The night passed without incident. Correctly speaking, the word "night" is an improper one. The position of the projectile in regard to the sun did not change. Astronomically it was day on the bottom of the bullet, and night on the top. When, therefore, in this recital these two words are used they express the lapse of time between the rising and setting of the sun upon earth.
The travellers' sleep was so much the more peaceful because, notwithstanding its excessive speed, the projectile seemed absolutely motionless. No movement indicated its journey through space. However rapidly change of place may be effected, it cannot produce any sensible effect upon the organism when it takes place in the void, or when the mass of air circulates along with the travelling body. What inhabitant of the earth perceives the speed which carries him along at the rate of 68,000 miles an hour? Movement under such circumstances is not felt more than repose. Every object is indifferent to it. When a body is in repose it remains so until some foreign force puts it in movement. When in movement it would never stop if some obstacle were not in its road. This indifference to movement or repose is inertia.
Barbicane and his companions could, therefore, imagine themselves absolutely motionless, shut up in the interior of the projectile. The effect would have been the same if they had placed themselves on the outside. Without the moon, which grew larger above them, and the earth that grew smaller below, they would have sworn they were suspended in a complete stagnation.
That morning, the 3rd of December, they were awakened by a joyful but unexpected noise. It was the crowing of a cock in the interior of their vehicle.
Michel Ardan was the first to get up; he climbed to the top of the projectile and closed a partly-open case.
"Be quiet," said he in a whisper. "That animal will spoil my plan!"
In the meantime Nicholl and Barbicane awoke.
"Was that a cock?" said Nicholl.
"No, my friends," answered Michel quickly. "I wished to awake you with that rural sound."
So saying he gave vent to a cock-a-doodle-do which would have done honour to the proudest of gallinaceans.
The two Americans could not help laughing.
"A fine accomplishment that," said Nicholl, looking suspiciously at his companion.
"Yes," answered Michel, "a joke common in my country. It is very Gallic.We perpetrate it in the best society."
Then turning the conversation—
"Barbicane, do you know what I have been thinking about all night?"
"No," answered the president.
"About our friends at Cambridge. You have already remarked how admirably ignorant I am of mathematics. I find it, therefore, impossible to guess how oursavantsof the observatory could calculate what initial velocity the projectile ought to be endowed with on leaving the Columbiad in order to reach the moon."
"You mean," replied Barbicane, "in order to reach that neutral point where the terrestrial and lunar attractions are equal; for beyond this point, situated at about 0.9 of the distance, the projectile will fall upon the moon by virtue of its own weight merely."
"Very well," answered Michel; "but once more; how did they calculate the initial velocity?"
"Nothing is easier," said Barbicane.
"And could you have made the calculation yourself?" asked Michel Ardan.
"Certainly; Nicholl and I could have determined it if the notice from the observatory had not saved us the trouble."
"Well, old fellow," answered Michel, "they might sooner cut off my head, beginning with my feet, than have made me solve that problem!"
"Because you do not know algebra," replied Barbicane tranquilly.
"Ah, that's just like you dealers inx! You think you have explained everything when you have said 'algebra.'"
"Michel," replied Barbicane, "do you think it possible to forge without a hammer, or to plough without a ploughshare?"
"It would be difficult."
"Well, then, algebra is a tool like a plough or a hammer, and a good tool for any one who knows how to use it."
"Seriously?"
"Quite."
"Could you use that tool before me?"
"If it would interest you."
"And could you show me how they calculated the initial speed of our vehicle?"
"Yes, my worthy friend. By taking into account all the elements of the problem, the distance from the centre of the earth to the centre of the moon, of the radius of the earth, the volume of the earth and the volume of the moon, I can determine exactly what the initial speed of the projectile ought to be, and that by a very simple formula."
"Show me the formula."
"You shall see it. Only I will not give you the curve really traced by the bullet between the earth and the moon, by taking into account their movement of translation round the sun. No. I will consider both bodies to be motionless, and that will be sufficient for us."
"Why?"
"Because that would be seeking to solve the problem called 'the problem of the three bodies,' for which the integral calculus is not yet far enough advanced."
"Indeed," said Michel Ardan in a bantering tone; "then mathematics have not said their last word."
"Certainly not," answered Barbicane.
"Good! Perhaps the Selenites have pushed the integral calculus further than you! By-the-bye, what is the integral calculus?"
"It is the inverse of the differential calculus," answered Barbicane seriously.
"Much obliged."
"To speak otherwise, it is a calculus by which you seek finished quantities of what you know the differential quantities."
"That is clear at least," answered Barbicane with a quite satisfied air.
"And now," continued Barbicane, "for a piece of paper and a pencil, and in half-an-hour I will have found the required formula."
That said, Barbicane became absorbed in his work, whilst Nicholl looked into space, leaving the care of preparing breakfast to his companion.
Half-an-hour had not elapsed before Barbicane, raising his head, showed Michel Ardan a page covered with algebraical signs, amidst which the following general formula was discernible:—
1 2 2 r m' r r - (v - v ) = gr { —- - 1 + —- ( —- - —-) } 2 0 x m d-x d-r
"And what does that mean?" asked Michel.
"That means," answered Nicholl, "that the half ofvminusvzero square equalsgrmultiplied byruponxminus 1 plusmprime uponmmultiplied byrupondminusx, minusrupondminusxminusr—"
"Xuponygalloping uponzand rearing uponp" cried Michel Ardan, bursting out laughing. "Do you mean to say you understand that, captain?"
"Nothing is clearer."
"Then," said Michel Ardan, "it is as plain as a pikestaff, and I want nothing more."
"Everlasting laugher," said Barbicane, "you wanted algebra, and now you shall have it over head and ears."
"I would rather be hung!"
"That appears a good solution, Barbicane," said Nicholl, who was examining the formula like aconnaisseur. "It is the integral of the equation of 'vis viva,' and I do not doubt that it will give us the desired result."
"But I should like to understand!" exclaimed Michel. "I would give ten years of Nicholl's life to understand!"
"Then listen," resumed Barbicane. "The half ofvminusvzero square is the formula that gives us the demi-variation of the 'vis viva.'"
"Good; and does Nicholl understand what that means?"
"Certainly, Michel," answered the captain. "All those signs that look so cabalistic to you form the clearest and most logical language for those who know how to read it."
"And do you pretend, Nicholl," asked Michel, "that by means of these hieroglyphics, more incomprehensible than the Egyptian ibis, you can find the initial speed necessary to give to the projectile?"
"Incontestably," answered Nicholl; "and even by that formula I could always tell you what speed it is going at on any point of the journey."
"Upon your word of honour?"
"Yes."
"Then you are as clever as our president."
"No, Michel, all the difficulty consists in what Barbicane has done. It is to establish an equation which takes into account all the conditions of the problem. The rest is only a question of arithmetic, and requires nothing but a knowledge of the four rules."
"That's something," answered Michel Ardan, who had never been able to make a correct addition in his life, and who thus defined the rule: "A Chinese puzzle, by which you can obtain infinitely various results."
Still Barbicane answered that Nicholl would certainly have found the formula had he thought about it.
"I do not know if I should," said Nicholl, "for the more I study it the more marvellously correct I find it."
"Now listen," said Barbicane to his ignorant comrade, "and you will see that all these letters have a signification."
"I am listening," said Michel, looking resigned.
"d," said Barbicane, "is the distance from the centre of the earth to the centre of the moon, for we must take the centres to calculate the attraction."
"That I understand."
"ris the radius of the earth."
"r, radius; admitted."
"mis the volume of the earth;m primethat of the moon. We are obliged to take into account the volume of the two attracting bodies, as the attraction is in proportion to the volume."
"I understand that."
"grepresents gravity, the speed acquired at the end of a second by a body falling on the surface of the earth. Is that clear?"
"A mountain stream!" answered Michel.
"Now I represent byxthe variable distance that separates the projectile from the centre of the earth, and byvthe velocity the projectile has at that distance."
"Good."
"Lastly, the expressionvzero which figures in the equation is the speed the bullet possesses when it emerges from the atmosphere."
"Yes," said Nicholl, "you were obliged to calculate the velocity from that point, because we knew before that the velocity at departure is exactly equal to 3/2 of the velocity upon emerging from the atmosphere."
"Don't understand any more!" said Michel.
"Yet it is very simple," said Barbicane.
"I do not find it very simple," replied Michel.
"It means that when our projectile reached the limit of the terrestrial atmosphere it had already lost one-third of its initial velocity."
"As much as that?"
"Yes, my friend, simply by friction against the atmosphere. You will easily understand that the greater its speed the more resistance it would meet with from the air."
"That I admit," answered Michel, "and I understand it, although yourvzero two and yourvzero square shake about in my head like nails in a sack."
"First effect of algebra," continued Barbicane. "And now to finish we are going to find the numerical known quantity of these different expressions—that is to say, find out their value."
"You will finish me first!" answered Michel.
"Some of these expressions," said Barbicane, "are known; the others have to be calculated."
"I will calculate those," said Nicholl.
"Andr," resumed Barbicane, "ris the radius of the earth under the latitude of Florida, our point of departure,d—that is to say, the distance from the centre of the earth to the centre of the moon equals fifty-six terrestrial radii—"
Nicholl rapidly calculated.
"That makes 356,720,000 metres when the moon is at her perigee—that is to say, when she is nearest to the earth."
"Very well," said Barbicane, "nowmprime uponm—that is to say, the proportion of the moon's volume to that of the earth equals 1/81."
"Perfect," said Michel.
"Andg, the gravity, is to Florida 9-1/81 metres. From whence it results thatgrequals—"
"Sixty-two million four hundred and twenty-six thousand square metres," answered Nicholl.
"What next?" asked Michel Ardan.
"Now that the expressions are reduced to figures, I am going to find the velocityv zero—that is to say, the velocity that the projectile ought to have on leaving the atmosphere to reach the point of equal attraction with no velocity. The velocity at that point I make equalzero, andx, the distance where the neutral point is, will be represented by the nine-tenths ofd—that is to say, the distance that separates the two centres."
"I have some vague idea that it ought to be so," said Michel.
"I shall then have,xequals nine-tenths ofd, andvequalszero, and my formula will become—"
Barbicane wrote rapidly on the paper—
2 10r 1 10r rv = 2 gr { 1 - —- —- ( —- - —-) }0 9d 81 d d-r
Nicholl read it quickly.
"That's it! that is it!" he cried.
"Is it clear?" asked Barbicane.
"It is written in letters of fire!" answered Nicholl.
"Clever fellows!" murmured Michel.
"Do you understand now?" asked Barbicane.
"If I understand!" cried Michel Ardan. "My head is bursting with it."
"Thus," resumed Barbicane, "v zerosquare equals 2grmultiplied by 1 minus 10rupon 9dminus 1/81 multiplied by 10rupondminusrupondminusr."
"And now," said Nicholl, "in order to obtain the velocity of the bullet as it emerges from the atmosphere I have only to calculate."
The captain, like a man used to overcome all difficulties, began to calculate with frightful rapidity. Divisions and multiplications grew under his fingers. Figures dotted the page. Barbicane followed him with his eyes, whilst Michel Ardan compressed a coming headache with his two hands.
"Well, what do you make it?" asked Barbicane after several minutes' silence.
"I make it 11,051 metres in the first second."
"What do you say?" said Barbicane, starting.
"Eleven thousand and fifty-one metres."
"Malediction!" cried the president with a gesture of despair.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Michel Ardan, much surprised.
"The matter! why if at this moment the velocity was already diminished one-third by friction, the initial speed ought to have been—"
"Sixteen thousand five hundred and seventy-six metres!" answeredNicholl.
"But the Cambridge Observatory declared that 11,000 metres were enough at departure, and our bullet started with that velocity only!"
"Well?" asked Nicholl.
"Why it was not enough!"
"No."
"We shall not reach the neutral point."
"The devil!"
"We shall not even go half way!"
"Nom d'un boulet!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, jumping up as if the projectile were on the point of striking against the terrestrial globe.
"And we shall fall back upon the earth!"
This revelation acted like a thunderbolt. Who could have expected such an error in calculation? Barbicane would not believe it. Nicholl went over the figures again. They were correct. The formula which had established them could not be mistrusted, and, when verified, the initial velocity of 16,576 metres, necessary for attaining the neutral point, was found quite right.
The three friends looked at one another in silence. No one thought about breakfast after that. Barbicane, with set teeth, contracted brow, and fists convulsively closed, looked through the port-light. Nicholl folded his arms and examined his calculations. Michel Ardan murmured—
"That's just likesavants! That's the way they always do! I would give twenty pistoles to fall upon the Cambridge Observatory and crush it, with all its stupid staff inside!"
All at once the captain made a reflection which struck Barbicane at once.
"Why," said he, "it is seven o'clock in the morning, so we have been thirty-two hours on the road. We have come more than half way, and we are not falling yet that I know of!"
Barbicane did not answer, but after a rapid glance at the captain he took a compass, which he used to measure the angular distance of the terrestrial globe. Then through the lower port-light he made a very exact observation from the apparent immobility of the projectile. Then rising and wiping the perspiration from his brow, he put down some figures upon paper. Nicholl saw that the president wished to find out from the length of the terrestrial diameter the distance of the bullet from the earth. He looked at him anxiously.
"No!" cried Barbicane in a few minutes' time, "we are not falling! We are already more than 50,000 leagues from the earth! We have passed the point the projectile ought to have stopped at if its speed had been only 11,000 metres at our departure! We are still ascending!"
"That is evident," answered Nicholl; "so we must conclude that our initial velocity, under the propulsion of the 400,000 lbs. of gun-cotton, was greater than the 11,000 metres. I can now explain to myself why we met with the second satellite, that gravitates at more than 2,000 leagues from the earth, in less than thirteen minutes."
"That explanation is so much the more probable," added Barbicane, "because by throwing out the water in our movable partitions the projectile was made considerably lighter all at once."
"That is true," said Nicholl.
"Ah, my brave Nicholl," cried Barbicane, "we are saved!"
"Very well then," answered Michel Ardan tranquilly, "as we are saved, let us have breakfast."
Nicholl was not mistaken. The initial speed had happily been greater than that indicated by the Cambridge Observatory, but the Cambridge Observatory had no less been mistaken.
The travellers, recovered from their false alarm, sat down to table and breakfasted merrily. Though they ate much they talked more. Their confidence was greater after the "algebra incident."
"Why should we not succeed?" repeated Michel Ardan. "Why should we not arrive? We are on the road; there are no obstacles before us, and no stones on our route. It is free—freer than that of a ship that has to struggle with the sea, or a balloon with the wind against it! Now if a ship can go where it pleases, or a balloon ascend where it pleases, why should not our projectile reach the goal it was aimed at?"
"It will reach it," said Barbicane.
"If only to honour the American nation," added Michel Ardan, "the only nation capable of making such an enterprise succeed—the only one that could have produced a President Barbicane! Ah! now I think of it, now that all our anxieties are over, what will become of us? We shall be as dull as stagnant water."
Barbicane and Nicholl made gestures of repudiation.
"But I foresaw this, my friends," resumed Michel Ardan. "You have only to say the word. I have chess, backgammon, cards, and dominoes at your disposition. We only want a billiard-table!"
"What?" asked Barbicane, "did you bring such trifles as those?"
"Certainly," answered Michel; "not only for our amusement, but also in the praiseworthy intention of bestowing them upon Selenite inns."
"My friend," said Barbicane, "if the moon is inhabited its inhabitants appeared some thousands of years before those of the earth, for it cannot be doubted that the moon is older than the earth. If, therefore, the Selenites have existed for thousands of centuries—if their brains are organised like that of human beings—they have invented all that we have invented, already, and even what we shall only invent in the lapse of centuries. They will have nothing to learn from us, and we shall have everything to learn from them."
"What!" answered Michel, "do you think they have had artists likePhidias, Michael Angelo, or Raphael?"
"Yes."
"Poets like Homer, Virgil, Milton, Lamartine, and Hugo?"
"I am sure of it."
"Philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, and Kant?"
"I have no doubt of it."
"Savantslike Archimedes, Euclid, Pascal, and Newton?"
"I could swear it."
"Clowns like Arnal, and photographers like—Nadar?"
"I am certain of it."
"Then, friend Barbicane, if these Selenites are as learned as we, and even more so, why have they not hurled a lunar projectile as far as the terrestrial regions?"
"Who says they have not done it?" answered Barbicane seriously.
"In fact," added Nicholl, "it would have been easier to them than to us, and that for two reasons—the first because the attraction is six times less on the surface of the moon than on the surface of the earth, which would allow a projectile to go up more easily; secondly the projectile would only have 8,000 leagues to travel instead of 80,000, which would require a force of propulsion ten times less."
"Then," resumed Michel, "I repeat—why have they not done it?"
"And I," replied Barbicane, "I repeat—who says they have not done it?"
"When?"
"Hundreds of centuries ago, before man's appearance upon earth."
"And the bullet? Where is the bullet? I ask to see the bullet!"
"My friend," answered Barbicane, "the sea covers five-sixths of our globe, hence there are five good reasons for supposing that the lunar projectile, if it has been fired, is now submerged at the bottom of the Atlantic or Pacific, unless it was buried down some abyss at the epoch when the earth's crust was not sufficiently formed."
"Old fellow," answered Michel, "you have an answer to everything, and I bow before your wisdom. There is one hypothesis I would rather believe than the others, and that is that the Selenites being older than we are wiser, and have not invented gunpowder at all."
At that moment Diana claimed her share in the conversation by a sonorous bark. She asked for her breakfast.
"Ah!" said Michel Ardan, "our arguments make us forget Diana andSatellite!"
A good dish of food was immediately offered to the dog, who devoured it with great appetite.
"Do you know, Barbicane," said Michel, "we ought to have made this projectile a sort of Noah's Ark, and have taken a couple of all the domestic animals with us to the moon."
"No doubt," answered Barbicane, "but we should not have had room enough."
"Oh, we might have been packed a little tighter!"
"The fact is," answered Nicholl, "that oxen, cows, bulls, and horses, all those ruminants would be useful on the lunar continent. Unfortunately we cannot make our projectile either a stable or a cowshed."
"But at least," said Michel Ardan, "we might have brought an ass, nothing but a little ass, the courageous and patient animal old Silenus loved to exhibit. I am fond of those poor asses! They are the least favoured animals in creation. They are not only beaten during their lifetime, but are still beaten after their death!"
"What do you mean by that?" asked Barbicane.
"Why, don't they use his skin to make drums of?"
Barbicane and Nicholl could not help laughing at this absurd reflection.But a cry from their merry companion stopped them; he was bending overSatellite's niche, and rose up saying—
"Good! Satellite is no longer ill."
"Ah!" said Nicholl.
"No!" resumed Michel, "he is dead. Now," he added in a pitiful tone, "this will be embarrassing! I very much fear, poor Diana, that you will not leave any of your race in the lunar regions!"
The unfortunate Satellite had not been able to survive his wounds. He was dead, stone dead. Michel Ardan, much put out of countenance, looked at his friends.
"This makes another difficulty," said Barbicane. "We can't keep the dead body of this dog with us for another eight-and-forty hours."
"No, certainly not," answered Nicholl, "but our port-lights are hung upon hinges. They can be let down. We will open one of them, and throw the body into space."
The president reflected for a few minutes, and then said—
"Yes, that is what we must do, but we must take the most minute precautions."
"Why?" asked Michel.
"For two reasons that I will explain to you," answered Barbicane. "The first has reference to the air in the projectile, of which we must lose as little as possible."
"But we can renew the air!"
"Not entirely. We can only renew the oxygen, Michel; and, by-the-bye, we must be careful that the apparatus do not furnish us with this oxygen in an immoderate quantity, for an excess of it would cause grave physiological consequences. But although we can renew the oxygen we cannot renew the azote, that medium which the lungs do not absorb, and which ought to remain intact. Now the azote would rapidly escape if the port-lights were opened."
"Not just the time necessary to throw poor Satellite out."
"Agreed; but we must do it quickly."
"And what is the second reason?" asked Michel.
"The second reason is that we must not allow the exterior cold, which is excessive, to penetrate into our projectile lest we should be frozen alive."
"Still the sun—"
"The sun warms our projectile because it absorbs its rays, but it does not warm the void we are in now. When there is no air there is no more heat than there is diffused light, and where the sun's rays do not reach directly it is both dark and cold. The temperature outside is only that produced by the radiation of the stars—that is to say, the same as the temperature of the terrestrial globe would be if one day the sun were to be extinguished."
"No fear of that," answered Nicholl.
"Who knows?" said Michel Ardan. "And even supposing that the sun be not extinguished, it might happen that the earth will move farther away from it."
"Good!" said Nicholl; "that's one of Michel's ideas!"
"Well," resumed Michel, "it is well known that in 1861 the earth went through the tail of a comet. Now suppose there was a comet with a power of attraction greater than that of the sun, the terrestrial globe might make a curve towards the wandering star, and the earth would become its satellite, and would be dragged away to such a distance that the rays of the sun would have no action on its surface."
"That might happen certainly," answered Barbicane, "but the consequences would not be so redoubtable as you would suppose."
"How so?"
"Because heat and cold would still be pretty well balanced upon our globe. It has been calculated that if the earth had been carried away by the comet of 1861, it would only have felt, when at its greatest distance from the sun, a heat sixteen times greater than that sent to us by the moon—a heat which, when focussed by the strongest lens, produces no appreciable effect."
"Well?" said Michel.
"Wait a little," answered Barbicane. "It has been calculated that at its perihelion, when nearest to the sun, the earth would have borne a heat equal to 28,000 times that of summer. But this heat, capable of vitrifying terrestrial matters, and of evaporating water, would have formed a thick circle of clouds which would have lessened the excessive heat, hence there would be compensation between the cold of the aphelion and the heat of the perihelion, and an average probably supportable."
"At what number of degrees do they estimate the temperature of the planetary space?"
"Formerly," answered Barbicane, "it was believed that this temperature was exceedingly low. By calculating its thermometric diminution it was fixed at millions of degrees below zero. It was Fourier, one of Michel's countrymen, an illustrioussavantof theAcadémie des Sciences, who reduced these numbers to a juster estimation. According to him, the temperature of space does not get lower than 60° Centigrade."
Michel whistled.
"It is about the temperature of the polar regions," answered Barbicane, "at Melville Island or Fort Reliance—about 56° Centigrade below zero."
"It remains to be proved," said Nicholl, "that Fourier was not mistaken in his calculations. If I am not mistaken, another Frenchman, M. Pouillet, estimates the temperature of space at 160° below zero. We shall be able to verify that."
"Not now," answered Barbicane, "for the solar rays striking directly upon our thermometer would give us, on the contrary, a very elevated temperature. But when we get upon the moon, during the nights, a fortnight long, which each of its faces endures alternately, we shall have leisure to make the experiment, for our satellite moves in the void."
"What do you mean by the void?" asked Michel; "is it absolute void?"
"It is absolutely void of air."
"Is there nothing in its place?"
"Yes, ether," answered Barbicane.
"Ah! and what is ether?"
"Ether, my friend, is an agglomeration of imponderable particles, which, relatively to their dimensions, are as far removed from each other as the celestial bodies are in space, so say works on molecular physics. It is these atoms that by their vibrating movement produce light and heat by making four hundred and thirty billions of oscillations a second."
"Millions of millions!" exclaimed Michel Ardan; "thensavantshave measured and counted these oscillations! All these figures, friend Barbicane, aresavants'figures, which reach the ear but say nothing to the mind."
"But they are obliged to have recourse to figures."
"No. It would be much better to compare. A billion signifies nothing. An object of comparison explains everything. Example—When you tell me that Uranus is 76 times larger than the earth, Saturn 900 times larger, Jupiter 1,300 times larger, the sun 1,300,000 times larger, I am not much wiser. So I much prefer the old comparisons of theDouble Liégoisethat simply tells you, 'The sun is a pumpkin two feet in diameter, Jupiter an orange, Saturn a Blenheim apple, Neptune a large cherry, Uranus a smaller cherry, the earth a pea, Venus a green pea, Mars the head of a large pin, Mercury a grain of mustard, and Juno, Ceres, Vesta, and Pallas fine grains of sand!' Then I know what it means!"
After this tirade of Michel Ardan's againstsavantsand their billions, which he delivered without stopping to take breath, they set about burying Satellite. He was to be thrown into space like sailors throw a corpse into the sea.
As President Barbicane had recommended, they had to act quickly so as to lose as little air as possible. The bolts upon the right-hand port-hole were carefully unscrewed, and an opening of about half a yard made, whilst Michel prepared to hurl his dog into space. The window, worked by a powerful lever, which conquered the pressure of air in the interior upon the sides of the projectile, moved upon its hinges, and Satellite was thrown out. Scarcely a particle of air escaped, and the operation succeeded so well that later on Barbicane did not fear to get rid of all the useless rubbish that encumbered the vehicle in the same way.
On the 4th of December, at 5 a.m. by terrestrial reckoning, the travellers awoke, having been fifty-four hours on their journey. They had only been five hours and forty minutes more than half the time assigned for the accomplishment of their journey, but they had come more than seven-tenths of the distance. This peculiarity was due to their regularly-decreasing speed.
When they looked at the earth through the port-light at the bottom, it only looked like a black spot drowned in the sun's rays. No crescent or pale light was now to be seen. The next day at midnight the earth would be new at the precise moment when the moon would be full. Above, the Queen of Night was nearing the line followed by the projectile, so as to meet it at the hour indicated. All around the dark vault was studded with brilliant specks which seemed to move slowly; but through the great distance they were at their relative size did not seem to alter much. The sun and the stars appeared exactly as they do from the earth. The moon was considerably enlarged; but the travellers' not very powerful telescopes did not as yet allow them to make very useful observations on her surface, or to reconnoitre the topographical or geological details.
The time went by in interminable conversations. The talk was especially about the moon. Each brought his contingent of particular knowledge. Barbicane's and Nicholl's were always serious, Michel Ardan's always fanciful. The projectile, its situation and direction, the incidents that might arise, the precautions necessitated by its fall upon the moon, all this afforded inexhaustible material for conjecture.
Whilst breakfasting a question of Michel's relative to the projectile provoked a rather curious answer from Barbicane, and one worthy of being recorded.
Michel, supposing the bullet to be suddenly stopped whilst still endowed with its formidable initial velocity, wished to know what the consequences would have been.
"But," answered Barbicane, "I don't see how the projectile could have been stopped."
"But let us suppose it," answered Nicholl.
"It is an impossible supposition," replied the practical president, "unless the force of impulsion had failed. But in that case its speed would have gradually decreased, and would not have stopped abruptly."
"Admit that it had struck against some body in space."
"What body?"
"The enormous meteor we met."
"Then," said Nicholl, "the projectile would have been broken into a thousand pieces, and we with it."
"More than that," answered Barbicane, "we should have been burnt alive."
"Burnt!" exclaimed Michel. "I regret it did not happen for us just to see."
"And you would have seen with a vengeance," answered Barbicane. "It is now known that heat is only a modification of movement when water is heated—that is to say, when heat is added to it—that means the giving of movement to its particles."
"That is an ingenious theory!" said Michel.
"And a correct one, my worthy friend, for it explains all the phenomena of caloric. Heat is only molecular movement, a single oscillation of the particles of a body. When the break is put on a train it stops. But what becomes of the movement which animated it? Why do they grease the axles of the wheels? In order to prevent them catching fire from the movement lost by transformation. Do you understand?"
"Admirably," answered Michel. "For example, when I have been running some time, and am covered with sweat, why am I forced to stop? Simply because my movement has been transformed into heat."
Barbicane could not help laughing at thisrépartieof Michel's. Then resuming his theory—
"Thus," said he, "in case of a collision, it would have happened to our projectile as it does to the metal cannon-ball after striking armour-plate; it would fall burning, because its movement had been transformed into heat. In consequence, I affirm that if our bullet had struck against the asteroid, its speed, suddenly annihilated, would have produced heat enough to turn it immediately into vapour."
"Then," asked Nicholl, "what would happen if the earth were to be suddenly stopped in her movement of translation?"
"Her temperature would be carried to such a point," answered Barbicane, "that she would be immediately reduced to vapour."
"Good," said Michel; "that means of ending the world would simplify many things."
"And suppose the earth were to fall upon the sun?" said Nicholl.
"According to calculations," answered Barbicane, "that would develop a heat equal to that produced by 1,600 globes of coal, equal in volume to the terrestrial globe."
"A good increase of temperature for the sun," replied Michel Ardan, "of which the inhabitants of Uranus or Neptune will probably not complain, for they must be dying of cold on their planet."
"Thus, then, my friends, any movement suddenly stopped produces heat. This theory makes it supposed that the sun is constantly fed by an incessant fall of bodies upon its surface. It has been calculated—"
"Now I shall be crushed," murmured Michel, "for figures are coming."
"It has been calculated," continued Barbicane imperturbably, "that the shock of each asteroid upon the sun must produce heat equal to that of 4,000 masses of coal of equal volume."
"And what is the heat of the sun?" asked Michel.
"It is equal to that which would be produced by a stratum of coal surrounding the sun to a depth of twenty-seven kilometres."
"And that heat—"
"Could boil 2,900,000,000 of cubic myriametres of water an hour." (A myriametre is equal to rather more than 6.2138 miles, or 6 miles 1 furlong 28 poles.)
"And we are not roasted by it?" cried Michel.
"No," answered Barbicane, "because the terrestrial atmosphere absorbs four-tenths of the solar heat. Besides, the quantity of heat intercepted by the earth is only two thousand millionth of the total."
"I see that all is for the best," replied Michel, "and that our atmosphere is a useful invention, for it not only allows us to breathe, but actually prevents us roasting."
"Yes," said Nicholl, "but, unfortunately, it will not be the same on the moon."
"Bah!" said Michel, always confident. "If there are any inhabitants they breathe. If there are no longer any they will surely have left enough oxygen for three people, if only at the bottom of those ravines where it will have accumulated by reason of its weight! Well, we shall not climb the mountains! That is all."
And Michel, getting up, went to look at the lunar disc, which was shining with intolerable brilliancy.
"Faith!" said he, "it must be hot up there."
"Without reckoning," answered Nicholl, "that daylight lasts 360 hours."
"And by way of compensation night has the same duration," said Barbicane, "and as heat is restored by radiation, their temperature must be that of planetary space."
"A fine country truly!" said Nicholl.
"Never mind! I should like to be there already! It will be comical to have the earth for a moon, to see it rise on the horizon, to recognise the configuration of its continents, to say to oneself, 'There's America and there's Europe;' then to follow it till it is lost in the rays of the sun! By-the-bye, Barbicane, have the Selenites any eclipses?"
"Yes, eclipses of the sun," answered Barbicane, "when the centres of the three stars are on the same line with the earth in the middle. But they are merely annular eclipses, during which the earth, thrown like a screen across the solar disc, allows the greater part to be seen."
"Why is there no total eclipse?" asked Nicholl. "Is it because the cone of shade thrown by the earth does not extend beyond the moon?"
"Yes, if you do not take into account the refraction produced by the terrestrial atmosphere, not if you do take that refraction into account. Thus, letdeltabe the horizontal parallax andpthe apparent semidiameter—"
"Ouf!" said Michel, "half ofvzero square! Do speak the vulgar tongue, man of algebra!"
"Well, then, in popular language," answered Barbicane, "the mean distance between the moon and the earth being sixty terrestrial radii, the length of the cone of shadow, by dint of refraction, is reduced to less than forty-two radii. It follows, therefore, that during the eclipses the moon is beyond the cone of pure shade, and the sun sends it not only rays from its edges, but also rays from its centre."
"Then," said Michel in a grumbling tone, "why is there any eclipse when there ought to be none?"
"Solely because the solar rays are weakened by the refraction, and the atmosphere which they traverse extinguishes the greater part of them."
"That reason satisfies me," answered Michel; "besides, we shall see for ourselves when we get there. Now, Barbicane, do you believe that the moon is an ancient comet?"
"What an idea!"
"Yes," replied Michel, with amiable conceit, "I have a few ideas of that kind."
"But that idea does not originate with Michel," answered Nicholl.
"Then I am only a plagiarist."
"Without doubt," answered Nicholl. "According to the testimony of the ancients, the Arcadians pretended that their ancestors inhabited the earth before the moon became her satellite. Starting from this fact, certainsavantsthink the moon was a comet which its orbit one day brought near enough to the earth to be retained by terrestrial attraction."
"And what truth is there in that hypothesis?" asked Michel.
"None," answered Barbicane, "and the proof is that the moon has not kept a trace of the gaseous envelope that always accompanies comets."
"But," said Nicholl, "might not the moon, before becoming the earth's satellite, have passed near enough to the sun to leave all her gaseous substances by evaporation?"
"It might, friend Nicholl, but it is not probable."
"Why?"
"Because—because, I really don't know."
"Ah, what hundreds of volumes we might fill with what we don't know!" exclaimed Michel. "But I say," he continued, "what time is it?"
"Three o'clock," answered Nicholl.
"How the time goes," said Michel, "in the conversation ofsavantslike us! Decidedly I feel myself getting too learned! I feel that I am becoming a well of knowledge!"
So saying, Michel climbed to the roof of the projectile, "in order better to observe the moon," he pretended. In the meanwhile his companions watched the vault of space through the lower port-light. There was nothing fresh to signalise.
When Michel Ardan came down again he approached the lateral port-light, and suddenly uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"What is the matter now?" asked Barbicane.
The president approached the glass and saw a sort of flattened sack floating outside at some yards' distance from the projectile. This object seemed motionless like the bullet, and was consequently animated with the same ascensional movement.
"Whatever can that machine be?" said Michel Ardan. "Is it one of the corpuscles of space which our projectile holds in its radius of attraction, and which will accompany it as far as the moon?"
"What I am astonished at," answered Nicholl, "is that the specific weight of this body, which is certainly superior to that of the bullet, allows it to maintain itself so rigorously on its level."
"Nicholl," said Barbicane, after a moment's reflection, "I do not know what that object is, but I know perfectly why it keeps on a level with the projectile."
"Why, pray?"
"Because we are floating in the void where bodies fall or move—which is the same thing—with equal speed whatever their weight or form may be. It is the air which, by its resistance, creates differences in weight. When you pneumatically create void in a tube, the objects you throw down it, either lead or feathers, fall with the same rapidity. Here in space you have the same cause and the same effect."
"True," said Nicholl, "and all we throw out of the projectile will accompany us to the moon."
"Ah! what fools we are!" cried Michel.
"Why this qualification?" asked Barbicane.
"Because we ought to have filled the projectile with useful objects, books, instruments, tools, &c. We could have thrown them all out, and they would all have followed in our wake! But, now I think of it, why can't we take a walk outside this? Why can't we go into space through the port-light? What delight it would be to be thus suspended in ether, more favoured even than birds that are forced to flap their wings to sustain them!"
"Agreed," said Barbicane, "but how are we to breathe?"
"Confounded air to fail so inopportunely!"
"But if it did not fail, Michel, your density being inferior to that of the projectile, you would soon remain behind."
"Then it is a vicious circle."
"All that is most vicious."
"And we must remain imprisoned in our vehicle."
"Yes, we must."
"Ah!" cried Michel in a formidable voice.
"What is the matter with you?" asked Nicholl.
"I know, I guess what this pretended asteroid is! It is not a broken piece of planet!"
"What is it, then?" asked Nicholl.
"It is our unfortunate dog! It is Diana's husband!"
In fact, this deformed object, reduced to nothing, and quite unrecognisable, was the body of Satellite flattened like a bagpipe without wind, and mounting, for ever mounting!
Thus a curious but logical, strange yet logical phenomenon took place under these singular conditions. Every object thrown out of the projectile would follow the same trajectory and only stop when it did. That furnished a text for conversation which the whole evening could not exhaust. The emotion of the three travellers increased as they approached the end of their journey. They expected unforeseen incidents, fresh phenomena, and nothing would have astonished them under present circumstances. Their excited imagination outdistanced the projectile, the speed of which diminished notably without their feeling it. But the moon grew larger before their eyes, and they thought they had only to stretch out their hands to touch it.
The next day, the 5th of December, they were all wide awake at 5 a.m. That day was to be the last of their journey if the calculations were exact. That same evening, at midnight, within eighteen hours, at the precise moment of full moon, they would reach her brilliant disc. The next midnight would bring them to the goal of their journey, the most extraordinary one of ancient or modern times. At early dawn, through the windows made silvery with her rays, they saluted the Queen of Night with a confident and joyful hurrah.
The moon was sailing majestically across the starry firmament. A few more degrees and she would reach that precise point in space where the projectile was to meet her. According to his own observations, Barbicane thought that he should accost her in her northern hemisphere, where vast plains extend and mountains are rare—a favourable circumstance if the lunar atmosphere was, according to received opinion, stored up in deep places only.
"Besides," observed Michel Ardan, "a plain is more suitable for landing upon than a mountain. A Selenite landed in Europe on the summit of Mont Blanc, or in Asia on a peak of the Himalayas, would not be precisely at his destination!"
"What is more," added Nicholl, "on a plain the projectile will remain motionless after it has touched the ground, whilst it would roll down a hill like an avalanche, and as we are not squirrels we should not come out safe and sound. Therefore all is for the best."
In fact, the success of the audacious enterprise no longer appeared doubtful. Still one reflection occupied Barbicane; but not wishing to make his two companions uneasy, he kept silence upon it.
The direction of the projectile towards the northern hemisphere proved that its trajectory had been slightly modified. The aim, mathematically calculated, ought to have sent the bullet into the very centre of the lunar disc. If it did not arrive there it would be because it had deviated. What had caused it? Barbicane could not imagine nor determine the importance of this deviation, for there was no datum to go upon. He hoped, however, that the only result would be to take them towards the upper edge of the moon, a more suitable region for landing.
Barbicane, therefore, without saying anything to his friends, contented himself with frequently observing the moon, trying to see if the direction of the projectile would not change. For the situation would have been so terrible had the bullet, missing its aim, been dragged beyond the lunar disc and fallen into interplanetary space.
At that moment the moon, instead of appearing flat like a disc, already showed her convexity. If the sun's rays had reached her obliquely the shadow then thrown would have made the high mountains stand out. They could have seen the gaping craters and the capricious furrows that cut up the immense plains. But all relief was levelled in the intense brilliancy. Those large spots that give the appearance of a human face to the moon were scarcely distinguishable.
"It may be a face," said Michel Ardan, "but I am sorry for the amiable sister of Apollo, her face is so freckled!"
In the meantime the travellers so near their goal ceaselessly watched this new world. Their imagination made them take walks over these unknown countries. They climbed the elevated peaks. They descended to the bottom of the large amphitheatres. Here and there they thought they saw vast seas scarcely kept together under an atmosphere so rarefied, and streams of water that poured them their tribute from the mountains. Leaning over the abyss they hoped to catch the noise of this orb for ever mute in the solitudes of the void.
This last day left them the liveliest remembrances. They noted down the least details. A vague uneasiness took possession of them as they approached their goal. This uneasiness would have been doubled if they had felt how slight their speed was. It appeared quite insufficient to take them to the end of their journey. This was because the projectile scarcely "weighed" anything. Its weight constantly decreased, and would be entirely annihilated on that line where the lunar and terrestrial attractions neutralise each other, causing surprising effects.
Nevertheless, in spite of his preoccupations, Michel Ardan did not forget to prepare the morning meal with his habitual punctuality. They ate heartily. Nothing was more excellent than their broth liquefied by the heat of the gas. Nothing better than these preserved meats. A few glasses of good French wine crowned the repast, and caused Michel Ardan to remark that the lunar vines, warmed by this ardent sun, ought to distil the most generous wines—that is, if they existed. Any way, 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 counted particularly.
The Reiset and Regnault apparatus always worked with extreme precision. The air was kept in a state of perfect purity. Not a particle of carbonic acid resisted the potash, and as to the oxygen, that, as Captain Nicholl said, was of "first quality." The small amount of humidity in the projectile mixed with this air and tempered its dryness, and many Paris, London, or New York apartments and many theatres do not certainly fulfil hygienic conditions so well.
But in order to work regularly this apparatus had to be kept going regularly. Each morning Michel inspected the escape regulators, tried the taps, and fixed by the pyrometer the heat of the gas. All had gone well so far, and the travellers, imitating the worthy J.T. Maston, began to get so stout that they would not be recognisable if their imprisonment lasted several months. They behaved like chickens in a cage—they fattened.
Looking through the port lights Barbicane saw the spectre of the dog, and the different objects thrown out of the projectile, which obstinately accompanied it. Diana howled lamentably when she perceived the remains of Satellite. All the things seemed as motionless as if they had rested upon solid ground.
"Do you know, my friends," said Michel Ardan, "that if one of us had succumbed to the recoil shock at departure we should have been much embarrassed as to how to get rid of him? You see the accusing corpse would have followed us in space like remorse!"
"That would have been sad," said Nicholl.
"Ah!" continued Michel, "what I regret is our not being able to take a walk outside. What delight it would be to float in this radiant ether, to bathe in these pure rays of the sun! If Barbicane had only thought of furnishing us with diving-dresses and air-pumps I should have ventured outside, and have assumed the attitude of a flying-horse on the summit of the projectile."
"Ah, old fellow!" answered Barbicane, "you would not have stayed there long in spite of your diving-dress; you would have burst like an obus by the expansion of air inside you, or rather like a balloon that goes up too high. So regret nothing, and do not forget this: while we are moving in the void you must do without any sentimental promenade out of the projectile."
Michel Ardan allowed himself to be convinced in a certain measure. He agreed that the thing was difficult, but not "impossible;" that was a word he never uttered.
The conversation passed from this subject to another, and never languished an instant. It seemed to the three friends that under these conditions ideas came into their heads like leaves in the first warm days of spring.
Amidst the questions and answers that crossed each other during this morning, Nicholl asked one that did not get an immediate solution.
"I say," said he, "it is all very well to go to the moon, but how shall we get back again?"
"What do you mean by that, Nicholl?" asked Barbicane gravely.
"It seems to me very inopportune to ask about getting away from a country before you get to it," added Michel.
"I don't ask that question because I want to draw back, but I repeat my question, and ask, 'How shall we get back?'"
"I have not the least idea," answered Barbicane.
"And as for me," said Michel, "if I had known how to come back I should not have gone."
"That is what you call answering," cried Nicholl.
"I approve of Michel's words, and add that the question has no actual interest. We will think about that later on, when we want to return. Though the Columbiad will not be there, the projectile will."
"Much good that will be, a bullet without a gun!"
"A gun can be made, and so can powder! Neither metal, saltpetre, nor coal can be wanting in the bowels of the moon. Besides, in order to return you have only the lunar attraction to conquer, and you will only have 8,000 leagues to go so as to fall on the terrestrial globe by the simple laws of weight."
"That is enough," said Michel, getting animated. "Let us hear no more about returning. As to communicating with our ancient colleagues upon earth, that will not be difficult."
"How are we to do that, pray?"
"By means of meteors hurled by the lunar volcanoes."
"A good idea, Michel," answered Barbicane. "Laplace has calculated that a force five times superior to that of our cannons would suffice to send a meteor from the moon to the earth. Now there is no volcano that has not a superior force of propulsion."
"Hurrah!" cried Michel. "Meteors will be convenient postmen and will not cost anything! And how we shall laugh at the postal service! But now I think—"
"What do you think?"
"A superb idea! Why did we not fasten a telegraph wire to our bullet? We could have exchanged telegrams with the earth!"
"And the weight of a wire 86,000 leagues long," answered Nicholl, "does that go for nothing?"
"Yes, for nothing! We should have trebled the charge of the Columbiad! We could have made it four times—five times—greater!" cried Michel, whose voice became more and more violent.
"There is a slight objection to make to your project," answered Barbicane. "It is that during the movement of rotation of the globe our wire would have been rolled round it like a chain round a windlass, and it would inevitably have dragged us down to the earth again."
"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 now I think of it, if we do not return to earth J.T. Maston will certainly come to us!"
"Yes! he will come," replied Barbicane; "he is a worthy and courageous comrade. Besides, what could be easier? Is not the Columbiad still lying in Floridian soil? Is cotton and nitric acid wanting wherewith to manufacture the projectile? Will not the moon again pass the zenith of Florida? In another eighteen years will she not occupy exactly the same place that she occupies to-day?"
"Yes," repeated Michel—"yes, Maston will come, and with him our friends Elphinstone, Blomsberry, and all the members of the Gun Club, and they will be welcome! Later on trains of projectiles will be established between the earth and the moon! Hurrah for J.T. Maston!"
It is probable that if the Honourable J.T. Maston did not hear the hurrahs uttered in his honour his ears tingled at least. What was he doing then? He was no doubt stationed in the Rocky Mountains at Long's Peak, trying to discover the invisible bullet gravitating in space. If he was thinking of his dear companions it must be acknowledged that they were not behindhand with him, and that, under the influence of singular exaltation, they consecrated their best thoughts to him.
But whence came the animation that grew visibly greater in the inhabitants of the projectile? Their sobriety could not be questioned. Must this strange erethismus of the brain be attributed to the exceptional circumstances of the time, to that proximity of the Queen of Night from which a few hours only separated them, or to some secret influence of the moon acting on their nervous system? Their faces became as red as if exposed to the reverberation of a furnace; their respiration became more active, and their lungs played like forge-bellows; their eyes shone with extraordinary flame, and their voices became formidably loud, their words escaped like a champagne-cork driven forth by carbonic acid gas; their gestures became disquieting, they wanted so much room to perform them in. And, strange to say, they in no wise perceived this excessive tension of the mind.
"Now," said Nicholl in a sharp tone—"now that I do not know whether we shall come back from the moon, I will know what we are going there for!"
"What we are going there for!" answered Barbicane, stamping as if he were in a fencing-room; "I don't know."
"You don't know!" cried Michel with a shout that provoked a sonorous echo in the projectile.
"No, I have not the least idea!" answered Barbicane, shouting in unison with his interlocutor.
"Well, then, I know," answered Michel.
"Speak, then," said Nicholl, who could no longer restrain the angry tones of his voice.
"I shall speak if it suits me!" cried Michel, violently seizing his companion's arm. "It must suit you!" said Barbicane, with eyes on fire and threatening hands. "It was you who drew us into this terrible journey, and we wish to know why!"
"Yes," said the captain, "now I don't know where I am going, I will know why I am going."
"Why?" cried 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 colonise the lunar regions, to cultivate them, people them, to take them all the wonders of art, science, and industry! To civilise the Selenites, unless they are more civilised than we are, and to make them into a republic if they have not already done it for themselves!"
"If there are any Selenites!" answered Nicholl, who under the empire of this inexplicable intoxication became very contradictory.
"Who says there are no Selenites?" cried Michel in a threatening tone.
"I do!" shouted Nicholl.
"Captain," said Michel, "do not repeat that insult or I will knock your teeth down your throat!"
The two adversaries were about to rush upon one another, and this incoherent discussion was threatening to degenerate into a battle, when Barbicane interfered.
"Stop, unhappy men," said he, putting his two companions back to back, "if there are no Selenites, we will do without them!"
"Yes!" exclaimed Michel, who did not care more about them than that. "We have nothing to do with the Selenites! Bother the Selenites!"
"The empire of the moon shall be ours," said Nicholl. "Let us found aRepublic of three!"