All Around the Moon

by Jules Verne

  CHAPTER VII.

  A HIGH OLD TIME.

  A new phenomenon, therefore, strange but logical, startling butadmitting of easy explanation, was now presented to their view,affording a fresh subject for lively discussion. Not that they disputedmuch about it. They soon agreed on a principle from which they readilydeducted the following general law: _Every object thrown out of theProjectile should partake of the Projectile's motion: it shouldtherefore follow the same path, and never cease to move until theProjectile itself came to a stand-still._

  But, in sober truth, they were at anything but a loss of subjects ofwarm discussion. As the end of their journey began to approach, theirsenses became keener and their sensations vivider. Steeled againstsurprise, they looked for the unexpected, the strange, the startling;and the only thing at which they would have wondered would be to be fiveminutes without having something new to wonder at. Their excitedimaginations flew far ahead of the Projectile, whose velocity, by theway, began to be retarded very decidedly by this time, though, ofcourse, the travellers had as yet no means to become aware of it. TheMoon's size on the sky was meantime getting larger and larger; herapparent distance was growing shorter and shorter, until at last theycould almost imagine that by putting their hands out they could nearlytouch her.

  Next morning, December 5th, all were up and dressed at a very earlyhour. This was to be the last day of their journey, if all calculationswere correct. That very night, at 12 o'clock, within nineteen hours atfurthest, at the very moment of Full Moon, they were to reach herresplendent surface. At that hour was to be completed the mostextraordinary journey ever undertaken by man in ancient or modern times.Naturally enough, therefore, they found themselves unable to sleep afterfour o'clock in the morning; peering upwards through the windows nowvisibly glittering under the rays of the Moon, they spent some veryexciting hours in gazing at her slowly enlarging disc, and shouting ather with confident and joyful hurrahs.

  The majestic Queen of the Stars had now risen so high in the spangledheavens that she could hardly rise higher. In a few degrees more shewould reach the exact point of space where her junction with theProjectile was to be effected. According to his own observations,Barbican calculated that they should strike her in the northernhemisphere, where her plains, or _seas_ as they are called, are immense,and her mountains are comparatively rare. This, of course, would be somuch the more favorable, if, as was to be apprehended, the lunaratmosphere was confined exclusively to the low lands.

  "Besides," as Ardan observed, "a plain is a more suitable landing placethan a mountain. A Selenite deposited on the top of Mount Everest oreven on Mont Blanc, could hardly be considered, in strict language, tohave arrived on Earth."

  "Not to talk," added M'Nicholl, "of the comfort of the thing! When youland on a plain, there you are. When you land on a peak or on a steepmountain side, where are you? Tumbling over an embankment with the traingoing forty miles an hour, would be nothing to it."

  "Therefore, Captain Barbican," cried the Frenchman, "as we should liketo appear before the Selenites in full skins, please land us in the snugthough unromantic North. We shall have time enough to break our necks inthe South."

  Barbican made no reply to his companions, because a new reflection hadbegun to trouble him, to talk about which would have done no good. Therewas certainly something wrong. The Projectile was evidently headingtowards the northern hemisphere of the Moon. What did this prove?Clearly, a deviation resulting from some cause. The bullet, lodged,aimed, and fired with the most careful mathematical precision, had beencalculated to reach the very centre of the Moon's disc. Clearly it wasnot going to the centre now. What could have produced the deviation?This Barbican could not tell; nor could he even determine its extent,having no points of sight by which to make his observations. For thepresent he tried to console himself with the hope that the deviation ofthe Projectile would be followed by no worse consequence than carryingthem towards the northern border of the Moon, where for several reasonsit would be comparatively easier to alight. Carefully avoiding,therefore, the use of any expression which might needlessly alarm hiscompanions, he continued to observe the Moon as carefully as he could,hoping every moment to find some grounds for believing that thedeviation from the centre was only a slight one. He almost shuddered atthe thought of what would be their situation, if the bullet, missing itsaim, should pass the Moon, and plunge into the interplanetary spacebeyond it.

  As he continued to gaze, the Moon, instead of presenting the usualflatness of her disc, began decidedly to show a surface somewhat convex.Had the Sun been shining on her obliquely, the shadows would havecertainly thrown the great mountains into strong relief. The eye couldthen bury itself deep in the yawning chasms of the craters, and easilyfollow the cracks, streaks, and ridges which stripe, flecker, and barthe immensity of her plains. But for the present all relief was lost inthe dazzling glare. The Captain could hardly distinguish even those darkspots that impart to the full Moon some resemblance to the human face.

  "Face!" cried Ardan: "well, a very fanciful eye may detect a face,though, for the sake of Apollo's beauteous sister, I regret to say, aterribly pockmarked one!"

  The travellers, now evidently approaching the end of their journey,observed the rapidly increasing world above them with newer and greatercuriosity every moment. Their fancies enkindled at the sight of the newand strange scenes dimly presented to their view. In imagination theyclimbed to the summit of this lofty peak. They let themselves down tothe abyss of that yawning crater. Here they imagined they saw vast seashardly kept in their basins by a rarefied atmosphere; there they thoughtthey could trace mighty rivers bearing to vast oceans the tribute of thesnowy mountains. In the first promptings of their eager curiosity, theypeered greedily into her cavernous depths, and almost expected, amidstthe deathlike hush of inaudible nature, to surprise some sound from themystic orb floating up there in eternal silence through a boundlessocean of never ending vacuum.

  This last day of their journey left their memories stored with thrillingrecollections. They took careful note of the slightest details. As theyneared their destination, they felt themselves invaded by a vague,undefined restlessness. But this restlessness would have given way todecided uneasiness, if they had known at what a slow rate they weretravelling. They would have surely concluded that their present velocitywould never be able to take them as far as the neutral point, not totalk of passing it. The reason of such considerable retardation was,that by this time the Projectile had reached such a great distance fromthe Earth that it had hardly any weight. But even this weight, such asit was, was to be diminished still further, and finally, to vanishaltogether as soon as the bullet reached the neutral point, where thetwo attractions, terrestrial and lunar, should counteract each otherwith new and surprising effects.

  Notwithstanding the absorbing nature of his observations, Ardan neverforgot to prepare breakfast with his usual punctuality. It was eatenreadily and relished heartily. Nothing could be more exquisite than hiscalf's foot jelly liquefied and prepared by gas heat, except perhaps hismeat biscuits of preserved Texas beef and Southdown mutton. A bottle ofChateau Yquem and another of Clos de Vougeot, both of superlativeexcellence in quality and flavor, crowned the repast. Their vicinity tothe Moon and their incessant glancing at her surface did not prevent thetravellers from touching each other's glasses merrily and often. Ardantook occasion to remark that the lunar vineyards--if any existed--mustbe magnificent, considering the intense solar heat they continuallyexperienced. Not that he counted on them too confidently, for he toldhis friends that to provide for the worst he had supplied himself with afew cases of the best vintages of Medoc and the Cote d'Or, of which thebottles, then under discussion, might be taken as very favorablespecimens.

  The Reiset and Regnault apparatus for purifying the air workedsplendidly, and maintained the atmosphere in a perfectly sanitarycondition. Not an atom of carbonic acid could resist the caustic potash;and as for the oxygen, according to M'Nicholl's expression, "it was Aprime
number one!"

  The small quantity of watery vapor enclosed in the Projectile did nomore harm than serving to temper the dryness of the air: many a splendid_salon_ in New York, London, or Paris, and many an auditorium, even oftheatre, opera house or Academy of Music, could be considered itsinferior in what concerned its hygienic condition.

  To keep it in perfect working order, the apparatus should be carefullyattended to. This, Ardan looked on as his own peculiar occupation. Hewas never tired regulating the tubes, trying the taps, and testing theheat of the gas by the pyrometer. So far everything had workedsatisfactorily, and the travellers, following the example of theirfriend Marston on a previous occasion, began to get so stout that theirown mothers would not know them in another month, should theirimprisonment last so long. Ardan said they all looked so sleek andthriving that he was reminded forcibly of a nice lot of pigs fatteningin a pen for a country fair. But how long was this good fortune oftheirs going to last?

  Whenever they took their eyes off the Moon, they could not help noticingthat they were still attended outside by the spectre of Satellite'scorpse and by the other refuse of the Projectile. An occasionalmelancholy howl also attested Diana's recognition of her companion'sunhappy fate. The travellers saw with surprise that these waifs stillseemed perfectly motionless in space, and kept their respectivedistances apart as mathematically as if they had been fastened withnails to a stone wall.

  "I tell you what, dear boys;" observed Ardan, commenting on this curiousphenomenon; "if the concussion had been a little too violent for one ofus that night, his survivors would have been seriously embarrassed intrying to get rid of his remains. With no earth to cover him up, no seato plunge him into, his corpse would never disappear from view, butwould pursue us day and night, grim and ghastly like an avenging ghost!"

  "Ugh!" said the Captain, shuddering at the idea.

  "But, by the bye, Barbican!" cried the Frenchman, dropping the subjectwith his usual abruptness; "you have forgotten something else! Whydidn't you bring a scaphander and an air pump? I could then venture outof the Projectile as readily and as safely as the diver leaves his boatand walks about on the bottom of the river! What fun to float in themidst of that mysterious ether! to steep myself, aye, actually to revelin the pure rays of the glorious sun! I should have ventured out on thevery point of the Projectile, and there I should have danced andpostured and kicked and bobbed and capered in a style that Taglioninever dreamed of!"

  "Shouldn't I like to see you!" cried the Captain grimly, smiling at theidea.

  "You would not see him long!" observed Barbican quietly. "The airconfined in his body, freed from external pressure, would burst him likea shell, or like a balloon that suddenly rises to too great a height inthe air! A scaphander would have been a fatal gift. Don't regret itsabsence, friend Michael; never forget this axiom: _As long as we arefloating in empty space, the only spot where safety is possible isinside the Projectile!_"

  The words "possible" and "impossible" always grated on Ardan's ears. Ifhe had been a lexicographer, he would have rigidly excluded them fromhis dictionary, both as meaningless and useless. He was preparing ananswer for Barbican, when he was cut out by a sudden observation fromM'Nicholl.

  "See here, friends!" cried the Captain; "this going to the Moon is allvery well, but how shall we get back?"

  His listeners looked at each other with a surprised and perplexed air.The question, though a very natural one, now appeared to have presenteditself to their consideration absolutely for the first time.

  "What do you mean by such a question, Captain?" asked Barbican in agrave judicial tone.

  "Mac, my boy," said Ardan seriously, "don't it strike you as a littleout of order to ask how you are to return when you have not got thereyet?"

  "I don't ask the question with any idea of backing out," observed theCaptain quietly; "as a matter of purely scientific inquiry, I repeat myquestion: how are we to return?"

  "I don't know," replied Barbican promptly.

  "For my part," said Ardan; "if I had known how to get back, I shouldhave never come at all!"

  "Well! of all the answers!" said the Captain, lifting his hands andshaking his head.

  "The best under the circumstances;" observed Barbican; "and I shallfurther observe that such a question as yours at present is both uselessand uncalled for. On some future occasion, when we shall consider itadvisable to return, the question will be in order, and we shall discussit with all the attention it deserves. Though the Columbiad is at StonyHill, the Projectile will still be in the Moon."

  "Much we shall gain by that! A bullet without a gun!"

  "The gun we can make and the powder too!" replied Barbican confidently."Metal and sulphur and charcoal and saltpetre are likely enough to bepresent in sufficient quantities beneath the Moon's surface. Besides, toreturn is a problem of comparatively easy solution: we should have toovercome the lunar attraction only--a slight matter--the rest of thebusiness would be readily done by gravity."

  "Enough said on the subject!" exclaimed Ardan curtly; "how to get backis indefinitely postponed! How to communicate with our friends on theEarth, is another matter, and, as it seems to me, an extremely easyone."

  "Let us hear the very easy means by which you propose to communicatewith our friends on Earth," asked the Captain, with a sneer, for he wasby this time a little out of humor.

  "By means of bolides ejected from the lunar volcanoes," replied theFrenchman without an instant's hesitation.

  "Well said, friend Ardan," exclaimed Barbican. "I am quite disposed toacknowledge the feasibility of your plan. Laplace has calculated that aforce five times greater than that of an ordinary cannon would besufficient to send a bolide from the Moon to the Earth. Now there is nocannon that can vie in force with even the smallest volcano."

  "Hurrah!" cried Ardan, delighted at his success; "just imagine thepleasure of sending our letters postage free! But--oh! what a splendididea!--Dolts that we were for not thinking of it sooner!"

  "Let us have the splendid idea!" cried the Captain, with some of his oldacrimony.

  "Why didn't we fasten a wire to the Projectile?" asked Ardan,triumphantly, "It would have enabled us to exchange telegrams with theEarth!"

  "Ho! ho! ho!" roared the Captain, rapidly recovering his good humor;"decidedly the best joke of the season! Ha! ha! ha! Of course you havecalculated the weight of a wire 240 thousand miles long?"

  "No matter about its weight!" cried the Frenchman impetuously; "weshould have laughed at its weight! We could have tripled the charge ofthe Columbiad; we could have quadrupled it!--aye, quintupled it, ifnecessary!" he added in tones evidently increasing in loudness andviolence.

  "Yes, friend Michael," observed Barbican; "but there is a slight andunfortunately a fatal defect in your project. The Earth, by itsrotation, would have wrapped our wire around herself, like thread arounda spool, and dragged us back almost with the speed of lightning!"

  "By the Nine gods of Porsena!" cried Ardan, "something is wrong with myhead to-day! My brain is out of joint, and I am making as nice a mess ofthings as my friend Marston was ever capable of! By the bye--talking ofMarston--if we never return to the Earth, what is to prevent him fromfollowing us to the Moon?"

  "Nothing!" replied Barbican; "he is a faithful friend and a reliablecomrade. Besides, what is easier? Is not the Columbiad still at StonyHill? Cannot gun-cotton be readily manufactured on any occasion? Willnot the Moon again pass through the zenith of Florida? Eighteen yearsfrom now, will she not occupy exactly the same spot that she doesto-day?"

  "Certainly!" cried Ardan, with increasing enthusiasm, "Marston willcome! and Elphinstone of the torpedo! and the gallant Bloomsbury, andBillsby the brave, and all our friends of the Baltimore Gun Club! And weshall receive them with all the honors! And then we shall establishprojectile trains between the Earth and the Moon! Hurrah for J.T.Marston!"

  "Hurrah for Secretary Marston!" cried the Captain, with an enthusiasmalmost equal to Ardan's.

  "Hurrah for my dear
friend Marston!" cried Barbican, hardly lessexcited than his comrades.

  Our old acquaintance, Marston, of course could not have heard the joyousacclamations that welcomed his name, but at that moment he certainlymust have felt his ears most unaccountably tingling. What was he doingat the time? He was rattling along the banks of the Kansas River, asfast as an express train could take him, on the road to Long's Peak,where, by means of the great Telescope, he expected to find some tracesof the Projectile that contained his friends. He never forgot them for amoment, but of course he little dreamed that his name at that very timewas exciting their vividest recollections and their warmest applause.

  In fact, their recollections were rather too vivid, and their applausedecidedly too warm. Was not the animation that prevailed among theguests of the Projectile of a very unusual character, and was it notbecoming more and more violent every moment? Could the wine have causedit? No; though not teetotallers, they never drank to excess. Could theMoon's proximity, shedding her subtle, mysterious influence over theirnervous systems, have stimulated them to a degree that was threateningto border on frenzy? Their faces were as red as if they were standingbefore a hot fire; their breathing was loud, and their lungs heaved likea smith's bellows; their eyes blazed like burning coals; their voicessounded as loud and harsh as that of a stump speaker trying to makehimself heard by an inattentive or hostile crowd; their words poppedfrom their lips like corks from Champagne bottles; their gesticulatingbecame wilder and in fact more alarming--considering the little roomleft in the Projectile for muscular displays of any kind.

  But the most extraordinary part of the whole phenomenon was that neitherof them, not even Barbican, had the slightest consciousness of anystrange or unusual ebullition of spirits either on his own part or onthat of the others.

  "See here, gentlemen!" said the Captain in a quick imperious manner--theroughness of his old life on the Mississippi would still break out--"Seehere, gentlemen! It seems I'm not to know if we are to return from theMoon. Well!--Pass that for the present! But there is one thing I _must_know!"

  "Hear! hear the Captain!" cried Barbican, stamping with his foot, likean excited fencing master. "There is one thing he _must_ know!"

  "I want to know what we're going to do when we get there!"

  "He wants to know what we're going to do when we get there! A sensiblequestion! Answer it, Ardan!"

  "Answer it yourself, Barbican! You know more about the Moon than I do!You know more about it than all the Nasmyths that ever lived!"

  "I'm blessed if I know anything at all about it!" cried Barbican, with ajoyous laugh. "Ha, ha, ha! The first eastern shore Marylander or anyother simpleton you meet in Baltimore, knows as much about the Moon asI do! Why we're going there, I can't tell! What we're going to do whenwe get there, can't tell either! Ardan knows all about it! He can tell!He's taking us there!"

  "Certainly I can tell! should I have offered to take you there without agood object in view?" cried Ardan, husky with continual roaring. "Answerme that!"

  "No conundrums!" cried the Captain, in a voice sourer and rougher thanever; "tell us if you can in plain English, what the demon we have comehere for!"

  "I'll tell you if I feel like it," cried Ardan, folding his arms with anaspect of great dignity; "and I'll not tell you if I don't feel likeit!"

  "What's that?" cried Barbican. "You'll not give us an answer when we askyou a reasonable question?"

  "Never!" cried Ardan, with great determination. "I'll never answer aquestion reasonable or unreasonable, unless it is asked in a propermanner!"

  "None of your French airs here!" exclaimed M'Nicholl, by this timealmost completely out of himself between anger and excitement. "I don'tknow where I am; I don't know where I'm going; I don't know why I'mgoing; _you_ know all about it, Ardan, or at least you think you do!Well then, give me a plain answer to a plain question, or by theThirty-eight States of our glorious Union, I shall know what for!"

  "Listen, Ardan!" cried Barbican, grappling with the Frenchman, and withsome difficulty restraining him from flying at M'Nicholl's throat; "Youought to tell him! It is only your duty! One day you found us both inSt. Helena woods, where we had no more idea of going to the Moon than ofsailing to the South Pole! There you twisted us both around your finger,and induced us to follow you blindly on the most formidable journey everundertaken by man! And now you refuse to tell us what it was all for!"

  "I don't refuse, dear old Barbican! To you, at least, I can't refuseanything!" cried Ardan, seizing his friend's hands and wringing themviolently. Then letting them go and suddenly starting back, "you wish toknow," he continued in resounding tones, "why we have followed out thegrandest idea that ever set a human brain on fire! Why we haveundertaken a journey that for length, danger, and novelty, forfascinating, soul-stirring and delirious sensations, for all that canattract man's burning heart, and satisfy the intensest cravings of hisintellect, far surpasses the vividest realities of Dante's passionatedream! Well, I will tell you! It is to annex another World to the NewOne! It is to take possession of the Moon in the name of the UnitedStates of America! It is to add a thirty-ninth State to the gloriousUnion! It is to colonize the lunar regions, to cultivate them, to peoplethem, to transport to them some of our wonders of art, science, andindustry! It is to civilize the Selenites, unless they are morecivilized already than we are ourselves! It is to make them all goodRepublicans, if they are not so already!"

  "Provided, of course, that there are Selenites in existence!" sneeredthe Captain, now sourer than ever, and in his unaccountable excitementdoubly irritating.

  "Who says there are no Selenites?" cried Ardan fiercely, with fistsclenched and brows contracted.

  "I do!" cried M'Nicholl stoutly; "I deny the existence of anything ofthe kind, and I denounce every one that maintains any such whim as avisionary, if not a fool!"

  Ardan's reply to this taunt was a desperate facer, which, however,Barbican managed to stop while on its way towards the Captain's nose.M'Nicholl, seeing himself struck at, immediately assumed such a postureof defence as showed him to be no novice at the business. A battleseemed unavoidable; but even at this trying moment Barbican showedhimself equal to the emergency.

  "Stop, you crazy fellows! you ninnyhammers! you overgrown babies!" heexclaimed, seizing his companions by the collar, and violently swingingthem around with his vast strength until they stood back to back; "whatare you going to fight about? Suppose there are Lunarians in the Moon!Is that a reason why there should be Lunatics in the Projectile! But,Ardan, why do you insist on Lunarians? Are we so shiftless that we can'tdo without them when we get to the Moon?"

  "I don't insist on them!" cried Ardan, who submitted to Barbican like achild. "Hang the Lunarians! Certainly, we can do without them! What do Icare for them? Down with them!"

  "Yes, down with the Lunarians!" cried M'Nicholl as spitefully as if hehad even the slightest belief in their existence.

  "We shall take possession of the Moon ourselves!" cried Ardan."Lunarians or no Lunarians!"

  "We three shall constitute a Republic!" cried M'Nicholl.

  "I shall be the House!" cried Ardan.

  "And I the Senate!" answered the Captain.

  "And Barbican our first President!" shrieked the Frenchman.

  "Our first and last!" roared M'Nicholl.

  "No objections to a third term!" yelled Ardan.

  "He's welcome to any number of terms he pleases!" vociferated M'Nicholl.

  "Hurrah for President Barbican of the Lunatic--I mean of the LunarRepublic!" screamed Ardan.

  "Long may he wave, and may his shadow never grow less!" shouted CaptainM'Nicholl, his eyes almost out of their sockets.

  Then with voices reminding you of sand fiercely blown against the windowpanes, the _President_ and the _Senate_ chanted the immortal _YankeeDoodle_, whilst the _House_ delivered itself of the _Marseillaise_, in astyle which even the wildest Jacobins in Robespierre's day could hardlyhave surpassed.

  But long before either song was ended, a
ll three broke out into adance, wild, insensate, furious, delirious, paroxysmatical. No Orphicfestivals on Mount Cithaeron ever raged more wildly. No Bacchic revelson Mount Parnassus were ever more corybantic. Diana, demented by themaddening example, joined in the orgie, howling and barking franticallyin her turn, and wildly jumping as high as the ceiling of theProjectile. Then came new accessions to the infernal din. Wings suddenlybegan to flutter, cocks to crow, hens to cluck; and five or sixchickens, managing to escape out of their coop, flew backwards andforwards blindly, with frightened screams, dashing against each otherand against the walls of the Projectile, and altogether getting up asdemoniacal a hullabaloo as could be made by ten thousand bats that yousuddenly disturbed in a cavern where they had slept through the winter.

  Then the three companions, no longer able to withstand the overpoweringinfluence of the mysterious force that mastered them, intoxicated, morethan drunk, burned by the air that scorched their organs of respiration,dropped at last, and lay flat, motionless, senseless as dabs of clay, onthe floor of the Projectile.

  A DEMONIACAL HULLABALOO.]