear
to us as a slender crescent which will soon disappear, and for some days
will be enveloped in utter darkness."
"That the earth?" repeated Michel Ardan, looking with all his eyes at
the thin slip of his native planet.
The explanation given by President Barbicane was correct. The earth,
with respect to the projectile, was entering its last phase. It was in
its octant, and showed a crescent finely traced on the dark background
of the sky. Its light, rendered bluish by the thick strata of the
atmosphere was less intense than that of the crescent moon, but it was
of considerable dimensions, and looked like an enormous arch stretched
across the firmament. Some parts brilliantly lighted, especially on its
concave part, showed the presence of high mountains, often disappearing
behind thick spots, which are never seen on the lunar disc. They were
rings of clouds placed concentrically round the terrestrial globe.
Whilst the travellers were trying to pierce the profound darkness, a
brilliant cluster of shooting stars burst upon their eyes. Hundreds of
meteorites, ignited by the friction of the atmosphere, irradiated the
shadow of the luminous train, and lined the cloudy parts of the disc
with their fire. At this period the earth was in its perihelium, and
the month of December is so propitious to these shooting stars, that
astronomers have counted as many as twenty-four thousand in an hour. But
Michel Ardan, disdaining scientific reasonings, preferred thinking that
the earth was thus saluting the departure of her three children with her
most brilliant fireworks.
Indeed this was all they saw of the globe lost in the shadow, an inferior
orb of the solar world, rising and setting to the great planets like a
simple morning or evening star! This globe, where they had left all their
affections, was nothing more than a fugitive crescent!
Long did the three friends look without speaking, though united in heart,
whilst the projectile sped onward with an ever-decreasing speed. Then
an irresistible drowsiness crept over their brain. Was it weariness both
of body and mind? No doubt; for after the over-excitement of those last
hours passed upon earth, reaction was inevitable.
"Well," said Nicholl, "since we must sleep, let us sleep."
And stretching themselves on their couches, they were all three soon in
a profound slumber.
But they had not forgotten themselves more than a quarter of an hour,
when Barbicane sat up suddenly, and rousing his companions with a loud
voice, exclaimed,—
"I have found it!"
"What have you found?" asked Michel Ardan, jumping from his bed.
"The reason why we did not hear the detonation of the Columbiad."
"And it is—?" said Nicholl.
"Because our projectile travelled _faster than the sound!_"
CHAPTER III.
THEIR PLACE OF SHELTER.
This curious but certainly correct explanation once given, the three
friends returned to their slumbers. Could they have found a calmer or
more peaceful spot to sleep in? On the earth, houses, towns, cottages,
and country feel every shock given to the exterior of the globe. On sea,
the vessels rocked by the waves are still in motion; in the air, the
balloon oscillates incessantly on the fluid strata of divers densities.
This projectile alone, floating in perfect space, in the midst of perfect
silence, offered perfect repose.
Thus the sleep of our adventurous travellers might have been indefinitely
prolonged, if an unexpected noise had not awakened them at about seven
o'clock in the morning of the 2nd of December, eight hours after their
departure.
This noise was a very natural barking.
"The dogs! it is the dogs!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, rising at once.
"They are hungry," said Nicholl.
"By Jove!" replied Michel, "we have forgotten them."
"Where are they?" asked Barbicane.
They looked and found one of the animals crouched under the divan.
Terrified and shaken by the initiatory shock, it had remained in the
corner till its voice returned with the pangs of hunger. It was the
amiable Diana, still very confused, who crept out of her retreat, though
not without much persuasion, Michel Ardan encouraging her with most
gracious words.
"Come, Diana," said he; "come, my girl! thou whose destiny will be
marked in the cynegetic annals; thou whom the pagans would have given as
companion to the god Anubis, and Christians as friend to St. Roch; thou
who art rushing into interplanetary space, and wilt perhaps be the Eve
of all Selenite dogs! come, Diana, come here."
Diana, flattered or not, advanced by degrees, uttering plaintive cries.
"Good," said Barbicane; "I see Eve, but where is Adam?"
"Adam?" replied Michel; "Adam cannot be far off; he is there somewhere;
we must call him. Satellite! here, Satellite!"
But Satellite did not appear. Diana would not leave off howling. They
found, however, that she was not bruised, and they gave her a pie, which
silenced her complaints. As to Satellite, he seemed quite lost. They had
to hunt a long time before finding him in one of the upper compartments
of the projectile, whither some unaccountable shock must have violently
hurled him. The poor beast, much hurt, was in a piteous state.
"The devil!" said Michel.
They brought the unfortunate dog down with great care. Its skull had been
broken against the roof, and it seemed unlikely that he could recover
from such a shock. Meanwhile, he was stretched comfortably on a cushion.
Once there, he heaved a sigh.
"We will take care of you," said Michel; "we are responsible for your
existence. I would rather lose an arm than a paw of my poor Satellite."
Saying which, he offered some water to the wounded dog, who swallowed it
with avidity.
This attention paid, the travellers watched the earth and the moon
attentively. The earth was now only discernible by a cloudy disc ending
in a crescent, rather more contracted than that of the previous evening;
but its expanse was still enormous, compared with that of the moon, which
was approaching nearer and nearer to a perfect circle.
Illustration: THEY GAVE HER A PIE.
"By Jove!" said Michel Ardan, "I am really sorry that we did not start
when the earth was full, that is to say, when our globe was in opposition
to the sun."
"Why?" asked Nicholl.
"Because we should have seen our continents and seas in a new light,—the
first resplendent under the solar rays, the latter cloudy as represented
on some maps of the world. I should like to have seen those poles of the
earth on which the eye of man has never yet rested.
"I dare say," replied Barbicane; "but if the earth had been _full_, the
moon would have been _new_; that is to say, invisible, because of the
rays of the sun. It is better for us to see the destination we wish to
reach, than the point of departure."
"You are right, Barbicane," replied Captain Nicholl; "and, besides, when
we have reached the moon, we shall have time during the long lunar nights
to consider at our leisure the globe on which our likenesses swarm."
"Our likenesses!" exclaimed Michel Ardan; "they are no more our likenesses
than the Selenites are! We inhabit a new world, peopled by ourselves—the
projectile! I am Barbicane's likeness, and Barbicane is Nicholl's. Beyond
us, around us, human nature is at an end, and we are the only population
of this microcosm until we become pure Selenites."
"In about eighty-eight hours," replied the captain.
"Which means to say?" asked Michel Ardan.
"That it is half-past eight," replied Nicholl.
"Very well," retorted Michel; "then it is impossible for me to find even
the shadow of a reason why we should not go to breakfast."
Indeed the inhabitants of the new star could not live without eating, and
their stomachs were suffering from the imperious laws of hunger. Michel
Ardan, as a Frenchman, was declared chief cook, an important function,
which raised no rival. The gas gave sufficient heat for the culinary
apparatus, and the provision-box furnished the elements of this first
feast.
The breakfast began with three bowls of excellent soup, thanks to the
liquefaction in hot water of those precious cakes of Liebig, prepared from
the best parts of the ruminants of the Pampas. To the soup succeeded some
beefsteaks, compressed by an hydraulic press, as tender and succulent as
if brought straight from the kitchen of an English eating-house. Michel,
who was imaginative, maintained that they were even "red."
Preserved vegetables ("fresher than nature," said the amiable Michel)
succeeded the dish of meat; and was followed by some cups of tea with
bread and butter, after the American fashion.
The beverage was declared exquisite, and was due to the infusion of the
choicest leaves, of which the Emperor of Russia had given some chests
for the benefit of the travellers.
And lastly, to crown the repast, Ardan brought out a fine bottle of Nuits,
which was found "by chance" in the provision-box. The three friends drank
to the union of the earth and her satellite.
And, as if he had not already done enough for the generous wine which
he had distilled on the slopes of Burgundy, the sun chose to be of the
party. At this moment the projectile emerged from the conical shadow
cast by the terrestrial globe, and the rays of the radiant orb struck
the lower disc of the projectile direct occasioned by the angle which
the moon's orbit makes with that of the earth.
"The sun!" exclaimed Michel Ardan.
"No doubt," replied Barbicane; "I expected it."
"But," said Michel, "the conical shadow which the earth leaves in space
extends beyond the moon?"
"Far beyond it, if the atmospheric refraction is not taken into
consideration," said Barbicane. "But when the moon is enveloped in this
shadow, it is because the centres of the three stars, the sun, the earth,
and the moon, are all in one and the same straight line. Then the _nodes_
coincide with the _phases_ of the moon, and there is an eclipse. If we
had started when there was an eclipse of the moon, all our passage would
have been in the shadow, which would have been a pity."
Illustration: THE SUN CHOSE TO BE OF THE PARTY.
"Why?"
"Because, though we are floating in space, our projectile, bathed in the
solar rays, will receive their light and heat. It economizes the gas,
which is in every respect a good economy."
Indeed, under these rays which no atmosphere can temper, either in
temperature or brilliancy, the projectile grew warm and bright, as if
it had passed suddenly from winter to summer. The moon above, the sun
beneath, were inundating it with their fire.
"It is pleasant here," said Nicholl.
"I should think so," said Michel Ardan. "With a little earth spread on
our aluminium planet we should have green peas in twenty-four hours. I
have but one fear, which is that the walls of the projectile might melt."
"Calm yourself, my worthy friend," replied Barbicane; "the projectile
withstood a very much higher temperature than this as it slid through
the strata of the atmosphere. I should not be surprised if it did not
look like a meteor on fire to the eyes of the spectators in Florida."
"But then Joseph T. Maston will think we are roasted!"
"What astonishes me," said Barbicane, "is that we have not been. That
was a danger we had not provided for."
"I feared it," said Nicholl simply.
"And you never mentioned it, my sublime captain," exclaimed Michel Ardan,
clasping his friend's hand.
Barbicane now began to settle himself in the projectile as if he was
never to leave it. One must remember that this aerial car had a base
with a superficies of fifty-four square feet. Its height to the roof
was twelve feet. Carefully laid out in the inside, and little encumbered
by instruments and travelling utensils which each had their particular
place, it left the three travellers a certain freedom of movement. The
thick window inserted in the bottom could bear any amount of weight, and
Barbicane and his companions walked upon it as if it were solid plank;
but the sun striking it directly with its rays lit the interior of the
projectile from beneath, thus producing singular effects of light.
They began by investigating the state of their store of water and
provisions, neither of which had suffered, thanks to the care taken to
deaden the shock. Their provisions were abundant, and plentiful enough
to last the three travellers for more than a year. Barbicane wished to
be cautious, in case the projectile should land on a part of the moon
which was utterly barren. As to water and the reserve of brandy, which
consisted of fifty gallons, there was only enough for two months; but
according to the last observations of astronomers, the moon had a low,
dense, and thick atmosphere, at least in the deep valleys, and there
springs and streams could not fail. Thus, during their passage, and
for the first year of their settlement on the lunar continent, these
adventurous explorers would suffer neither hunger nor thirst.
Now about the air in the projectile. There, too, they were secure.
Reiset and Regnaut's apparatus, intended for the production of oxygen,
was supplied with chlorate of potassium for two months. They necessarily
consumed a certain quantity of gas, for they were obliged to keep the
producing substance at a temperature of above 400°. But there again they
were all safe. The apparatus only wanted a little care. But it was not
enough to renew the oxygen; they must absorb the carbonic acid produced by
expiration. During the last twelve hours the atmosphere of the projectile
had become charged with this deleterious gas. Nicholl discovered the
state of the air by observing Diana panting painfully. The carbonic
acid, by a phenomenon similar to that produced in the famous Grotto del
Cane, had collected at the bottom of the projectile owing to its weight.
Poor Diana, with her head low, would suffer before her masters from the
presence of this gas. But Captain Nicholl hastened to remedy this state
of things, by placing on the floor several receivers containing caustic
potash which he shook about for a time, and this substance, greedy of
carbonic acid, soon completely absorbed it, thus purifying the air.
An inventory of instruments was then begun. The thermometers and
barometers had resisted, all but one minimum thermometer, the glass of
which was broken. An excellent aneroid was drawn from the wadded box
which contained it and hung on the wall. Of course it was only affected
by and marked the pressure of the air inside the projectile, but it also
showed the quantity of moisture which it contained. At that moment its
needle oscillated between 25.24 and 25.08.
It was fine weather.
Barbicane had also brought several compasses, which he found intact.
One must understand that under present conditions their needles were
acting _wildly_, that is without any _constant_ direction. Indeed, at
the distance they were from the earth, the magnetic pole could have no
perceptible action upon the apparatus; but the box placed on the lunar
disc might perhaps exhibit some strange phenomena. In any case it would
be interesting to see whether the earth's satellite submitted like
herself to its magnetic influence.
A hypsometer to measure the height of the lunar mountains, a sextant
to take the height of the sun, glasses which would be useful as they
neared the moon, all these instruments were carefully looked over, and
pronounced good in spite of the violent shock.
As to the pickaxes and different tools which were Nicholl's especial
choice; as to the sacks of different kinds of grain and shrubs which
Michel Ardan hoped to transplant into Selenite ground, they were stowed
away in the upper part of the projectile. There was a sort of granary
there, loaded with things which the extravagant Frenchman had heaped up.
What they were no one knew, and the good-tempered fellow did not explain.
Now and then he climbed up by cramp-irons riveted to the walls, but kept
the inspection to himself. He arranged and rearranged, he plunged his
hand rapidly into certain mysterious boxes, singing in one of the falsest
of voices an old French refrain to enliven the situation.
Barbicane observed with some interest that his guns and other arms had
not been damaged. These were important, because, heavily loaded, they
were to help to lessen the fall of the projectile, when drawn by the
lunar attraction (after having passed the point of neutral attraction) on
to the moon's surface; a fall which ought to be six times less rapid than
it would have been on the earth's surface, thanks to the difference of
bulk. The inspection ended with general satisfaction, when each returned
to watch space through the side windows and the lower glass
coverlid.
There was the same view. The whole extent of the celestial sphere swarmed
with stars and constellations of wonderful purity, enough to drive an
astronomer out of his mind! On one side the sun, like the mouth of a
lighted oven, a dazzling disc without a halo, standing out on the dark
background of the sky! On the other, the moon returning its fire by
reflection, and apparently motionless in the midst of the starry world.
Then, a large spot seemingly nailed to the firmament, bordered by a
silvery cord: it was the earth! Here and there nebulous masses like large
flakes of starry snow; and from the zenith to the nadir, an immense ring
formed by an impalpable dust of stars, the "Milky Way," in the midst of
which the sun ranks only as a star of the fourth magnitude. The observers
could not take their eyes from this novel spectacle, of which no
description could give an adequate idea. What reflections it suggested!
What emotions hitherto unknown awoke in their souls! Barbicane wished
to begin the relation of his journey while under its first impressions,
and hour after hour took notes of all facts happening in the beginning
of the enterprise. He wrote quietly, with his large square writing, in
a businesslike style.
Illustration: ARDAN PLUNGED HIS HAND RAPIDLY INTO CERTAIN
MYSTERIOUS BOXES.
During this time Nicholl, the calculator, looked over the minutes of
their passage, and worked out figures with unparalleled dexterity. Michel
Ardan chatted first with Barbicane, who did not answer him, and then
with Nicholl, who did not hear him, with Diana, who understood none of
his theories, and lastly with himself, questioning and answering, going
and coming, busy with a thousand details; at one time bent over the
lower glass, at another roosting in the heights of the projectile, and
always singing. In this microcosm he represented French loquacity and
excitability, and we beg you to believe that they were well represented.
The day, or rather (for the expression is not correct) the lapse of
twelve hours, which forms a day upon earth, closed with a plentiful
supper carefully prepared. No accident of any nature had yet happened
to shake the travellers' confidence; so, full of hope, already sure of
success, they slept peacefully, whilst the projectile under an uniformly
decreasing speed was crossing the sky.
CHAPTER IV.
A LITTLE ALGEBRA.
The night passed without incident. The word "night," however, is scarcely
applicable.
The position of the projectile with regard to the sun did not change.
Astronomically, it was daylight on the lower part, and night on the upper;
so when during this narrative these words are used, they represent the
lapse of time between the rising and setting of the sun upon the earth.
The travellers' sleep was rendered more peaceful by the projectile's
excessive speed, for it seemed absolutely motionless. Not a motion
betrayed its onward course through space. The rate of progress, however
rapid it might be, cannot produce any sensible effect on the human frame
when it takes place in a vacuum, or when the mass of air circulates
with the body which is carried with it. What inhabitant of the earth
perceives its speed, which, however, is at the rate of 68,000 miles per
hour? Motion under such conditions is "felt" no more than repose; and
when a body is in repose it will remain so as long as no strange force
displaces it; if moving, it will not stop unless an obstacle comes in
its way. This indifference to motion or repose is called inertia.
Barbicane and his companions might have believed themselves perfectly
stationary, being shut up in the projectile; indeed, the effect would
have been the same if they had been on the outside of it. Had it not been
for the moon, which was increasing above them, they might have sworn that
they were floating in complete stagnation.
That morning, the 3rd of December, the travellers were awakened by a
joyous but unexpected noise; it was the crowing of a cock which sounded
through the car. Michel Ardan, who was the first on his feet, climbed
to the top of the projectile, and shutting a box, the lid of which
was partly open, said in a low voice, "Will you hold your tongue? That
creature will spoil my design!"
But Nicholl and Barbicane were awake.
"A cock!" said Nicholl.
"Why no, my friends," Michel answered quickly; "it was I who wished to
awake you by this rural sound." So saying, he gave vent to a splendid
cock-a-doodledoo, which would have done honour to the proudest of
poultry-yards.
The two Americans could not help laughing.
"Fine talent that," said Nicholl, looking suspiciously at his companion.
"Yes," said Michel; "a joke in my country. It is very Gallic; they play
the cock so in the best society."
Then turning the conversation,—
"Barbicane, do you know what I have been thinking of all night?"
"No," answered the president.
"Of our Cambridge friends. You have already remarked that I am an
ignoramus in mathematical subjects; and it is impossible for me to
find out how the savants of the Observatory were able to calculate what
initiatory speed the projectile ought to have on leaving the Columbiad
in order to attain the moon."
"You mean to say," replied Barbicane, "to attain that neutral point where
the terrestrial and lunar attractions are equal; for, starting from that
point, situated about nine-tenths of the distance travelled over, the
projectile would simply fall upon the moon, on account of its weight."
"So be it," said Michel; "but, once more; how could they calculate the
initiatory speed?"
"Nothing can be easier," replied Barbicane.
"And you knew how to make that calculation?" asked Michel Ardan.
"Perfectly. Nicholl and I would have made it, if the Observatory had not
saved us the trouble."
"Very well, old Barbicane," replied Michel; "they might have cut off my
head, beginning at my feet, before they could have made me solve that
problem."
"Because you do not know algebra," answered Barbicane quietly.
"Ah, there you are, you eaters of _x_¹; you think you have said all when
you have said 'Algebra.'"
"Michel," said Barbicane, "can you use a forge without a hammer, or
plough without a ploughshare?"
"Hardly."
"Well, algebra is a tool, like the plough or the hammer, and a good tool
to those who know how to use it."
"Seriously?"
"Quite seriously."
"And can you use that tool in my presence?"
"If it will interest you."
"And show me how they calculated the initiatory speed of our car?"
"Yes, my worthy friend; taking into consideration all the elements of
the problem, the distance from the centre of the earth to the centre of
the moon, of the radius of the earth, of its bulk, and of the bulk of
the moon, I can tell exactly what ought to be the initiatory speed of
the projectile, and that by a simple formula."
"Let us see."
"You shall see it; only I shall not give you the real course drawn
by the projectile between the moon and the earth in considering their
motion round the sun. No, I shall consider these two orbs as perfectly
motionless, which will answer all our purpose."
"And why?"
"Because it will be trying to solve the problem called 'the problem of
the three bodies,' for which the integral calculus is not yet far enough
advanced."
"Then," said Michel Ardan, in his sly tone, "mathematics have not said
their last word?"
"Certainly not," replied Barbicane.
"Well, perhaps the Selenites have carried the integral calculus farther
than you have; and, by the bye, what is 'integral calculus?'"
"It is a calculation the converse of the differential," replied Barbicane
seriously.
"Much obliged; it is all very clear, no doubt."
"And now," continued Barbicane, "a slip of paper and a bit of pencil,
and before a half-hour is over I will have found the required formula."
Half an hour had not elapsed before Barbicane, raising his head, showed
Michel Ardan a page covered with algebraical signs, in which the general
formula for the solution was contained.
"Well, and does Nicholl understand what that means?"
"Of course, Michel," replied the captain. "All these signs, which seem
cabalistic to you, form the plainest, the clearest, and the most logical
language to those who know how to read it."
"And you pretend, Nicholl," asked Michel, "that by means of these
hieroglyphics, more incomprehensible than the Egyptian Ibis, you can find
what initiatory speed it was necessary to give to the projectile?"
"Incontestably," replied Nicholl; "and even by this same formula I can
always tell you its speed at any point of its transit."
"On your word?"
"On my word."
"Then you are as cunning as our president."
"No, Michel; the difficult part is what Barbicane has done; that is, to
get an equation which shall satisfy all the conditions of the problem.
The remainder is only a question of arithmetic, requiring merely the
knowledge of the four rules."
"That is something!" replied Michel Ardan, who for his life could not
do addition right, and who defined the rule as a Chinese puzzle, which
allowed one to obtain all sorts of totals.
"The expression _v_ zero, which you see in that equation, is the speed
which the projectile will have on leaving the atmosphere."
"Just so," said Nicholl; "it is from that point that we must calculate
the velocity, since we know already that the velocity at departure was
exactly one and a half times more than on leaving the atmosphere."
"I understand no more," said Michel.
"It is a very simple calculation," said Barbicane.
"Not as simple as I am," retorted Michel.
"That means, that when our projectile reached the limits of the terrestrial
atmosphere it had already lost one-third of its initiatory speed."
"As much as that?"
"Yes, my friend; merely by friction against the atmospheric strata. You
understand that the faster it goes the more resistance it meets with from
the air."
"That I admit," answered Michel; "and I understand it, although your x's
and zero's, and algebraic formulæ, are rattling in my head like nails
in a bag."
"First effects of algebra," replied Barbicane; "and now, to finish, we
are going to prove the given number of these different expressions, that
is, work out their value."
"Finish me!" replied Michel.
Barbicane took the paper, and began again to make his calculations with
great rapidity. Nicholl looked over and greedily read the work as it
proceeded.
"That's it! that's it!" at last he cried.
"Is it clear?" asked Barbicane.
Illustration: "DO I UNDERSTAND IT?" CRIED ARDAN;
"MY HEAD IS SPLITTING WITH IT."
"It is written in letters of fire," said Nicholl.
"Wonderful fellows!" muttered Ardan.
"Do you understand it at last?" asked Barbicane.
"Do I understand it?" cried Ardan; "my head is splitting with it."
"And now," said Nicholl, "to find out the speed of the projectile when
it left the atmosphere, we have only to calculate that."
The captain, as a practical man equal to all difficulties, began to write
with frightful rapidity. Divisions and multiplications grew under his
fingers; the figures were like hail on the white page. Barbicane watched
him, whilst Michel Ardan nursed a growing headache with both hands.
"Very well?" asked Barbicane, after some minutes' silence.
"Well!" replied Nicholl; "every calculation made, _v_ zero, that is to
say, the speed necessary for the projectile on leaving the atmosphere,
to enable it to reach the equal point of attraction, ought to be—"
"Yes?" said Barbicane.
"Twelve thousand yards."
"What!" exclaimed Barbicane, starting; "you say—"
"Twelve thousand yards."
"The devil!" cried the president, making a gesture of despair.
"What is the matter?" asked Michel Ardan, much surprised.
"What is the matter! why, if at this moment our speed had already
diminished one-third by friction, the initiatory speed ought to have
been—"
"Seventeen thousand yards."
"And the Cambridge Observatory declared that 12,000 yards was enough at
starting; and our projectile, which only started with that speed—"
"Well?" asked Nicholl.
"Well, it will not be enough."
"Good."
"We shall not be able to reach the neutral point."
"The deuce!"
"We shall not even get half way."
"In the name of the projectile!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, jumping as if
it was already on the point of striking the terrestrial globe.
"And we shall fall back upon the earth!"
CHAPTER V.
THE COLD OF SPACE.
This revelation came like a thunderbolt. Who could have expected such an
error in calculation? Barbicane would not believe it. Nicholl revised
his figures: they were exact. As to the formula which had determined
them, they could not suspect its truth; it was evident that an initiatory
velocity of 17,000 yards in the first second was necessary to enable them
to reach the neutral point.
The three friends looked at each other silently. There was no thought
of breakfast. Barbicane, with clenched teeth, knitted brows, and hands
clasped convulsively, was watching through the window. Nicholl had
crossed his arms, and was examining his calculations. Michel Ardan was
muttering,—
"That is just like those scientific men: they never do anything else. I
would give twenty pistoles if we could fall upon the Cambridge Observatory
and crush it, together with the whole lot of dabblers in figures which
it contains."
Suddenly a thought struck the captain, which he at once communicated to
Barbicane.
"Ah!" said he; "it is seven o'clock in the morning; we have already been
gone thirty-two hours; more than half our passage is over, and we are
not falling that I am aware of."
Barbicane did not answer, but after a rapid glance at the captain,
took a pair of compasses wherewith to measure the angular distance
of the terrestrial globe; then from the lower window he took an exact
observation, and noticed that the projectile was apparently stationary.
Then rising and wiping his forehead, on which large drops of perspiration
were standing, he put some figures on paper. Nicholl understood that the
president was deducting from the terrestrial diameter the projectile's
distance from the earth. He watched him anxiously.
"No," exclaimed Barbicane, after some moments, "no, we are not falling!
no, we are already more than 50,000 leagues from the earth. We have
passed the point at which the projectile would have stopped if its speed
had only been 12,000 yards at starting. We are still going up."
"That is evident," replied Nicholl; "and we must conclude that our
initial speed, under the power of the 400,000 lbs. of gun-cotton, must
have exceeded the required 12,000 yards. Now I can understand how, after
thirteen minutes only, we met the second satellite, which gravitates
round the earth at more than 2000 leagues' distance."
"And this explanation is the more probable," added Barbicane, "because,
in throwing off the water enclosed between its partition-breaks, the
projectile found itself lightened of a considerable weight."
"Just so," said Nicholl.
"Ah, my brave Nicholl, we are saved!"
"Very well then," said Michel Ardan quietly; "as we are safe, let us have
breakfast."
Nicholl was not mistaken. The initial speed had been, very fortunately,
much above that estimated by the Cambridge Observatory; but the Cambridge
Observatory had nevertheless made a mistake.
The travellers, recovered from this false alarm, breakfasted merrily. If
they ate a great deal, they talked more. Their confidence was greater
after than before "the incident of the algebra."
"Why should we not succeed?" said Michel Ardan; "why should we not arrive
safely? We are launched; we have no obstacle before us, no stones in our
way; the road is open, more so than that of a ship battling with the sea;
more open than that of a balloon battling with the wind; and if a ship
can reach its destination, a balloon go where it pleases, why cannot our
projectile attain its end and aim?"
"It _will_ attain it," said Barbicane.
"If only to do honour to the Americans," added Michel Ardan, "the only
people who could bring such an enterprise to a happy termination, and
the only one which could produce a President Barbicane. Ah, now we are
no longer uneasy, I begin to think, What will become of us? We shall get
right royally weary."
Barbicane and Nicholl made a gesture of denial.
"But I have provided for the contingency, my friends," replied Michel;
"you have only to speak, and I have chess, draughts, cards, and dominoes
at your disposal; nothing is wanting but a billiard-table."
"What!" exclaimed Barbicane; "you brought away such trifles?"
"Certainly," replied Michel, "and not only to distract ourselves, but
also with the laudable intention of endowing the Selenite smoking divans
with them."
"My friend," said Barbicane, "if the moon is inhabited, its inhabitants
must have appeared some thousands of years before those of the earth, for
we cannot doubt that their star is much older than ours. If then these
Selenites have existed their hundreds of thousands of years, and if their
brain is of the same organization as the human brain, they have already
invented all that we have invented, and even what we may invent in future
ages. They have nothing to learn from _us_, and we have everything to
learn from _them_."
"What!" said Michel; "you believe that they have artists like Phidias,
Michael Angelo, or Raphael?"
"Yes."
"Poets like Homer, Virgil, Milton, Lamartine, and Hugo?"
"I am sure of it."
"Philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Kant?"
"I have no doubt of it."
"Scientific men like Archimedes, Euclid, Pascal, Newton?"
"I could swear it."
"Comic writers like Arnal, and photographers like—like Nadar?"
"Certain."
"Then, friend Barbicane, if they are as strong as we are, and even
stronger—these Selenites—why have they not tried to communicate
with the earth? why have they not launched a lunar projectile to our
terrestrial regions?"
"Who told you that they have never done so?" said Barbicane seriously.
"Indeed," added Nicholl, "it would be easier for them than for us, for
two reasons; first, because the attraction on the moon's surface is six
times less than on that of the earth, which would allow a projectile to
rise more easily; secondly, because it would be enough to send such a
projectile only at 8000 leagues instead of 80,000, which would require
the force of projection to be ten times less strong."
"Then," continued Michel, "I repeat it, why have they not done it?"
"And I repeat," said Barbicane; "who told you that they have not done
it?"
"When?"
"Thousands of years before man appeared on earth."
"And the projectile—where is the projectile? I demand to see the
projectile."
"My friend," replied Barbicane, "the sea covers five-sixths of our globe.
From that we may draw five good reasons for supposing that the lunar
projectile, if ever launched, is now at the bottom of the Atlantic or
the Pacific, unless it sped into some crevasse at that period when the
crust of the earth was not yet hardened."
"Old Barbicane," said Michel, "you have an answer for everything, and I
bow before your wisdom. But there is one hypothesis that would suit me
better than all the others, which is, that the Selenites, being older
than we, are wiser, and have not invented _gunpowder_."
At this moment Diana joined in the conversation by a sonorous barking.
She was asking for her breakfast.
"Ah!" said Michel Ardan, "in our discussion we have forgotten Diana and
Satellite."
Immediately a good-sized pie was given to the dog, which devoured it
hungrily.
"Do you see, Barbicane," said Michel, "we should have made a second
Noah's Ark of this projectile, and borne with us to the moon a couple of
every kind of domestic animal."
"I dare say; but room would have failed us."
"Oh!" said Michel, "we might have squeezed a little."
"The fact is," replied Nicholl, "that cows, bulls, and horses, and all
ruminants, would have been very useful on the lunar continent, but
unfortunately the car could neither have been made a stable nor a shed."
"Well, we might at least have brought a donkey, only a little donkey;
that courageous beast which old Silenus loved to mount. I love those old
donkeys; they are the least favoured animals in creation; they are not
only beaten while alive, but even after they are dead."
"How do you make that out?" asked Barbicane.
"Why," said Michel, "they make their skins into drums."
Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing at this ridiculous remark.
But a cry from their merry companion stopped them. The latter was leaning
over the spot where Satellite lay. He rose, saying,—
"My good Satellite is no longer ill."
"Ah!" said Nicholl.
"No," answered Michel, "he is dead! There," added he, in a piteous tone,
"that is embarrassing. I much fear, my poor Diana, that you will leave
no progeny in the lunar regions!"
Indeed the unfortunate Satellite had not survived its wound.
It was quite dead. Michel Ardan looked at his friends with a rueful
countenance.
"One question presents itself," said Barbicane. "We cannot keep the dead
body of this dog with us for the next forty-eight hours."
"No! certainly not," replied Nicholl; "but our scuttles are fixed on
hinges; they can be let down. We will open one, and throw the body out
into space."
The president thought for some moments, and then said,—
"Yes, we must do so, but at the same time taking very great precautions."
"Why?" asked Michel.
"For two reasons which you will understand," answered Barbicane. "The
first relates to the air shut up in the projectile, and of which we must
lose as little as possible."
"But we manufacture the air?"
"Only in part. We make only the oxygen, my worthy Michel; and with
regard to that, we must watch that the apparatus does not furnish the
oxygen in too great a quantity; for an excess would bring us very serious
physiological troubles. But if we make the oxygen, we do not make the
azote, that medium which the lungs do not absorb, and which ought to
remain intact; and that azote will escape rapidly through the open
scuttles."
"Oh! the time for throwing out poor Satellite?" said Michel.
"Agreed; but we must act quickly."
"And the second reason?" asked Michel.
"The second reason is that we must not let the outer cold, which is
excessive, penetrate the projectile or we shall be frozen to death."
"But the sun?"
"The sun warms our projectile, which absorbs its rays; but it does not
warm the vacuum in which we are floating at this moment. Where there is
no air, there is no more heat than diffused light; and the same with
darkness: it is cold where the sun's rays do not strike direct. This
temperature is only the temperature produced by the radiation of the
stars; that is to say, what the terrestrial globe would undergo if the
sun disappeared one day."
"Which is not to be feared," replied Nicholl.
"Who knows?" said Michel Ardan. "But, in admitting that the sun does not
go out, might it not happen that the earth might move away from it?"
"There!" said Barbicane, "there is Michel with his ideas."
"And," continued Michel, "do we not know that in 1861 the earth passed
through the tail of a comet? Or let us suppose a comet whose power of
attraction is greater than that of the sun. The terrestrial orbit will
bend towards the wandering star, and the earth, becoming its satellite,
will be drawn such a distance that the rays of the sun will have no
action on its surface."
"That _might_ happen, indeed," replied Barbicane, "but the consequences
of such a displacement need not be so formidable as you suppose."
"And why not?"
"Because the heat and the cold would be equalized on our globe. It has
been calculated that, had our earth been carried along in its course by
the comet of 1861, at its perihelion, that is, its nearest approach to
the sun, it would have undergone a heat 28,000 times greater than that
of summer. But this heat, which is sufficient to evaporate the waters,
would have formed a thick ring of cloud, which would have modified that
excessive temperature; hence the compensation between the cold of the
aphelion and the heat of the perihelion."
"At how many degrees," asked Nicholl, "is the temperature of the planetary
spaces estimated?"
"Formerly," replied Barbicane, "it was greatly exaggerated; but now,
after the calculations of Fourier, of the French Academy of Science, it
is not supposed to exceed 60° Centigrade below zero."
"Pooh!" said Michel, "that's nothing!"
"It is very much," replied Barbicane; "the temperature which was observed
in the polar regions, at Melville Island and Fort Reliance, that is 76°
Fahrenheit below zero."
"If I mistake not," said Nicholl, "M. Pouillet, another savant, estimates
the temperature of space at 250° Fahrenheit below zero. We shall,
however, be able to verify these calculations for ourselves."
"Not at present; because the solar rays, beating directly upon our
thermometer, would give, on the contrary, a very high temperature. But,
when we arrive in the moon, during its fifteen days of night at either
face, we shall have leisure to make the experiment, for our satellite
lies in a vacuum."
"What do you mean by a _vacuum?_" asked Michel. "Is it perfectly such?"
"It is absolutely void of air."
"And is the air replaced by nothing whatever?"
"By the ether only," replied Barbicane.
"And pray what is the ether?"
"The ether, my friend, is an agglomeration of imponderable atoms, which,
relatively to their dimensions, are as far removed from each other as
the celestial bodies are in space. It is these atoms which, by their
vibratory motion, produce both light and heat in the universe."
They now proceeded to the burial of Satellite. They had merely to drop
him into space, in the same way that sailors drop a body into the sea;
but, as President Barbicane suggested, they must act quickly, so as to
lose as little as possible of that air whose elasticity would rapidly
have spread it into space. The bolts of the right scuttle, the opening
of which measured about twelve inches across, were carefully drawn,
whilst Michel, quite grieved, prepared to launch his dog into space.
The glass, raised by a powerful lever, which enabled it to overcome the
pressure of the inside air on the walls of the projectile, turned rapidly
on its hinges, and Satellite was thrown out. Scarcely a particle of air
could have escaped, and the operation was so successful, that later on
Barbicane did not fear to dispose of the rubbish which encumbered the
car.
Illustration: SATELLITE WAS THROWN OUT.
CHAPTER VI.
QUESTION AND ANSWER.
On the 4th of December, when the travellers awoke after fifty-four
hours' journey, the chronometer marked five o'clock of the terrestrial
morning. In time it was just over five hours and forty minutes, half of
that assigned to their sojourn in the projectile; but they had already
accomplished nearly seven-tenths of the way. This peculiarity was due to
their regularly decreasing speed.
Now when they observed the earth through the lower window, it looked
like nothing more than a dark spot, drowned in the solar rays. No more
crescent, no more cloudy light! The next day, at midnight, the earth
would be _new_, at the very moment when the moon would be full. Above,
the orb of night was nearing the line followed by the projectile, so
as to meet it at the given hour. All around the black vault was studded
with brilliant points, which seemed to move slowly; but, at the great
distance they were from them, their relative size did not seem to change.
The sun and stars appeared exactly as they do to us upon earth. As to
the moon, she was considerably larger; but the travellers' glasses, not
very powerful, did not allow them as yet to make any useful observations
upon her surface, or reconnoitre her topographically or
geologically.
Thus the time passed in never-ending conversations all about the
moon. Each one brought forward his own contingent of particular facts;
Barbicane and Nicholl always serious, Michel Ardan always enthusiastic.
The projectile, its situation, its direction, incidents which might
happen, the precautions necessitated by their fall on to the moon, were
inexhaustible matters of conjecture.
As they were breakfasting, a question of Michel's, relating to the
projectile, provoked rather a curious answer from Barbicane, which is
worth repeating. Michel, supposing it to be roughly stopped, while still
under its formidable initial speed, wished to know what the consequences
of the stoppage would have been.
"But," said Barbicane, "I do not see how it could have been stopped."
"But let us suppose so," said Michel.
"It is an impossible supposition," said the practical Barbicane; "unless
the impulsive force had failed; but even then its speed would diminish
by degrees, and it would not have stopped suddenly."
"Admit that it had struck a body in space."
"What body?"
"Why that enormous meteor which we met."
"Then," said Nicholl, "the projectile would have been broken into a
thousand pieces, and we with it."
"More than that," replied Barbicane; "we should have been burnt to
death."
"Burnt?" exclaimed Michel, "by Jove! I am sorry it did not happen, 'just
to see.'"
"And you would have seen," replied Barbicane. "It is known now that heat
is only a modification of motion. When water is warmed—that is to say,
when heat is added to it—its particles are set in motion."
"Well," said Michel, "that is an ingenious theory!"
"And a true one, my worthy friend; for it explains every phenomenon of
caloric. Heat is but the motion of atoms, a simple oscillation of the
particles of a body. When they apply the brake to a train, the train
comes to a stop; but what becomes of the motion which it had previously
possessed? It is transformed into heat, and the brake becomes hot.
Why do they grease the axles of the wheels? To prevent their heating,
because this heat would be generated by the motion which is thus lost by
transformation."
"Yes, I understand," replied Michel, "perfectly. For example, when I
have run a long time, when I am swimming, when I am perspiring in large
drops, why am I obliged to stop? Simply because my motion is changed into
heat."
Barbicane could not help smiling at Michel's reply; then, returning to
his theory, said,—
"Thus, in case of a shock, it would have been with our projectile as
with a ball which falls in a burning state after having struck the metal
plate; it is its motion which is turned into heat. Consequently I affirm
that, if our projectile had struck the meteor, its speed thus suddenly
checked would have raised a heat great enough to turn it into vapour
instantaneously."
"Then," asked Nicholl, "what would happen if the earth's motion were to
stop suddenly?"
"Her temperature would be raised to such a pitch," said Barbicane, "that
she would be at once reduced to vapour."
"Well," said Michel, "that is a way of ending the earth which will
greatly simplify things."
"And if the earth fell upon the sun?" asked Nicholl.
"According to calculation," replied Barbicane, "the fall would develope
a heat equal to that produced by 16,000 globes of coal, each equal in
bulk to our terrestrial globe."
"Good additional heat for the sun," replied Michel Ardan, "of which the
inhabitants of Uranus or Neptune would doubtless not complain; they must
be perished with cold on their planets."
"Thus, my friends," said Barbicane, "all motion suddenly stopped produces
heat. And this theory allows us to infer that the heat of the solar disc
is fed by a hail of meteors falling incessantly on its surface. They have
even calculated—"
"Oh, dear!" murmured Michel, "the figures are coming."
"They have even calculated," continued the imperturbable Barbicane, "that
the shock of each meteor on the sun ought to produce a heat equal to that
of 4000 masses of coal of an equal bulk."
"And what is the solar heat?" asked Michel.
"It is equal to that produced by the combustion of a stratum of coal
surrounding the sun to a depth of forty-seven miles."
"And that heat—"
"Would be able to boil two billions nine hundred millions of cubic
myriameters* of water."
*The myriameter is equal to rather more than 10,936 cubic yards
English.—(Ed.)
"And it does not roast us!" exclaimed Michel.
"No," replied Barbicane, "because the terrestrial atmosphere absorbs
four-tenths of the solar heat; besides, the quantity of heat intercepted
by the earth is but a billionth part of the entire radiation."
"I see that all is for the best," said Michel, "and that this atmosphere
is a useful invention; for it not only allows us to breathe, but it
prevents us from roasting."
"Yes!" said Nicholl, "unfortunately, it will not be the same in the
moon."
"Bah!" said Michel, always hopeful. "If there are inhabitants, they must
breathe. If there are no longer any, they must have left enough oxygen
for three people, if only at the bottom of ravines, where its own weight
will cause it to accumulate, and we will not climb the mountains; that
is all." And Michel, rising, went to look at the lunar disc, which shone
with intolerable brilliancy.
"By Jove!" said he, "it must be hot up there!"
"Without considering," replied Nicholl, "that the day lasts 360 hours!"
"And to compensate that," said Barbicane, "the nights have the same
length; and as heat is restored by radiation, their temperature can only
be that of the planetary space."
"A pretty country, that!" exclaimed Michel. "Never mind! I wish I was
there! Ah! my dear comrades, it will be rather curious to have the earth
for our moon, to see it rise on the horizon, to recognize the shape
of its continents, and to say to oneself, 'There is America, there is
Europe;' then to follow it when it is about to lose itself in the sun's
rays! By-the-bye, Barbicane, have the Selenites eclipses?"
"Yes, eclipses of the sun," replied Barbicane, "when the centres of the
three orbs are on a line, the earth being in the middle. But they are
only partial, during which the earth, cast like a screen upon the solar
disc, allows the greater portion to be seen."
"And why," asked Nicholl, "is there no total eclipse? Does not the cone
of the shadow cast by the earth extend beyond the moon?"
"Yes, if we do not take into consideration the refraction produced by the
terrestrial atmosphere. No, if we take that refraction into consideration.
Thus δ be the horizontal parallel, and _p_ the apparent semidiameter—"
"Oh!" said Michel. "Do speak plainly, you man of algebra!"
"Very well;" replied Barbicane, "in popular language the mean distance
from the moon to the earth being sixty terrestrial radii, the length of
the cone of the shadow, on account of the refraction, is reduced to less
than forty-two radii. The result is that when there are eclipses, the
moon finds itself beyond the cone of pure shadow, and that the sun sends
her its rays, not only from its edges, but also from its centre."
"Then," said Michel, in a merry tone, "why are there eclipses, when there
ought not to be any?"
"Simply because the solar rays are weakened by this refraction, and
the atmosphere through which they pass extinguishes the greater part of
them!"
"That reason satisfies me," replied Michel. "Besides we shall see when
we get there. Now, tell me, Barbicane, do you believe that the moon is
an old comet?"
"There's an idea!"
"Yes," replied Michel, with an amiable swagger, "I have a few ideas of
that sort."
"But that idea does not spring from Michel," answered Nicholl.
"Well, then, I am a plagiarist."
"No doubt about it. According to the ancients, the Arcadians pretend
that their ancestors inhabited the earth before the moon became her
satellite. Starting from this fact, some scientific men have seen in the
moon a comet whose orbit will one day bring it so near to the earth that
it will be held there by its attraction."
"Is there any truth in this hypothesis?" asked Michel.
"None whatever," said Barbicane, "and the proof is, that the moon has
preserved no trace of the gaseous envelope which always accompanies
comets."
"But," continued Nicholl, "before becoming the earth's satellite,
could not the moon, when in her perihelion, pass so near the sun as by
evaporation to get rid of all those gaseous substances?"
"It is possible, friend Nicholl, but not probable."
"Why not?"
"Because—Faith I do not know."
"Ah!" exclaimed Michel, "what hundreds of volumes we might make of all
that we do not know!"
"Ah! indeed. What time is it?" asked Barbicane.
"Three o'clock," answered Nicholl.
"How time goes," said Michel, "in the conversation of scientific men such
as we are! Certainly, I feel I know too much! I feel that I am becoming
a well!"
Saying which, Michel hoisted himself to the roof of the projectile, "to
observe the moon better," he pretended. During this time his companions
were watching through the lower glass. Nothing new to note!
When Michel Ardan came down, he went to the side scuttle; and suddenly
they heard an exclamation of surprise!
"What is it?" asked Barbicane.
The president approached the window, and saw a sort of flattened sack
floating some yards from the projectile. This object seemed as motionless
as the projectile, and was consequently animated with the same ascending
movement.
"What is that machine?" continued Michel Ardan. "Is it one of the bodies
of space which our projectile keeps within its attraction, and which will
accompany it to the moon?"
"What astonishes me," said Nicholl, "is that the specific weight of the
body, which is certainly less than that of the projectile, allows it to
keep so perfectly on a level with it."
"Nicholl," replied Barbicane, after a moment's reflection, "I do not know
what the object is, but I do know why it maintains our level."
"And why?"
"Because we are floating in space, my dear captain, and in space bodies
fall or move (which is the same thing) with equal speed whatever be their
weight or form; it is the air, which by its resistance creates these
differences in weight. When you create a vacuum in a tube, the objects
you send through it, grains of dust or grains of lead, fall with the same
rapidity. Here in space is the same cause and the same effect."
"Just so," said Nicholl, "and everything we throw out of the projectile
will accompany it until it reaches the moon."
"Ah! fools that we are!" exclaimed Michel.
"Why that expletive?" asked Barbicane.