"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.
"Because we might have filled the projectile with useful objects, books,
instruments, tools, &c. We could have thrown them all out, and all would
have followed in our train. But happy thought! Why cannot we walk outside
like the meteor? Why cannot we launch into space through the scuttle?
What enjoyment it would be to feel oneself thus suspended in ether, more
favoured than the birds who must use their wings to keep themselves up!"
Illustration: IT WAS THE BODY OF SATELLITE.
"Granted," said Barbicane, "but how to breathe?"
"Hang the air, to fail so inopportunely!"
"But if it did not fail, Michel, your density being less than that of
the projectile, you would soon be left behind."
"Then we must remain in our car?"
"We must!"
"Ah!" exclaimed Michel, in a loud voice.
"What is the matter," asked Nicholl.
"I know, I guess, what this pretended meteor is! It is no asteroid which
is accompanying us! It is not a piece of a planet."
"What is it then?" asked Barbicane.
"It is our unfortunate dog! It is Diana's husband!"
Indeed, this deformed, unrecognizable object, reduced to nothing, was
the body of Satellite, flattened like a bagpipe without wind, and ever
mounting, mounting!
CHAPTER VII.
A MOMENT OF INTOXICATION.
Thus a phenomenon, curious but explicable, was happening under these
strange conditions.
Every object thrown from the projectile would follow the same course and
never stop until it did. There was a subject for conversation which the
whole evening could not exhaust.
Besides, the excitement of the three travellers increased as they drew
near the end of their journey. They expected unforeseen incidents, and
new phenomena; and nothing would have astonished them in the frame of
mind they then were in. Their over-excited imagination went faster than
the projectile, whose speed was evidently diminishing, though insensibly
to themselves. But the moon grew larger to their eyes, and they fancied
if they stretched out their hands they could seize it.
The next day, the 5th of November, at five in the morning, all three
were on foot. That day was to be the last of their journey, if all
calculations were true. That very night, at twelve o'clock, in eighteen
hours, exactly at the full moon, they would reach its brilliant disc.
The next midnight would see that journey ended, the most extraordinary
of ancient or modern times. Thus from the first of the morning, through
the scuttles silvered by its rays, they saluted the orb of night with a
confident and joyous hurrah.
The moon was advancing majestically along the starry firmament. A few
more degrees, and she would reach the exact point where her meeting with
the projectile was to take place.
According to his own observations, Barbicane reckoned that they would
land on her northern hemisphere, where stretch immense planes, and where
mountains are rare. A favourable circumstance if, as they thought, the
lunar atmosphere was stored only in its depths.
"Besides," observed Michel Ardan, "a plain is easier to disembark upon
than a mountain. A Selenite, deposited in Europe on the summit of Mont
Blanc, or in Asia on the top of the Himalayas, would not be quite in the
right place."
"And," added Captain Nicholl, "on a flat ground, the projectile will
remain motionless when it has once touched; whereas on a declivity it
would roll like an avalanche, and not being squirrels we should not come
out safe and sound. So it is all for the best."
Indeed, the success of the audacious attempt no longer appeared doubtful.
But Barbicane was preoccupied with one thought; but not wishing to make
his companions uneasy, he kept silence on the subject.
The direction the projectile was taking towards the moon's northern
hemisphere, showed that her course had been slightly altered. The
discharge, mathematically calculated, would carry the projectile to the
very centre of the lunar disc. If it did not land there, there must have
been some deviation. What had caused it? Barbicane could neither imagine
nor determine the importance of the deviation, for there were no points
to go by.
He hoped, however, that it would have no other result than that of
bringing them near the upper border of the moon, a region more suitable
for landing.
Without imparting his uneasiness to his companions, Barbicane contented
himself with constantly observing the moon, in order to see whether the
course of the projectile would not be altered; for the situation would
have been terrible if it failed in its aim, and being carried beyond
the disc should be launched into interplanetary space. At that moment,
the moon, instead of appearing flat like a disc, showed its convexity.
If the sun's rays had struck it obliquely, the shadow thrown would have
brought out the high mountains, which would have been clearly detached.
The eye might have gazed into the crater's gaping abysses, and followed
the capricious fissures which wound through the immense plains. But all
relief was as yet levelled in intense brilliancy. They could scarcely
distinguish those large spots which give to the moon the appearance of
a human face.
"Face, indeed!" said Michel Ardan; "but I am sorry for the amiable sister
of Apollo. A very pitted face!"
But the travellers, now so near the end, were incessantly observing
this new world. They imagined themselves walking through its unknown
countries, climbing its highest peaks, descending into its lowest depths.
Here and there they fancied they saw vast seas, scarcely kept together
under so rarefied an atmosphere, and watercourses emptying the mountain
tributaries. Leaning over the abyss, they hoped to catch some sounds
from that orb for ever mute in the solitude of space. That last day left
them.
They took down the most trifling details. A vague uneasiness took
possession of them as they neared the end. This uneasiness would have
been doubled had they felt how their speed had decreased. It would
have seemed to them quite insufficient to carry them to the end. It was
because the projectile then "weighed" almost nothing. Its weight was
ever decreasing, and would be entirely annihilated on that line where
the lunar and terrestrial attractions would neutralize each other.
But in spite of his preoccupation, Michel Ardan did not forget to prepare
the morning repast with his accustomed punctuality. They ate with a good
appetite. Nothing was so excellent as the soup liquefied by the heat of
the gas; nothing better than the preserved meat. Some glasses of good
French wine crowned the repast, causing Michel Ardan to remark that
the lunar vines, warmed by that ardent sun, ought to distil even more
generous wines; that is, if they existed. In any case, the far-seeing
Frenchman had taken care not to forget in his collection some precious
cuttings of the Médoc and Côte d'Or, upon which he founded his hopes.
Reiset and Regnault's apparatus worked with great regularity. Not an
atom of carbonic acid resisted the potash; and as to the oxygen, Captain
Nicholl said "it was of the first quality." The little watery vapour
enclosed in the projectile mixing with the air tempered the dryness; and
many apartments in London, Paris, or New York, and many theatres, were
certainly not in such a healthy condition.
But that it might act with regularity, the apparatus must be kept in
perfect order; so each morning Michel visited the escape regulators,
tried the taps, and regulated the heat of the gas by the pyrometer.
Everything had gone well up to that time, and the travellers, imitating
the worthy Joseph T. Maston, began to acquire a degree of embonpoint,
which would have rendered them unrecognizable if their imprisonment had
been prolonged to some months. In a word, they behaved like chickens in
a coop; they were getting fat.
In looking through the scuttle Barbicane saw the spectre of the dog,
and other divers objects which had been thrown from the projectile
obstinately following them. Diana howled lugubriously on seeing the
remains of Satellite, which seemed as motionless as if they reposed on
the solid earth.
"Do you know, my friends," said Michel Ardan, "that if one of us had
succumbed to the shock consequent on departure, we should have had a
great deal of trouble to bury him? What am I saying? to -etherize- him,
as here ether takes the place of earth. You see the accusing body would
have followed us into space like a remorse."
"That would have been sad," said Nicholl.
"Ah!" continued Michel, "what I regret is not being able to take a walk
outside. What voluptuousness to float amid this radiant ether, to bathe
oneself in it, to wrap oneself in the sun's pure rays. If Barbicane had
only thought of furnishing us with a diving apparatus and an air-pump,
I could have ventured out and assumed fanciful attitudes of feigned
monsters on the top of the projectile."
"Well, old Michel," replied Barbicane, "you would not have made a feigned
monster long, for in spite of your diver's dress, swollen by the expansion
of air within you, you would have burst like a shell, or rather like a
balloon which has risen too high. So do not regret it, and do not forget
this--as long as we float in space, all sentimental walks beyond the
projectile are forbidden."
Michel Ardan allowed himself to be convinced to a certain extent. He
admitted that the thing was difficult but not -impossible-, a word which
he never uttered.
The conversation passed from this subject to another, not failing for
an instant. It seemed to the three friends as though, under present
conditions, ideas shot up in their brains as leaves shoot at the first
warmth of spring. They felt bewildered. In the middle of the questions
and answers which crossed each other, Nicholl put one question which did
not find an immediate solution.
"Ah, indeed!" said he; "it is all very well to go to the moon, but how
to get back again?"
His two interlocutors looked surprised. One would have thought that this
possibility now occurred to them for the first time.
"What do you mean by that, Nicholl?" asked Barbicane gravely.
"To ask for means to leave a country," added Michel, "when we have not
yet arrived there, seems to me rather inopportune."
"I do not say that, wishing to draw back," replied Nicholl; "but I repeat
my question, and I ask, 'How shall we return?'"
"I know nothing about it," answered Barbicane.
"And I," said Michel, "if I had known how to return, I would never have
started."
Illustration: "I COULD HAVE VENTURED OUT ON THE TOP OF
THE PROJECTILE."
"There's an answer!" cried Nicholl.
"I quite approve of Michel's words," said Barbicane; "and add, that the
question has no real interest. Later, when we think it advisable to
return, we will take counsel together. If the Columbiad is not there,
the projectile will be."
"That is a step certainly. A ball without a gun!"
"The gun," replied Barbicane, "can be manufactured. The powder can be
made. Neither metals, saltpetre, nor coal can fail in the depths of
the moon, and we need only go 8000 leagues in order to fall upon the
terrestrial globe by virtue of the mere laws of weight."
"Enough," said Michel with animation. "Let it be no longer a question of
returning: we have already entertained it too long. As to communicating
with our former earthly colleagues, that will not be difficult."
"And how?"
"By means of meteors launched by lunar volcanos."
"Well thought of, Michel," said Barbicane in a convinced tone of voice.
"Laplace has calculated that a force five times greater than that of
our gun would suffice to send a meteor from the moon to the earth, and
there is not one volcano which has not a greater power of propulsion than
that."
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Michel; "these meteors are handy postmen, and
cost nothing. And how we shall be able to laugh at the post-office
administration. But now I think of it--"
"What do you think of?"
"A capital idea. Why did we not fasten a thread to our projectile, and
we could have exchanged telegrams with the earth?"
"The deuce!" answered Nicholl. "Do you consider the weight of a thread
250,000 miles long nothing?"
"As nothing. They could have trebled the Columbiad's charge; they could
have quadrupled or quintupled it!" exclaimed Michel, with whom the verb
took a higher intonation each time.
"There is but one little objection to make to your proposition," replied
Barbicane, "which is that, during the rotary motion of the globe, our
thread would have wound itself round it like a chain on a capstan, and
that it would inevitably have brought us to the ground."
"By the thirty-nine stars of the Union!" said Michel, "I have nothing
but impracticable ideas to-day; ideas worthy of J. T. Maston. But I have
a notion that, if we do not return to earth, J. T. Maston will be able
to come to us."
"Yes, he'll come," replied Barbicane; "he is a worthy and a courageous
comrade. Besides, what is easier? Is not the Columbiad still buried
in the soil of Florida? Is cotton and nitric acid wanted wherewith to
manufacture the pyroxile? Will not the moon again pass to the zenith of
Florida? In eighteen years' time will she not occupy exactly the same
place as to-day?"
"Yes," continued Michel, "yes, Marston will come, and with him our
friends Elphinstone, Blomsberry, all the members of the Gun Club, and they
will be well received. And by and by they will run trains of projectiles
between the earth and the moon! Hurrah for J. T. Maston!"
It is probable that, if the Hon. J. T. Maston did not hear the hurrahs
uttered in his honour, his ears at least tingled. What was he doing then?
Doubtless posted in the Rocky Mountains, at the station of Long's Peak,
he was trying to find the invisible projectile gravitating in space. If
he was thinking of his dear companions, we must allow that they were not
far behind him; and that, under the influence of a strange excitement,
they were devoting to him their best thoughts.
But whence this excitement, which was evidently growing upon the
tenants of the projectile? Their sobriety could not be doubted. This
strange irritation of the brain, must it be attributed to the peculiar
circumstances under which they found themselves, to their proximity to
the orb of night, from which only a few hours separated them, to some
secret influence of the moon acting upon their nervous system? Their
faces were as rosy as if they had been exposed to the roaring flames
of an oven; their voices resounded in loud accents; their words escaped
like a champagne cork driven out by carbonic acid; their gestures became
annoying, they wanted so much room to perform them; and, strange to say,
they none of them noticed this great tension of the mind.
"Now," said Nicholl, in a short tone, "now that I do not know whether we
shall ever return from the moon, I want to know what we are going to do
there?"
"What we are going to do there?" replied Barbicane, stamping with his
foot as if he was in a fencing saloon; "I do not know."
"You do not know!" exclaimed Michel, with a bellow which provoked a
sonorous echo in the projectile.
"No, I have not even thought about it," retorted Barbicane, in the same
loud tone.
"Well, I know," replied Michel.
"Speak, then," cried Nicholl, who could no longer contain the growling
of his voice.
"I shall speak if it suits me," exclaimed Michel, seizing his companions'
arms with violence.
"-It must- suit you," said Barbicane, with an eye on fire and a threatening
hand. "It was you who drew us into this frightful journey, and we want
to know what for."
"Yes," said the captain, "now that I do not know where I am going, I want
to know -why- I am going."
"Why?" exclaimed Michel, jumping a yard high, "why? To take possession
of the moon in the name of the United States; to add a fortieth State to
the Union; to colonize the lunar regions; to cultivate them, to people
them, to transport thither all the prodigies of art, of science, and
industry; to civilize the Selenites, unless they are more civilized than
we are; and to constitute them a republic, if they are not already one!"
"And if there are no Selenites?" retorted Nicholl, who, under the
influence of this unaccountable intoxication, was very contradictory.
"Who said that there were no Selenites?" exclaimed Michel in a threatening
tone.
"I do," howled Nicholl.
"Captain," said Michel, "do not repeat that insolence, or I will knock
your teeth down your throat!"
The two adversaries were going to fall upon each other, and the incoherent
discussion threatened to merge into a fight, when Barbicane intervened
with one bound.
"Stop, miserable men," said he, separating his two companions; "if there
are no Selenites, we will do without them."
"Yes," exclaimed Michel, who was not particular; "yes, we will do without
them. We have only to make Selenites. Down with the Selenites!"
"The empire of the moon belongs to us," said Nicholl. "Let us three
constitute the republic."
"I will be the congress," cried Michel.
"And I the senate," retorted Nicholl.
"And Barbicane, the president," howled Michel.
"Not a president elected by the nation," replied Barbicane.
"Very well, a president elected by the congress," cried Michel; "and as
I am the congress, you are unanimously elected!"
"Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! for President Barbicane," exclaimed Nicholl.
"Hip! hip! hip!" vociferated Michel Ardan.
Then the President and the Senate struck up in a tremendous voice the
popular song "Yankee Doodle," whilst from the Congress resounded the
masculine tones of the "Marseillaise."
Then they struck up a frantic dance, with maniacal gestures, idiotic
stampings, and somersaults like those of the boneless clowns in the
circus. Diana, joining in the dance, and howling in her turn, jumped to
the top of the projectile. An unaccountable flapping of wings was then
heard amidst most fantastic cock-crows, while five or six hens fluttered
like bats against the walls.
Illustration: THEY STRUCK UP A FRANTIC DANCE.
Then the three travelling companions, acted upon by some unaccountable
influence above that of intoxication, inflamed by the air which had set
their respiratory apparatus on fire, fell motionless to the bottom of
the projectile.
CHAPTER VIII.
AT SEVENTY-EIGHT THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AND
FOURTEEN LEAGUES.
What had happened? Whence the cause of this singular intoxication, the
consequences of which might have been very disastrous? A simple blunder
of Michel's, which, fortunately, Nicholl was able to correct in time.
After a perfect swoon, which lasted some minutes, the captain, recovering
first, soon collected his scattered senses. Although he had breakfasted
only two hours before, he felt a gnawing hunger, as if he had not eaten
anything for several days. Everything about him, stomach and brain, were
overexcited to the highest degree. He got up and demanded from Michel a
supplementary repast. Michel, utterly done up, did not answer.
Nicholl then tried to prepare some tea destined to help the absorption
of a dozen sandwiches. He first tried to get some fire, and struck a
match sharply. What was his surprise to see the sulphur shine with so
extraordinary a brilliancy as to be almost unbearable to the eye. From
the gas-burner which he lit rose a flame equal to a jet of electric
light.
A revelation dawned on Nicholl's mind. That intensity of light, the
physiological troubles which had arisen in him, the overexcitement of
all his moral and quarrelsome faculties,--he understood all.
"The oxygen!" he exclaimed.
And leaning over the air apparatus, he saw that the tap was allowing
the scentless colourless gas to escape freely, life-giving, but in its
pure state producing the gravest disorders in the system. Michel had
blunderingly opened the tap of the apparatus to the full.
Illustration: "THE OXYGEN!" HE EXCLAIMED.
Nicholl hastened to stop the escape of oxygen with which the atmosphere
was saturated, which would have been the death of the travellers, not by
suffocation, but by combustion. An hour later, the air less charged with
it restored the lungs to their normal condition. By degrees the three
friends recovered from their intoxication; but they were obliged to sleep
themselves sober over their oxygen as a drunkard does over his wine.
When Michel learnt his share of the responsibility of this incident,
he was not much disconcerted. This unexpected drunkenness broke the
monotony of the journey. Many foolish things had been said while under
its influence, but also quickly forgotten.
"And then," added the merry Frenchman, "I am not sorry to have tasted
a little of this heady gas. Do you know, my friends, that a curious
establishment might be founded with rooms of oxygen, where people whose
system is weakened could for a few hours live a more active life. Fancy
parties where the room was saturated with this heroic fluid, theatres
where it should be kept at high pressure; what passion in the souls of
the actors and spectators! what fire, what enthusiasm! And if, instead of
an assembly only a whole people could be saturated, what activity in its
functions, what a supplement to life it would derive. From an exhausted
nation they might make a great and strong one, and I know more than one
state in old Europe which ought to put itself under the regime of oxygen
for the sake of its health!"
Michel spoke with so much animation that one might have fancied that the
tap was still too open. But a few words from Barbicane soon scattered
his enthusiasm.
"That is all very well, friend Michel," said he, "but will you inform
us where these chickens came from which have mixed themselves up in our
concert?"
"Those chickens?"
"Yes."
Indeed, half a dozen chickens and a fine cock were walking about, flapping
their wings and chattering.
"Ah, the awkward things!" exclaimed Michel. "The oxygen has made them
revolt."
"But what do you want to do with these chickens?" asked Barbicane.
"To acclimatize them in the moon, by Jove!"
"Then why did you hide them?"
"A joke, my worthy president, a simple joke, which has proved a miserable
failure. I wanted to set them free on the lunar continent, without
saying anything. Oh, what would have been your amazement on seeing these
earthly-winged animals pecking in the lunar fields!"
"You rascal, you unmitigated rascal," replied Barbicane, "you do not
want oxygen to mount to the head. You are always what -we- were under
the influence of the gas; you are always foolish!"
"Ah, who says that we were not wise then?" replied Michel Ardan.
After this philosophical reflection, the three friends set about restoring
the order of the projectile. Chickens and cock were reinstated in their
coup. But whilst proceeding with this operation, Barbicane and his two
companions had a most desired perception of a new phenomenon. From the
moment of leaving the earth, their own weight, that of the projectile,
and the objects it enclosed, had been subject to an increasing diminution.
If they could not prove this loss of the projectile, a moment would
arrive when it would be sensibly felt upon themselves and the utensils
and instruments they used.
It is needless to say that a -scale- would not show this loss; for the
weight destined to weigh the object would have lost exactly as much as
the object itself; but a spring steelyard for example, the tension of
which was independent of the attraction, would have given a just estimate
of this loss.
We know that the attraction, otherwise called the -weight-, is in
proportion to the densities of bodies, and inversely as the squares of
the distances. Hence this effect: If the earth had been alone in space, if
the other celestial bodies had been suddenly annihilated, the projectile,
according to Newton's laws, would weigh less as it got farther from the
earth, but without ever losing its weight -entirely-, for the terrestrial
attraction would always have made itself felt, at whatever distance.
But, in reality, a time must come when the projectile would no longer
be subject to the law of weight, after allowing for the other celestial
bodies whose effect could not be set down as zero. Indeed, the
projectile's course was being traced between the earth and the moon.
As it distanced the earth, the terrestrial attraction diminished: but
the lunar attraction rose in proportion. There must then come a point
where these two attractions would neutralize each other: the projectile
would possess weight no longer. If the moon's and the earth's densities
had been equal, this point would have been at an equal distance between
the two orbs. But taking the different densities into consideration, it
was easy to reckon that this point would be situated at 47-60ths of the
whole journey, i.e. at 78,114 leagues from the earth. At this point, a
body having no principle of speed or displacement in itself, would remain
immovable for ever, being attracted equally by both orbs, and not being
drawn more towards one than towards the other.
Now if the projectile's impulsive force had been correctly calculated, it
would attain this point without speed, having lost all trace of weight,
as well as all the objects within it. What would happen then? Three
hypotheses presented themselves.
1. Either it would retain a certain amount of motion, and pass the point
of equal attraction, and fall upon the moon by virtue of the excess of
the lunar attraction over the terrestrial.
2. Or, its speed failing, and unable to reach the point of equal
attraction, it would fall upon the moon by virtue of the excess of the
lunar attraction over the terrestrial.
3. Or, lastly, animated with sufficient speed to enable it to reach the
neutral point, but not sufficient to pass it, it would remain for ever
suspended in that spot like the pretended tomb of Mahomet, between the
zenith and the nadir.
Such was their situation; and Barbicane clearly explained the consequences
to his travelling companions, which greatly interested them. But how
should they know when the projectile had reached this neutral point
situated at that distance, especially when neither themselves, nor the
objects enclosed in the projectile, would be any longer subject to the
laws of weight?
Up to this time, the travellers, whilst admitting that this action was
constantly decreasing, had not yet become sensible to its total absence.
But that day, about eleven o'clock in the morning, Nicholl having
accidentally let a glass slip from his hand, the glass, instead of
falling, remained suspended in the air.
"Ah!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, "that is rather an amusing piece of natural
philosophy."
And immediately divers other objects, firearms and bottles, abandoned
to themselves, held themselves up as by enchantment. Diana too, placed
in space by Michel, reproduced, but without any trick, the wonderful
suspension practised by Caston and Robert Houdin. Indeed the dog did not
seem to know that she was floating in air.
The three adventurous companions were surprised and stupefied, despite
their scientific reasonings. They felt themselves being carried into the
domain of wonders! they felt that -weight- was really wanting to their
bodies. If they stretched out their arms, they did not attempt to fall.
Their heads shook on their shoulders. Their feet no longer clung to the
floor of the projectile. They were like drunken men having no stability
in themselves.
Illustration: "AH! IF RAPHAEL HAD SEEN US THUS."
Fancy has depicted men without reflection, others without shadow. But
here -reality,- by the neutralisation of attractive forces, produced men
in whom nothing had any weight, and who weighed nothing themselves.
Suddenly Michel, taking a spring, left the floor and remained suspended
in the air, like Murillo's monk of the -Cusine des Anges.-
The two friends joined him instantly, and all three formed a miraculous
"Ascension" in the centre of the projectile.
"Is it to be believed? is it probable? is it possible?" exclaimed Michel;
"and yet it is so. Ah! if Raphael had seen us thus, what an 'Assumption'
he would have thrown upon canvas!"
"The 'Assumption' cannot last," replied Barbicane. "If the projectile
passes the neutral point, the lunar attraction will draw us to the moon."
"Then our feet will be upon the roof," replied Michel.
"No," said Barbicane, "because the projectile's centre of gravity is very
low; it will only turn by degrees."
"Then all our portables will be upset from top to bottom, that is a
fact."
"Calm yourself, Michel," replied Nicholl; "no upset is to be feared; not
a thing will move, for the projectile's evolution will be imperceptible."
"Just so," continued Barbicane; "and when it has passed the point of equal
attraction, its base, being the heavier, will draw it perpendicularly to
the moon; but, in order that this phenomenon should take place, we must
have passed the neutral line."
"Pass the neutral line!" cried Michel; "then let us do as the sailors do
when they cross the equator."
A slight side movement brought Michel back towards the padded side;
thence he took a bottle and glasses, placed them "in space" before his
companions, and, drinking merrily, they saluted the line with a triple
hurrah. The influence of these attractions scarcely lasted an hour;
the travellers felt themselves insensibly drawn towards the floor, and
Barbicane fancied that the conical end of the projectile was varying a
little from its normal direction towards the moon. By an inverse motion
the base was approaching first; the lunar attraction was prevailing
over the terrestrial; the fall towards the moon was beginning, almost
imperceptibly as yet, but by degrees the attractive force would become
stronger, the fall would be more decided, the projectile, drawn by its
base, would turn its cone to the earth, and fall with ever-increasing
speed on to the surface of the Selenite continent; their destination
would then be attained. Now nothing could prevent the success of their
enterprise, and Nicholl and Michel Ardan shared Barbicane's joy.
Then they chatted of all the phenomena which had astonished them one
after the other, particularly the neutralization of the laws of weight.
Michel Ardan, always enthusiastic, drew conclusions which were purely
fanciful.
"Ah, my worthy friends," he exclaimed, "what progress we should make
if on earth we could throw off some of that weight, some of that chain
which binds us to her; it would be the prisoner set at liberty; no more
fatigue of either arms or legs. Or, if it is true that in order to fly
on the earth's surface, to keep oneself suspended in the air merely by
the play of the muscles, there requires a strength a hundred and fifty
times greater than that which we possess, a simple act of volition, a
caprice, would bear us into space, if attraction did not exist."
"Just so," said Nicholl, smiling; "if we could succeed in suppressing
weight as they suppress pain by anæsthesia, that would change the face
of modern society!"
"Yes," cried Michel, full of his subject, "destroy weight, and no more
burdens!"
"Well said," replied Barbicane; "but if nothing had any weight, nothing
would keep in its place, not even your hat on your head, worthy Michel;
nor your house, whose stones only adhere by weight; not a boat, whose
stability on the water is caused only by weight; not even the ocean,
whose waves would no longer be equalized by terrestrial attraction; and
lastly, not even the -atmosphere,- whose atoms, being no longer held in
their places, would disperse in space!"
"That is tiresome," retorted Michel; "nothing like these matter-of-fact
people for bringing one back to the bare reality."
"But console yourself, Michel," continued Barbicane, "for if no orb
exists from whence all laws of weight are banished, you are at least
going to visit one where it is much less than on the earth."
"The moon?"
"Yes, the moon, on whose surface objects weigh six times less than on
the earth, a phenomenon easy to prove."
"And we shall feel it?" asked Michel.
"Evidently, as 200 lbs. will only weigh 30 pounds on the surface of the
moon."
"And our muscular strength will not diminish?"
"Not at all; instead of jumping one yard high, you will rise eighteen
feet high."
"But we shall be regular Herculeses in the moon!" exclaimed Michel.
"Yes," replied Nicholl; "for if the height of the Selenites is in
proportion to the density of their globe, they will be scarcely a foot
high."
"Lilliputians!" ejaculated Michel; "I shall play the part of Gulliver.
We are going to realize the fable of the giants. This is the advantage
of leaving one's own planet and overrunning the solar world."
"One moment, Michel," answered Barbicane; "if you wish to play the part
of Gulliver, only visit the inferior planets, such as Mercury, Venus, or
Mars, whose density is a little less than that of the earth; but do not
venture into the great planets, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune; for
there the order will be changed, and you will become Lilliputian."
"And in the sun?"
"In the sun, if its density is thirteen hundred and twenty-four thousand
times greater, and the attraction is twenty-seven times greater than
on the surface of our globe, keeping everything in proportion, the
inhabitants ought to be at least two hundred feet high."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Michel; "I should be nothing more than a pigmy, a
shrimp!"
"Gulliver with the giants," said Nicholl.
"Just so," replied Barbicane.
"And it would not be quite useless to carry some pieces of artillery to
defend oneself."
"Good," replied Nicholl; "your projectiles would have no effect on the
sun; they would fall back on the earth after some minutes."
"That is a strong remark."
"It is certain," replied Barbicane; "the attraction is so great on this
enormous orb, that an object weighing 70,000 lbs. on the earth would
weigh but 1920 lbs. on the surface of the sun. If you were to fall upon
it you would weigh--let me see--about 5000 lbs., a weight which you
would never be able to raise again."
"The devil!" said Michel; "one would want a portable crane. However, we
will be satisfied with the moon for the present; there at least we shall
cut a great figure. We will see about the sun by and by."
CHAPTER IX.
THE CONSEQUENCES OF A DEVIATION.
Barbicane had now no fear of the issue of the journey, at least as far
as the projectile's impulsive force was concerned; its own speed would
carry it beyond the neutral line; it would certainly not return to earth;
it would certainly not remain motionless on the line of attraction. One
single hypothesis remained to be realized, the arrival of the projectile
at its destination by the action of the lunar attraction.
It was in reality a fall of 8296 leagues on an orb, it is true, where
weight could only be reckoned at one-sixth of terrestrial weight; a
formidable fall, nevertheless, and one against which every precaution
must be taken without delay.
These precautions were of two sorts, some to deaden the shock when the
projectile should touch the lunar soil, others to delay the fall, and
consequently make it less violent.
To deaden the shock, it was a pity that Barbicane was no longer able to
employ the means which had so ably weakened the shock at departure, that
is to say, by water used as springs and the partition-breaks.
The partitions still existed but water failed, for they could not use
their reserve, which was precious, in case during the first days the
liquid element should be found wanting on lunar soil.
And indeed this reserve would have been quite insufficient for a spring.
The layer of water stored in the projectile at their departure, and on
which the waterproof disc lay, occupied no less than three feet in depth,
and spread over a surface of not less than fifty-four square feet. Besides,
the cistern did not contain one fifth part of it; they must therefore
give up this efficient means of deadening the shock of arrival. Happily,
Barbicane, not content with employing water, had furnished the movable
disc with strong spring plugs, destined to lessen the shock against the
base after the breaking of the horizontal partitions. These plugs still
existed; they had only to readjust them and replace the movable disc;
every piece, easy to handle, as their weight was now scarcely felt, was
quickly mounted.
The different pieces were fitted without trouble, it being only a matter
of bolts and screws; tools were not wanting, and soon the reinstated
disc lay on its steel plugs, like a table on its legs. One inconvenience
resulted from the replacing of the disc, the lower window was blocked
up; thus it was impossible for the travellers to observe the moon from
that opening while they were being precipitated perpendicularly upon
her; but they were obliged to give it up; even by the side openings they
could still see vast lunar regions, as an aeronaut sees the earth from
his car.
This replacing of the disc was at least an hour's work. It was past twelve
when all preparations were finished. Barbicane took fresh observations
on the inclination of the projectile, but to his annoyance it had not
turned over sufficiently for its fall; it seemed to take a curve parallel
to the lunar disc. The orb of night shone splendidly into space, while
opposite, the orb of day blazed with fire.
Their situation began to make them uneasy.
"Are we reaching our destination?" said Nicholl.
"Let us act as if we were about reaching it," replied Barbicane.
"You are sceptical," retorted Michel Ardan. "We shall arrive, and that,
too, quicker than we like."
This answer brought Barbicane back to his preparations, and he occupied
himself with placing the contrivances intended to break their descent.
We may remember the scene of the meeting held at Tampa Town, in Florida,
when Captain Nicholl came forward as Barbicane's enemy and Michel Ardan's
adversary. To Captain Nicholl's maintaining that the projectile would
smash like glass, Michel replied that he would break their fall by means
of rockets properly placed.
Thus, powerful fireworks, taking their starting-point from the base and
bursting outside, could, by producing a recoil, check to a certain degree
the projectile's speed. These rockets were to burn in space, it is true;
but oxygen would not fail them, for they could supply themselves with
it, like the lunar volcanoes, the burning of which has never yet been
stopped by the want of atmosphere round the moon.
Barbicane had accordingly supplied himself with these fireworks, enclosed
in little steel guns, which could be screwed on to the base of the
projectile. Inside, these guns were flush with the bottom; outside, they
protruded about eighteen inches. There were twenty of them. An opening
left in the disc allowed them to light the match with which each was
provided. All the effect was felt outside. The burning mixture had been
already rammed into each gun. They had, then, nothing to do but to raise
the metallic buffers fixed in the base, and replace them by the guns,
which fitted closely in their places.
This new work was finished about three o'clock, and after taking all
these precautions there remained but to wait. But the projectile was
perceptibly nearing the moon, and evidently succumbed to her influence
to a certain degree; though its own velocity also drew it in an oblique
direction. From these conflicting influences resulted a line which might
become a tangent. But it was certain that the projectile would not fall
directly on the moon; for its lower part, by reason of its weight, ought
to be turned towards her.
Barbicane's uneasiness increased as he saw his projectile resist the
influence of gravitation. The Unknown was opening before him, the Unknown
in interplanetary space. The man of science thought he had foreseen the
only three hypotheses possible--the return to the earth, the return to
the moon, or stagnation on the neutral line; and here a fourth hypothesis,
big with all the terrors of the Infinite, surged up inopportunely. To
face it without flinching, one must be a resolute savant like Barbicane,
a phlegmatic being like Nicholl, or an audacious adventurer like Michel
Ardan.
Conversation was started upon this subject. Other men would have
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