CHAPTER II.
THE FIRST HALF HOUR.
What had taken place within the Projectile? What effect had beenproduced by the frightful concussion? Had Barbican's ingenuity beenattended with a fortunate result? Had the shock been sufficientlydeadened by the springs, the buffers, the water layers, and thepartitions so readily ruptured? Had their combined effect succeeded incounteracting the tremendous violence of a velocity of 12,000 yards asecond, actually sufficient to carry them from London to New York in sixminutes? These, and a hundred other questions of a similar nature wereasked that night by the millions who had been watching the explosionfrom the base of Stony Hill. Themselves they forgot altogether for themoment; they forgot everything in their absorbing anxiety regarding thefate of the daring travellers. Had one among them, our friend Marston,for instance, been favored with a glimpse at the interior of theprojectile, what would he have seen?
Nothing at all at first, on account of the darkness; except that thewalls had solidly resisted the frightful shock. Not a crack, nor a bend,nor a dent could be perceived; not even the slightest injury had theadmirably constructed piece of mechanical workmanship endured. It hadnot yielded an inch to the enormous pressure, and, far from melting andfalling back to earth, as had been so seriously apprehended, in showersof blazing aluminium, it was still as strong in every respect as it hadbeen on the very day that it left the Cold Spring Iron Works, glitteringlike a silver dollar.
Of real damage there was actually none, and even the disorder into whichthings had been thrown in the interior by the violent shock wascomparatively slight. A few small objects lying around loose had beenfuriously hurled against the ceiling, but the others appeared not tohave suffered the slightest injury. The straps that fastened them upwere unfrayed, and the fixtures that held them down were uncracked.
The partitions beneath the disc having been ruptured, and the waterhaving escaped, the false floor had been dashed with tremendous violenceagainst the bottom of the Projectile, and on this disc at this momentthree human bodies could be seen lying perfectly still and motionless.
Were they three corpses? Had the Projectile suddenly become a greatmetallic coffin bearing its ghastly contents through the air with therapidity of a lightning flash?
In a very few minutes after the shock, one of the bodies stirred alittle, the arms moved, the eyes opened, the head rose and tried to lookaround; finally, with some difficulty, the body managed to get on itsknees. It was the Frenchman! He held his head tightly squeezed betweenhis hands for some time as if to keep it from splitting. Then he felthimself rapidly all over, cleared his throat with a vigorous "hem!"listened to the sound critically for an instant, and then said tohimself in a relieved tone, but in his native tongue:
"One man all right! Call the roll for the others!"
He tried to rise, but the effort was too great for his strength. He fellback again, his brain swimming, his eyes bursting, his head splitting.His state very much resembled that of a young man waking up in themorning after his first tremendous "spree."
"Br--rr!" he muttered to himself, still talking French; "this reminds meof one of my wild nights long ago in the _Quartier Latin_, onlydecidedly more so!"
Lying quietly on his back for a while, he could soon feel that thecirculation of his blood, so suddenly and violently arrested by theterrific shock, was gradually recovering its regular flow; his heartgrew more normal in its action; his head became clearer, and the painless distracting.
"Time to call that roll," he at last exclaimed in a voice with somepretensions to firmness; "Barbican! MacNicholl!"
He listens anxiously for a reply. None comes. A snow-wrapt grave atmidnight is not more silent. In vain does he try to catch even thefaintest sound of breathing, though he listens intently enough to hearthe beating of their hearts; but he hears only his own.
"Call that roll again!" he mutters in a voice far less assured thanbefore; "Barbican! MacNicholl!"
The same fearful unearthly stillness.
"The thing is getting decidedly monotonous!" he exclaimed, stillspeaking French. Then rapidly recovering his consciousness as the fullhorror of the situation began to break on his mind, he went on mutteringaudibly: "Have they really hopped the twig? Bah! Fudge! what has notbeen able to knock the life out of one little Frenchman can't havekilled two Americans! They're all right! But first and foremost, let usenlighten the situation!"
So saying, he contrived without much difficulty to get on his feet.Balancing himself then for a moment, he began groping about for the gas.But he stopped suddenly.
"Hold on a minute!" he cried; "before lighting this match, let us see ifthe gas has been escaping. Setting fire to a mixture of air and hydrogenwould make a pretty how-do-you-do! Such an explosion would infalliblyburst the Projectile, which so far seems all right, though I'm blest ifI can tell whether we're moving or not."
He began sniffing and smelling to discover if possible the odor ofescaped gas. He could not detect the slightest sign of anything of thekind. This gave him great courage. He knew of course that his senseswere not yet in good order, still he thought he might trust them so faras to be certain that the gas had not escaped and that consequently allthe other receptacles were uninjured.
At the touch of the match, the gas burst into light and burned with asteady flame. Ardan immediately bent anxiously over the prostrate bodiesof his friends. They lay on each other like inert masses, M'Nichollstretched across Barbican.
Ardan first lifted up the Captain, laid him on the sofa, opened hisclenched hands, rubbed them, and slapped the palms vigorously. Then hewent all over the body carefully, kneading it, rubbing it, and gentlypatting it. In such intelligent efforts to restore suspendedcirculation, he seemed perfectly at home, and after a few minutes hispatience was rewarded by seeing the Captain's pallid face graduallyrecover its natural color, and by feeling his heart gradually beat witha firm pulsation.
At last M'Nicholl opened his eyes, stared at Ardan for an instant,pressed his hand, looked around searchingly and anxiously, and at lastwhispered in a faint voice:
"How's Barbican?"
"Barbican is all right, Captain," answered Ardan quietly, but stillspeaking French. "I'll attend to him in a jiffy. He had to wait for histurn. I began with you because you were the top man. We'll see in aminute what we can do for dear old Barby (_ce cher Barbican_)!"
In less than thirty seconds more, the Captain not only was able to situp himself, but he even insisted on helping Ardan to lift Barbican,and deposit him gently on the sofa.
HELPED ARDAN TO LIFT BARBICAN.]
The poor President had evidently suffered more from the concussion thaneither of his companions. As they took off his coat they were at firstterribly shocked at the sight of a great patch of blood staining hisshirt bosom, but they were inexpressibly relieved at finding that itproceeded from a slight contusion of the shoulder, little more than skindeep.
Every approved operation that Ardan had performed for the Captain, bothnow repeated for Barbican, but for a long time with nothing like afavorable result.
Ardan at first tried to encourage the Captain by whispers of a livelyand hopeful nature, but not yet understanding why M'Nicholl did notdeign to make a single reply, he grew reserved by degrees and at lastwould not speak a single word. He worked at Barbican, however, just asbefore.
M'Nicholl interrupted himself every moment to lay his ear on the breastof the unconscious man. At first he had shaken his head quitedespondingly, but by degrees he found himself more and more encouragedto persist.
"He breathes!" he whispered at last.
"Yes, he has been breathing for some time," replied Ardan, quietly,still unconsciously speaking French. "A little more rubbing and pullingand pounding will make him as spry as a young grasshopper."
They worked at him, in fact, so vigorously, intelligently andperseveringly, that, after what they considered a long hour's labor,they had the delight of seeing the pale face assume a healthy hue, theinert limbs give signs of returning an
imation, and the breathing becomestrong and regular.
At last, Barbican suddenly opened his eyes, started into an uprightposition on the sofa, took his friends by the hands, and, in a voiceshowing complete consciousness, demanded eagerly:
"Ardan, M'Nicholl, are we moving?"
His friends looked at each other, a little amused, but more perplexed.In their anxiety regarding their own and their friend's recovery, theyhad never thought of asking such a question. His words recalled them atonce to a full sense of their situation.
"Moving? Blessed if I can tell!" said Ardan, still speaking French.
"We may be lying fifty feet deep in a Florida marsh, for all I know,"observed M'Nicholl.
"Or, likely as not, in the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico," suggestedArdan, still in French.
"Suppose we find out," observed Barbican, jumping up to try, his voiceas clear and his step as firm as ever.
But trying is one thing, and finding out another. Having no means ofcomparing themselves with external objects, they could not possibly tellwhether they were moving, or at an absolute stand-still. Though ourEarth is whirling us continually around the Sun at the tremendous speedof 500 miles a minute, its inhabitants are totally unconscious of theslightest motion. It was the same with our travellers. Through their ownpersonal consciousness they could tell absolutely nothing. Were theyshooting through space like a meteor? They could not tell. Had theyfallen back and buried themselves deep in the sandy soil of Florida, or,still more likely, hundreds of fathoms deep beneath the waters of theGulf of Mexico? They could not form the slightest idea.
Listening evidently could do no good. The profound silence provednothing. The padded walls of the Projectile were too thick to admit anysound whether of wind, water, or human beings. Barbican, however, wassoon struck forcibly by one circumstance. He felt himself to be veryuncomfortably warm, and his friend's faces looked very hot and flushed.Hastily removing the cover that protected the thermometer, he closelyinspected it, and in an instant uttered a joyous exclamation.
"Hurrah!" he cried. "We're moving! There's no mistake about it. Thethermometer marks 113 degrees Fahrenheit. Such a stifling heat could notcome from the gas. It comes from the exterior walls of our projectile,which atmospheric friction must have made almost red hot. But this heatmust soon diminish, because we are already far beyond the regions of theatmosphere, so that instead of smothering we shall be shortly in dangerof freezing."
"What?" asked Ardan, much bewildered. "We are already far beyond thelimits of the terrestrial atmosphere! Why do you think so?"
M'Nicholl was still too much flustered to venture a word.
"If you want me to answer your question satisfactorily, my dear Ardan,"replied Barbican, with a quiet smile, "you will have the kindness to putyour questions in English."
"What do you mean, Barbican!" asked Ardan, hardly believing his ears.
"Hurrah!" cried M'Nicholl, in the tone of a man who has suddenly made awelcome but most unexpected discovery.
"I don't know exactly how it is with the Captain," continued Barbican,with the utmost tranquillity, "but for my part the study of thelanguages never was my strong point, and though I always admired theFrench, and even understood it pretty well, I never could converse in itwithout giving myself more trouble than I always find it convenient toassume."
"You don't mean to say that I have been talking French to you all thistime!" cried Ardan, horror-stricken.
"The most elegant French I ever heard, backed by the purest Parisianaccent," replied Barbican, highly amused; "Don't you think so, Captain?"he added, turning to M'Nicholl, whose countenance still showed the mostcomical traces of bewilderment.
"Well, I swan to man!" cried the Captain, who always swore a littlewhen his feelings got beyond his control; "Ardan, the Boss has got therig on both of us this time, but rough as it is on you it is a darnedsight more so on me. Be hanged if I did not think you were talkingEnglish the whole time, and I put the whole blame for not understandingyou on the disordered state of my brain!"
Ardan only stared, and scratched his head, but Barbican actually--no,not _laughed_, that serene nature could not _laugh_. His cast-ironfeatures puckered into a smile of the richest drollery, and his eyestwinkled with the wickedest fun; but no undignified giggle escaped theportal of those majestic lips.
"It _sounds_ like French, I'd say to myself," continued the Captain,"but I _know_ it's English, and by and by, when this whirring goes outof my head, I shall easily understand it."
Ardan now looked as if he was beginning to see the joke.
"The most puzzling part of the thing to me," went on M'Nicholl, givinghis experience with the utmost gravity, "was why English sounded so like_French_. If it was simple incomprehensible gibberish, I could readilyblame the state of my ears for it. But the idea that my bothered earscould turn a mere confused, muzzled, buzzing reverberation into a sweet,harmonious, articulate, though unintelligible, human language, made mesure that I was fast becoming crazy, if I was not so already."
"Ha! ha! ha!" roared Ardan, laughing till the tears came. "Now Iunderstand why the poor Captain made me no reply all the time, andlooked at me with such a hapless woe-begone expression of countenance.The fact is, Barbican, that shock was too much both for M'Nicholl andmyself. You are the only man among us whose head is fire-proof,blast-proof, and powder-proof. I really believe a burglar would havegreater difficulty in blowing your head-piece open than in bursting oneof those famous American safes your papers make such a fuss about. Awonderful head, the Boss's, isn't it M'Nicholl?"
"Yes," said the Captain, as slowly as if every word were a gem of theprofoundest thought, "the Boss has a fearful and a wonderful head!"
"But now to business!" cried the versatile Ardan, "Why do you think,Barbican, that we are at present beyond the limits of the terrestrialatmosphere?"
"For a very simple reason," said Barbican, pointing to the chronometer;"it is now more than seven minutes after 11. We must, therefore, havebeen in motion more than twenty minutes. Consequently, unless ourinitial velocity has been very much diminished by the friction, we musthave long before this completely cleared the fifty miles of atmosphereenveloping the earth."
"Correct," said the Captain, cool as a cucumber, because once more incomplete possession of all his senses; "but how much do you think theinitial velocity to have been diminished by the friction?"
"By a third, according to my calculations," replied Barbican, "which Ithink are right. Supposing our initial velocity, therefore, to have been12,000 yards per second, by the time we quitted the atmosphere it musthave been reduced to 8,000 yards per second. At that rate, we must havegone by this time--"
"Then, Mac, my boy, you've lost your two bets!" interrupted Ardan. "TheColumbiad has not burst, four thousand dollars; the Projectile has risenat least six miles, five thousand dollars; come, Captain, bleed!"
"Let me first be sure we're right," said the Captain, quietly. "I don'tdeny, you see, that friend Barbican's arguments are quite right, and,therefore, that I have lost my nine thousand dollars. But there isanother view of the case possible, which might annul the bet."
"What other view?" asked Barbican, quickly.
"Suppose," said the Captain, very drily, "that the powder had notcaught, and that we were still lying quietly at the bottom of theColumbiad!"
"By Jove!" laughed Ardan, "there's an idea truly worthy of my ownnondescript brain! We must surely have changed heads during thatconcussion! No matter, there is some sense left in us yet. Come now,Captain, consider a little, if you can. Weren't we both half-killed bythe shock? Didn't I rescue you from certain death with these two hands?Don't you see Barbican's shoulder still bleeding by the violence of theshock?"
"Correct, friend Michael, correct in every particular," replied theCaptain, "But one little question."
"Out with it!"
"Friend Michael, you say we're moving?"
"Yes."
"In consequence of the explosion?"
"Certainly!"
>
"Which must have been attended with a tremendous report?"
"Of course!"
"Did you hear that report, friend Michael?"
"N--o," replied Ardan, a little disconcerted at the question. "Well, no;I can't say that I did hear any report."
"Did you, friend Barbican?"
"No," replied Barbican, promptly. "I heard no report whatever."
His answer was ready, but his look was quite as disconcerted as Ardan's.
"Well, friend Barbican and friend Michael," said the Captain, very drilyas he leered wickedly at both, "put that and that together and tell mewhat you make of it."
"It's a fact!" exclaimed Barbican, puzzled, but not bewildered. "Why didwe not hear that report?"
"Too hard for me," said Ardan. "Give it up!"
The three friends gazed at each other for a while with countenancesexpressive of much perplexity. Barbican appeared to be the leastself-possessed of the party. It was a complete turning of the tablesfrom the state of things a few moments ago. The problem was certainlysimple enough, but for that very reason the more inexplicable. If theywere moving the explosion must have taken place; but if the explosionhad taken place, why had they not heard the report?
Barbican's decision soon put an end to speculation.
"Conjecture being useless," said he, "let us have recourse to facts.First, let us see where we are. Drop the deadlights!"
This operation, simple enough in itself and being immediately undertakenby the whole three, was easily accomplished. The screws fastening thebolts by which the external plates of the deadlights were solidlypinned, readily yielded to the pressure of a powerful wrench. The boltswere then driven outwards, and the holes which had contained them wereimmediately filled with solid plugs of India rubber. The bolts oncedriven out, the external plates dropped by their own weight, turning ona hinge, like portholes, and the strong plate-glass forming the lightimmediately showed itself. A second light exactly similar, could becleared away on the opposite side of the Projectile; a third, on thesummit of the dome, and a fourth, in the centre of the bottom. Thetravellers could thus take observations in four different directions,having an opportunity of gazing at the firmament through the sidelights, and at the Earth and the Moon through the lower and the upperlights of the Projectile.
Ardan and the Captain had commenced examining the floor, previous tooperating on the bottom light. But Barbican was the first to get throughhis work at one of the side lights, and M'Nicholl and Ardan soon heardhim shouting:
"No, my friends!" he exclaimed, in tones of decided emotion; "we have_not_ fallen back to Earth; nor are we lying in the bottom of the Gulfof Mexico. No! We are driving through space! Look at the starsglittering all around! Brighter, but smaller than we have ever seen thembefore! We have left the Earth and the Earth's atmosphere far behindus!"
"Hurrah! Hurrah!" cried M'Nicholl and Ardan, feeling as if electricshocks were coursing through them, though they could see nothing,looking down from the side light, but the blackest and profoundestobscurity.
Barbican soon convinced them that this pitchy blackness proved that theywere not, and could not be, reposing on the surface of the Earth, whereat that moment, everything was illuminated by the bright moonlight; alsothat they had passed the different layers of the atmosphere, where thediffused and refracted rays would be also sure to reveal themselvesthrough the lights of the Projectile. They were, therefore, certainlymoving. No doubt was longer possible.
"It's a fact!" observed the Captain, now quite convinced. "Then I'velost!"
"Let me congratulate you!" cried Ardan, shaking his hand.
"Here is your nine thousand dollars, friend Barbican," said the Captain,taking a roll of greenbacks of high denomination out of hisporte-monnaie.
"You want a receipt, don't you, Captain?" asked Barbican, counting themoney.
"Yes, I should prefer one, if it is not too much trouble," answeredM'Nicholl; "it saves dispute."
Coolly and mechanically, as if seated at his desk, in his office,Barbican opened his memorandum book, wrote a receipt on a blank page,dated, signed and sealed it, and then handed it to the Captain, who putit away carefully among the other papers of his portfolio.
Ardan, taking off his hat, made a profound bow to both of hiscompanions, without saying a word. Such formality, under suchextraordinary circumstances, actually paralysed his tongue for themoment. No wonder that he could not understand those Americans. EvenIndians would have surprised him by an exhibition of such stoicism.After indulging in silent wonder for a minute or two, he joined hiscompanions who were now busy looking out at the starry sky.
"Where is the Moon?" he asked. "How is it that we cannot see her?"
"The fact of our not seeing her," answered Barbican, "gives me verygreat satisfaction in one respect; it shows that our Projectile was shotso rapidly out of the Columbiad that it had not time to be impressedwith the slightest revolving motion--for us a most fortunate matter. Asfor the rest--see, there is _Cassiopeia_, a little to the left is_Andromeda_, further down is the great square of _Pegasus_, and to thesouthwest _Fomalhaut_ can be easily seen swallowing the _Cascade_. Allthis shows we are looking west and consequently cannot see the Moon,which is approaching the zenith from the east. Open the other light--Buthold on! Look here! What can this be?"
The three travellers, looking westwardly in the direction of _Alpherat_,saw a brilliant object rapidly approaching them. At a distance, itlooked like a dusky moon, but the side turned towards the Earth blazedwith a bright light, which every moment became more intense. It cametowards them with prodigious velocity and, what was worse, its path layso directly in the course of the Projectile that a collision seemedinevitable. As it moved onward, from west to east, they could easily seethat it rotated on its axis, like all heavenly bodies; in fact, itsomewhat resembled a Moon on a small scale, describing its regular orbitaround the Earth.
"_Mille tonerres!_" cried Ardan, greatly excited; "what is that? Can itbe another projectile?" M'Nicholl, wiping his spectacles, looked again,but made no reply. Barbican looked puzzled and uneasy. A collision wasquite possible, and the results, even if not frightful in the highestdegree, must be extremely deplorable. The Projectile, if not absolutelydashed to pieces, would be diverted from its own course and draggedalong in a new one in obedience to the irresistible attraction of thisfurious asteroid.
Barbican fully realized that either alternative involved the completefailure of their enterprise. He kept perfectly still, but, never losinghis presence of mind, he curiously looked on the approaching object witha gladiatorial eye, as if seeking to detect some unguarded point in histerrible adversary. The Captain was equally silent; he looked like a manwho had fully made up his mind to regard every possible contingency withthe most stoical indifference. But Ardan's tongue, more fluent thanever, rattled away incessantly.
"Look! Look!" he exclaimed, in tones so perfectly expressive of hisrapidly alternating feelings as to render the medium of words totallyunnecessary. "How rapidly the cursed thing is nearing us! Plague takeyour ugly phiz, the more I know you, the less I like you! Every secondshe doubles in size! Come, Madame Projectile! Stir your stumps a littlelivelier, old lady! He's making for you as straight as an arrow! We'regoing right in his way, or he's coming in ours, I can't say which. It'staking a mean advantage of us either way. As for ourselves--what can_we_ do! Before such a monster as that we are as helpless as three menin a little skiff shooting down the rapids to the brink of Niagara! Nowfor it!"
Nearer and nearer it came, but without noise, without sparks, without atrail, though its lower part was brighter than ever. Its path lyinglittle above them, the nearer it came the more the collision seemedinevitable. Imagine yourself caught on a narrow railroad bridge atmidnight with an express train approaching at full speed, its reflectoralready dazzling you with its light, the roar of the cars rattling inyour ears, and you may conceive the feelings of the travellers. At lastit was so near that the travellers started back in affright, with eyesshut, hair o
n end, and fully believing their last hour had come. Eventhen Ardan had his _mot_.
"We can neither switch off, down brakes, nor clap on more steam! Hardluck!"
In an instant all was over. The velocity of the Projectile wasfortunately great enough to carry it barely above the dangerous point;and in a flash the terrible bolide disappeared rapidly several hundredyards beneath the affrighted travellers.
"Good bye! And may you never come back!" cried Ardan, hardly able tobreathe. "It's perfectly outrageous! Not room enough in infinite spaceto let an unpretending bullet like ours move about a little withoutincurring the risk of being run over by such a monster as that! What isit anyhow? Do you know, Barbican?"
"I do," was the reply.
"Of course, you do! What is it that he don't know? Eh, Captain?"
"It is a simple bolide, but one of such enormous dimensions that theEarth's attraction has made it a satellite."
"What!" cried Ardan, "another satellite besides the Moon? I hope thereare no more of them!"
"They are pretty numerous," replied Barbican; "but they are so small andthey move with such enormous velocity that they are very seldom seen.Petit, the Director of the Observatory of Toulouse, who these last yearshas devoted much time and care to the observation of bolides, hascalculated that the very one we have just encountered moves with suchastonishing swiftness that it accomplishes its revolution around theEarth in about 3 hours and 20 minutes!"
"Whew!" whistled Ardan, "where should we be now if it had struck us!"
"You don't mean to say, Barbican," observed M'Nicholl, "that Petit hasseen this very one?"
"So it appears," replied Barbican.
"And do all astronomers admit its existence?" asked the Captain.
"Well, some of them have their doubts," replied Barbican--
"If the unbelievers had been here a minute or two ago," interruptedArdan, "they would never express a doubt again."
"If Petit's calculation is right," continued Barbican, "I can even forma very good idea as to our distance from the Earth."
"It seems to me Barbican can do what he pleases here or elsewhere,"observed Ardan to the Captain.
"Let us see, Barbican," asked M'Nicholl; "where has Petit's calculationplaced us?"
"The bolide's distance being known," replied Barbican, "at the moment wemet it we were a little more than 5 thousand miles from the Earth'ssurface."
"Five thousand miles already!" cried Ardan, "why we have only juststarted!"
"Let us see about that," quietly observed the Captain, looking at hischronometer, and calculating with his pencil. "It is now 10 minutes pasteleven; we have therefore been 23 minutes on the road. Supposing ourinitial velocity of 10,000 yards or nearly seven miles a second, to havebeen kept up, we should by this time be about 9,000 miles from theEarth; but by allowing for friction and gravity, we can hardly be morethan 5,500 miles. Yes, friend Barbican, Petit does not seem to be verywrong in his calculations."
But Barbican hardly heard the observation. He had not yet answered thepuzzling question that had already presented itself to them forsolution; and until he had done so he could not attend to anything else.
"That's all very well and good, Captain," he replied in an absorbedmanner, "but we have not yet been able to account for a very strangephenomenon. Why didn't we hear the report?"
No one replying, the conversation came to a stand-still, and Barbican,still absorbed in his reflections, began clearing the second light ofits external shutter. In a few minutes the plate dropped, and the Moonbeams, flowing in, filled the interior of the Projectile with herbrilliant light. The Captain immediately put out the gas, from motivesof economy as well as because its glare somewhat interfered with theobservation of the interplanetary regions.
The Lunar disc struck the travellers as glittering with a splendor andpurity of light that they had never witnessed before. The beams, nolonger strained through the misty atmosphere of the Earth, streamedcopiously in through the glass and coated the interior walls of theProjectile with a brilliant silvery plating. The intense blackness ofthe sky enhanced the dazzling radiance of the Moon. Even the starsblazed with a new and unequalled splendor, and, in the absence of arefracting atmosphere, they flamed as bright in the close proximity ofthe Moon as in any other part of the sky.
You can easily conceive the interest with which these bold travellersgazed on the Starry Queen, the final object of their daring journey. Shewas now insensibly approaching the zenith, the mathematical point whichshe was to reach four days later. They presented their telescopes, buther mountains, plains, craters and general characteristics hardly cameout a particle more sharply than if they had been viewed from the Earth.Still, her light, unobstructed by air or vapor, shimmered with a lustreactually transplendent. Her disc shone like a mirror of polishedplatins. The travellers remained for some time absorbed in the silentcontemplation of the glorious scene.
"How they're gazing at her this very moment from Stony Hill!" said theCaptain at last to break the silence.
"By Jove!" cried Ardan; "It's true! Captain you're right. We were nearforgetting our dear old Mother, the Earth. What ungrateful children! Letme feast my eyes once more on the blessed old creature!"
Barbican, to satisfy his companion's desire, immediately commenced toclear away the disc which covered the floor of the Projectile andprevented them from getting at the lower light. This disc, though it hadbeen dashed to the bottom of the Projectile with great violence, wasstill as strong as ever, and, being made in compartments fastened byscrews, to dismount it was no easy matter. Barbican, however, with thehelp of the others, soon had it all taken apart, and put away the piecescarefully, to serve again in case of need. A round hole about a foot anda half in diameter appeared, bored through the floor of the Projectile.It was closed by a circular pane of plate-glass, which was about sixinches thick, fastened by a ring of copper. Below, on the outside, theglass was protected by an aluminium plate, kept in its place by strongbolts and nuts. The latter being unscrewed, the bolts slipped out bytheir own weight, the shutter fell, and a new communication wasestablished between the interior and the exterior.
Ardan knelt down, applied his eye to the light, and tried to look out.At first everything was quite dark and gloomy.
"I see no Earth!" he exclaimed at last.
"Don't you see a fine ribbon of light?" asked Barbican, "right beneathus? A thin, pale, silvery crescent?"
"Of course I do. Can that be the Earth?"
"_Terra Mater_ herself, friend Ardan. That fine fillet of light, nowhardly visible on her eastern border, will disappear altogether as soonas the Moon is full. Then, lying as she will be between the Sun and theMoon, her illuminated face will be turned away from us altogether, andfor several days she will be involved in impenetrable darkness."
"And that's the Earth!" repeated Ardan, hardly able to believe his eyes,as he continued to gaze on the slight thread of silvery white light,somewhat resembling the appearance of the "Young May Moon" a few hoursafter sunset.
Barbican's explanation was quite correct. The Earth, in reference to theMoon or the Projectile, was in her last phase, or octant as it iscalled, and showed a sharp-horned, attenuated, but brilliant crescentstrongly relieved by the black background of the sky. Its light,rendered a little bluish by the density of the atmospheric envelopes,was not quite as brilliant as the Moon's. But the Earth's crescent,compared to the Lunar, was of dimensions much greater, being fully 4times larger. You would have called it a vast, beautiful, but very thinbow extending over the sky. A few points, brighter than the rest,particularly in its concave part, revealed the presence of loftymountains, probably the Himalayahs. But they disappeared every now andthen under thick vapory spots, which are never seen on the Lunar disc.They were the thin concentric cloud rings that surround the terrestrialsphere.
However, the travellers' eyes were soon able to trace the rest of theEarth's surface not only with facility, but even to follow its outlinewith absolute delight. This was in consequence of two
differentphenomena, one of which they could easily account for; but the otherthey could not explain without Barbican's assistance. No wonder. Neverbefore had mortal eye beheld such a sight. Let us take each in its turn.
We all know that the ashy light by means of which we perceive what iscalled the _Old Moon in the Young Moon's arms_ is due to theEarth-shine, or the reflection of the solar rays from the Earth to theMoon. By a phenomenon exactly identical, the travellers could now seethat portion of the Earth's surface which was unillumined by the Sun;only, as, in consequence of the different areas of the respectivesurfaces, the _Earthlight_ is thirteen times more intense than the_Moonlight_, the dark portion of the Earth's disc appeared considerablymore adumbrated than the _Old Moon_.
But the other phenomenon had burst on them so suddenly that theyuttered a cry loud enough to wake up Barbican from his problem. They haddiscovered a true starry ring! Around the Earth's outline, a ring, ofinternally well defined thickness, but somewhat hazy on the outside,could easily be traced by its surpassing brilliancy. Neither the_Pleiades_, the _Northern Crown_, the _Magellanic Clouds_ nor the greatnebulas of _Orion_, or of _Argo_, no sparkling cluster, no corona, nogroup of glittering star-dust that the travellers had ever gazed at,presented such attractions as the diamond ring they now saw encompassingthe Earth, just as the brass meridian encompasses a terrestrial globe.The resplendency of its light enchanted them, its pure softnessdelighted them, its perfect regularity astonished them. What was it?they asked Barbican. In a few words he explained it. The beautifulluminous ring was simply an optical illusion, produced by the refractionof the terrestrial atmosphere. All the stars in the neighborhood of theEarth, and many actually behind it, had their rays refracted, diffused,radiated, and finally converged to a focus by the atmosphere, as if by adouble convex lens of gigantic power.
Whilst the travellers were profoundly absorbed in the contemplation ofthis wondrous sight, a sparkling shower of shooting stars suddenlyflashed over the Earth's dark surface, making it for a moment as brightas the external ring. Hundreds of bolides, catching fire from contactwith the atmosphere, streaked the darkness with their luminous trails,overspreading it occasionally with sheets of electric flame. The Earthwas just then in her perihelion, and we all know that the months ofNovember and December are so highly favorable to the appearance of thesemeteoric showers that at the famous display of November, 1866,astronomers counted as many as 8,000 between midnight and four o'clock.
Barbican explained the whole matter in a few words. The Earth, whennearest to the sun, occasionally plunges into a group of countlessmeteors travelling like comets, in eccentric orbits around the grandcentre of our solar system. The atmosphere strikes the rapidly movingbodies with such violence as to set them on fire and render them visibleto us in beautiful star showers. But to this simple explanation of thefamous November meteors Ardan would not listen. He preferred believingthat Mother Earth, feeling that her three daring children were stilllooking at her, though five thousand miles away, shot off her bestrocket-signals to show that she still thought of them and would neverlet them out of her watchful eye.
For hours they continued to gaze with indescribable interest on thefaintly luminous mass so easily distinguishable among the other heavenlybodies. Jupiter blazed on their right, Mars flashed his ruddy light ontheir left, Saturn with his rings looked like a round white spot on ablack wall; even Venus they could see almost directly under them, easilyrecognizing her by her soft, sweetly scintillant light. But no planet orconstellation possessed any attraction for the travellers, as long astheir eyes could trace that shadowy, crescent-edged, diamond-girdled,meteor-furrowed spheroid, the theatre of their existence, the home of somany undying desires, the mysterious cradle of their race!
Meantime the Projectile cleaved its way upwards, rapidly, unswervingly,though with a gradually retarding velocity. As the Earth sensibly grewdarker, and the travellers' eyes grew dimmer, an irresistible somnolencyslowly stole over their weary frames. The extraordinary excitement theyhad gone through during the last four or five hours, was naturallyfollowed by a profound reaction.
"Captain, you're nodding," said Ardan at last, after a longer silencethan usual; "the fact is, Barbican is the only wake man of the party,because he is puzzling over his problem. _Dum vivimus vivamus_! As weare asleep let us be asleep!"
So saying he threw himself on the mattress, and his companionsimmediately followed the example.
They had been lying hardly a quarter of an hour, when Barbican startedup with a cry so loud and sudden as instantly to awaken his companions.
The bright moonlight showed them the President sitting up in his bed,his eye blazing, his arms waving, as he shouted in a tone reminding themof the day they had found him in St. Helena wood.
"_Eureka!_ I've got it! I know it!"
"What have you got?" cried Ardan, bouncing up and seizing him by theright hand.
"What do you know?" cried the Captain, stretching over and seizing himby the left.
"The reason why we did not hear the report!"
"Well, why did not we hear it!" asked both rapidly in the same breath.
"Because we were shot up 30 times faster than sound can travel!"