The immediate effect of Barbicane's proposition was that of bringing out all astronomical facts relative to the Queen of Night. Everybody began to study her assiduously. It seemed as if the moon had appeared on the horizon for the first time, and that no one had ever seen her in the sky before. She became the fashion; she was the lion of the day, without appearing less modest on that account, and took her place amongst the "stars" without being any the prouder. The newspapers revived old anecdotes in which this "Sun of the wolves" played a part; they recalled the influence which the ignorance of past ages had ascribed to her; they sang about her in every tone; a little more and they would have quoted her witty sayings; the whole of America was filled with selenomania.
The scientific journals treated the question which touched upon the enterprise of the Gun Club more specially; they published the letter from the Observatory of Cambridge, they commented upon it and approved of it without reserve.
In short, even the most ignorant Yankee was no longer allowed to be ignorant of a single fact relative to his satellite, nor, to the oldest women amongst them, to have any superstitions about her left. Science flooded them; it penetrated into their eyes and ears; it was impossible to be an ass—in astronomy.
Until then many people did not know how the distance between the earth and the moon had been calculated. This fact was taken advantage of to explain to them that it was done by measuring the parallax of the moon. If the word "parallax" seemed new to them, they were told it was the angle formed by two straight lines drawn from either extremity of the earth's radius to the moon. If they were in doubt about the perfection of this method, it was immediately proved to them that not only was the mean distance 234,347 miles, but that astronomers were right to within seventy miles.
To those who were not familiar with the movements of the moon, the newspapers demonstrated daily that she possesses two distinct movements, the first being that of rotation upon her axis, the second that of revolution round the earth, accomplishing both in the same time—that is to say, in 27-1/3 days.
The movement of rotation is the one that causes night and day on the surface of the moon, only there is but one day and one night in a lunar month, and they each last 354-1/3 hours. But, happily, the face, turned towards the terrestrial globe, is lighted by it with an intensity equal to the light of fourteen moons. As to the other face, the one always invisible, it has naturally 354 hours of absolute night, tempered only by "the pale light that falls from the stars." This phenomenon is due solely to the peculiarity that the movements of rotation and revolution are accomplished in rigorously equal periods, a phenomenon which, according to Cassini and Herschel, is common to the satellites of Jupiter, and, very probably to the other satellites.
Some well-disposed but rather unyielding minds did not quite understand at first how, if the moon invariably shows the same face to the earth during her revolution, she describes one turn round herself in the same period of time. To such it was answered—"Go into your dining-room, and turn round the table so as always to keep your face towards the centre; when your circular walk is ended you will have described one circle round yourselves, since your eye will have successively traversed every point of the room. Well, then, the room is the heavens, the table is the earth, and you are the moon!"
And they go away delighted with the comparison.
Thus, then, the moon always presents the same face to the earth; still, to be quite exact, it should be added that in consequence of certain fluctuations from north to south and from west to east, called libration, she shows rather more than the half of her disc, about 0.57.
When the ignoramuses knew as much as the director of the Cambridge Observatory about the moon's movement of rotation they began to make themselves uneasy about her movement of revolution round the earth, and twenty scientific reviews quickly gave them the information they wanted. They then learnt that the firmament, with its infinite stars, may be looked upon as a vast dial upon which the moon moves, indicating the time to all the inhabitants of the earth; that it is in this movement that the Queen of Night shows herself in her different phases, that she is full when she is in opposition with the sun—that is to say, when the three bodies are on a line with each other, the earth being in the centre; that the moon is new when she is in conjunction with the sun—that is to say, when she is between the sun and the earth; lastly, that the moon is in her first or last quarter when she makes, with the sun and the earth, a right angle of which she occupies the apex.
Some perspicacious Yankees inferred in consequence that eclipses could only take place at the periods of conjunction or opposition, and their reasoning was just. In conjunction the moon can eclipse the sun, whilst in opposition it is the earth that can eclipse him in her turn; and the reason these eclipses do not happen twice in a lunar month is because the plane upon which the moon moves is elliptical like that of the earth.
As to the height which the Queen of Night can attain above the horizon, the letter from the Observatory of Cambridge contained all that can be said about it. Every one knew that this height varies according to the latitude of the place where the observation is taken. But the only zones of the globe where the moon reaches her zenith—that is to say, where she is directly above the heads of the spectators—are necessarily comprised between the 28th parallels and the equator. Hence the important recommendation given to attempt the experiment upon some point in this part of the globe, in order that the projectile may be hurled perpendicularly, and may thus more quickly escape the attraction of gravitation. This was a condition essential to the success of the enterprise, and public opinion was much exercised thereupon.
As to the line followed by the moon in her revolution round the earth, the Observatory of Cambridge had demonstrated to the most ignorant that it is an ellipse of which the earth occupies one of the foci. These elliptical orbits are common to all the planets as well as to all the satellites, and rational mechanism rigorously proves that it could not be otherwise. It was clearly understood that when at her apogee the moon was farthest from the earth, and when at her perigee she was nearest to our planet.
This, therefore, was what every American knew whether he wished to or no, and what no one could decently be ignorant of. But if these true principles rapidly made their way, certain illusive fears and many errors were with difficulty cleared away.
Some worthy people maintained, for instance, that the moon was an ancient comet, which, whilst travelling along its elongated orbit round the sun, passed near to the earth, and was retained in her circle of attraction. The drawing-room astronomers pretended to explain thus the burnt aspect of the moon, a misfortune of which they accused the sun. Only when they were told to notice that comets have an atmosphere, and that the moon has little or none, they did not know what to answer.
Others belonging to the class of "Shakers" manifested certain fears about the moon; they had heard that since the observations made in the times of the Caliphs her movement of revolution had accelerated in a certain proportion; they thence very logically concluded that an acceleration of movement must correspond to a diminution in the distance between the two bodies, and that this double effect going on infinitely the moon would one day end by falling into the earth. However, they were obliged to reassure themselves and cease to fear for future generations when they were told that according to the calculations of Laplace, an illustrious French mathematician, this acceleration of movement was restricted within very narrow limits, and that a proportional diminution will follow it. Thus the equilibrium of the solar world cannot be disturbed in future centuries.
Lastly there was the superstitious class of ignoramuses to be dealt with; these are not content with being ignorant; they know what does not exist, and about the moon they know a great deal. Some of them considered her disc to be a polished mirror by means of which people might see themselves from different points on the earth, and communicate their thoughts to one another. Others pretended that out of 1,000 new moons 950 had brought some notable change, such as cataclysms, revolutions, earthquakes, deluges, &c.; they therefore believed in the mysterious influence of the Queen of Night on human destinies; they think that every Selenite is connected by some sympathetic tie with each inhabitant of the earth; they pretend, with Dr. Mead, that she entirely governs the vital system—that boys are born during the new moon and girls during her last quarter, &c., &c. But at last it became necessary to give up these vulgar errors, to come back to truth; and if the moon, stripped of her influence, lost her prestige in the minds of courtesans of every power, if some turned their backs on her, the immense majority were in her favour. As to the Yankees, they had no other ambition than that of taking possession of this new continent of the sky, and to plant upon its highest summit the star-spangled banner of the United States of America.
The Cambridge Observatory had, in its memorable letter of October 7th, treated the question from an astronomical point of view—the mechanical point had still to be treated. It was then that the practical difficulties would have seemed insurmountable to any other country but America; but there they were looked upon as play.
President Barbicane had, without losing any time, nominated a working committee in the heart of the Gun Club. This committee was in three sittings to elucidate the three great questions of the cannon, the projectile, and the powder. It was composed of four members very learned upon these matters. Barbicane had the casting vote, and with him were associated General Morgan, Major Elphinstone, and, lastly, the inevitable J.T. Maston, to whom were confided the functions of secretary.
On the 8th of October the committee met at President Barbicane's house, No. 3, Republican-street; as it was important that the stomach should not trouble so important a debate, the four members of the Gun Club took their seats at a table covered with sandwiches and teapots. J.T. Maston immediately screwed his pen on to his steel hook and the business began.
Barbicane opened the meeting as follows:—
"Dear colleagues," said he, "we have to solve one of the more important problems in ballistics—that greatest of sciences which treats of the movement of projectiles—that is to say, of bodies hurled into space by some power of impulsion and then left to themselves."
"Oh, ballistics, ballistics!" cried J.T. Maston in a voice of emotion.
"Perhaps," continued Barbicane, "the most logical thing would be to consecrate this first meeting to discussing the engine."
"Certainly," answered General Morgan.
"Nevertheless," continued Barbicane, "after mature deliberation, it seems to me that the question of the projectile ought to precede that of the cannon, and that the dimensions of the latter ought to depend upon the dimensions of the former."
J.T. Maston here interrupted the president, and was heard with the attention which his magnificent past career deserved.
"My dear friends," said he in an inspired tone, "our president is right to give the question of the projectile the precedence of every other; the cannon-ball we mean to hurl at the moon will be our messenger, our ambassador, and I ask your permission to regard it from an entirely moral point of view."
This new way of looking at a projectile excited the curiosity of the members of the committee; they therefore listened attentively to the words of J.T. Maston.
"My dear colleagues," he continued, "I will be brief. I will lay aside the material projectile—the projectile that kills—in order to take up the mathematical projectile—the moral projectile. A cannon-ball is to me the most brilliant manifestation of human power, and by creating it man has approached nearest to the Creator!"
"Hear, hear!" said Major Elphinstone.
"In fact," cried the orator, "if God has made the stars and the planets, man has made the cannon-ball—that criterion of terrestrial speed—that reduction of bodies wandering in space which are really nothing but projectiles. Let Providence claim the speed of electricity, light, the stars, comets, planets, satellites, sound, and wind! But ours is the speed of the cannon-ball—a hundred times greater than that of trains and the fastest horses!"
J.T. Maston was inspired; his accents became quite lyrical as he chanted the hymn consecrated to the projectile.
"Would you like figures?" continued he; "here are eloquent ones. Take the simple 24 pounder; though it moves 80,000 times slower than electricity, 64,000 times slower than light, 76 times slower than the earth in her movement of translation round the sun, yet when it leaves the cannon it goes quicker than sound; it goes at the rate of 14 miles a minute, 840 miles an hour, 20,100 miles a day—that is to say, at the speed of the points of the equator in the globe's movement of rotation, 7,336,500 miles a year. It would therefore take 11 days to get to the moon, 12 years to get to the sun, 360 years to reach Neptune, at the limits of the solar world. That is what this modest cannon-ball, the work of our hands, can do! What will it be, therefore, when, with twenty times that speed, we shall hurl it with a rapidity of seven miles a second? Ah! splendid shot! superb projectile! I like to think you will be received up there with the honours due to a terrestrial ambassador!"
Cheers greeted this brilliant peroration, and J.T. Maston, overcome with emotion, sat down amidst the felicitations of his colleagues.
"And now," said Barbicane, "that we have given some time to poetry, let us proceed to facts."
"We are ready," answered the members of the committee as they each demolished half-a-dozen sandwiches.
"You know what problem it is we have to solve," continued the president; "it is that of endowing a projectile with a speed of 12,000 yards per second. I have every reason to believe that we shall succeed, but at present let us see what speeds we have already obtained; General Morgan can edify us upon that subject."
"So much the more easily," answered the general, "because during the warI was a member of the Experiment Commission. The 100-pound cannon ofDahlgren, with a range of 5,000 yards, gave their projectiles an initialspeed of 500 yards a second."
"Yes; and the Rodman Columbiad?" (the Americans gave the name of "Columbiad" to their enormous engines of destruction) asked the president.
"The Rodman Columbiad, tried at Fort Hamilton, near New York, hurled a projectile, weighing half a ton, a distance of six miles, with a speed of 800 yards a second, a result which neither Armstrong nor Palliser has obtained in England."
"Englishmen are nowhere!" said J.T. Maston, pointing his formidable steel hook eastward.
"Then," resumed Barbicane, "a speed of 800 yards is the maximum obtained at present."
"Yes," answered Morgan.
"I might add, however," replied J.T. Maston, "that if my mortar had not been blown up—"
"Yes, but it was blown up," replied Barbicane with a benevolent gesture. "We must take the speed of 800 yards for a starting point. We must keep till another meeting the discussion of the means used to produce this speed; allow me to call your attention to the dimensions which our projectile must have. Of course it must be something very different to one of half a ton weight."
"Why?" asked the major.
"Because," quickly answered J.T. Maston, "it must be large enough to attract the attention of the inhabitants of the moon, supposing there are any."
"Yes," answered Barbicane, "and for another reason still more important."
"What do you mean, Barbicane?" asked the major.
"I mean that it is not enough to send up a projectile and then to think no more about it; we must follow it in its transit."
"What?" said the general, slightly surprised at the proposition.
"Certainly," replied Barbicane, like a man who knew what he was saying, "or our experiment will be without result."
"But then," replied the major, "you will have to give the projectile enormous dimensions."
"No. Please grant me your attention. You know that optical instruments have acquired great perfection; certain telescopes increase objects six thousand, and bring the moon to within a distance of forty miles. Now at that distance objects sixty feet square are perfectly visible. The power of penetration of the telescope has not been increased, because that power is only exercised to the detriment of their clearness, and the moon, which is only a reflecting mirror, does not send a light intense enough for the telescopes to increase objects beyond that limit."
"Very well, then, what do you mean to do?" asked the general. "Do you intend giving a diameter of sixty feet to your projectile?"
"No."
"You are not going to take upon yourself the task of making the moon more luminous?"
"I am, though."
"That's rather strong!" exclaimed Maston.
"Yes, but simple," answered Barbicane. "If I succeed in lessening the density of the atmosphere which the moon's light traverses, shall I not render that light more intense?"
"Evidently."
"In order to obtain that result I shall only have to establish my telescope upon some high mountain. We can do that."
"I give in," answered the major; "you have such a way of simplifying things! What enlargement do you hope to obtain thus?"
"One of 48,000 times, which will bring the moon within five miles only, and objects will only need a diameter of nine feet."
"Perfect!" exclaimed J.T. Maston; "then our projectile will have a diameter of nine feet?"
"Precisely."
"Allow me to inform you, however," returned Major Elphinstone, "that its weight will still be—"
"Oh, major!" answered Barbicane, "before discussing its weight allow me to tell you that our forefathers did marvels in that way. Far be it from me to pretend that ballistics have not progressed, but it is well to know that in the Middle Ages surprising results were obtained, I dare affirm, even more surprising than ours."
"Justify your statement," exclaimed J.T. Maston.
"Nothing is easier," answered Barbicane; "I can give you some examples. At the siege of Constantinople by Mahomet II., in 1453, they hurled stone bullets that weighed 1,900 lbs.; at Malta, in the time of its knights, a certain cannon of Fort Saint Elme hurled projectiles weighing 2,500 lbs. According to a French historian, under Louis XI. a mortar hurled a bomb of 500 lbs. only; but that bomb, fired at the Bastille, a place where mad men imprisoned wise ones, fell at Charenton, where wise men imprison mad ones."
"Very well," said J.T. Maston.
"Since, what have we seen, after all? The Armstrong cannons hurl projectiles of 500 lbs., and the Rodman Columbiads projectiles of half a ton! It seems, then, that if projectiles have increased in range they have lost in weight. Now, if we turn our efforts in that direction, we must succeed with the progress of the science in doubling the weight of the projectiles of Mahomet II. and the Knights of Malta."
"That is evident," answered the major; "but what metal do you intend to employ for your own projectile?"
"Simply cast-iron," said General Morgan.
"Cast-iron!" exclaimed J.T. Maston disdainfully, "that's very common for a bullet destined to go to the moon."
"Do not let us exaggerate, my honourable friend," answered Morgan; "cast-iron will be sufficient."
"Then," replied Major Elphinstone, "as the weight of the projectile is in proportion to its volume, a cast-iron bullet, measuring nine feet in diameter, will still be frightfully heavy."
"Yes, if it be solid, but not if it be hollow," said Barbicane.
"Hollow!—then it will be an obus?"
"In which we can put despatches," replied J.T. Maston, "and specimens of our terrestrial productions."
"Yes, an obus," answered Barbicane; "that is what it must be; a solid bullet of 108 inches would weigh more than 200,000 lbs., a weight evidently too great; however, as it is necessary to give the projectile a certain stability, I propose to give it a weight of 20,000 lbs."
"What will be the thickness of the metal?" asked the major.
"If we follow the usual proportions," replied Morgan, "a diameter of 800 inches demands sides two feet thick at least."
"That would be much too thick," answered Barbicane; "we do not want a projectile to pierce armour-plate; it only needs sides strong enough to resist the pressure of the powder-gas. This, therefore, is the problem:—What thickness ought an iron obus to have in order to weigh only 20,000 lbs.? Our clever calculator, Mr. Maston, will tell us at once."
"Nothing is easier," replied the honourable secretary.
So saying, he traced some algebraical signs on the paper, amongst which n^2 and x^2 frequently appeared. He even seemed to extract from them a certain cubic root, and said—
"The sides must be hardly two inches thick."
"Will that be sufficient?" asked the major doubtfully.
"No," answered the president, "certainly not."
"Then what must be done?" resumed Elphinstone, looking puzzled.
"We must use another metal instead of cast-iron."
"Brass?" suggested Morgan.
"No; that is too heavy too, and I have something better than that to propose."
"What?" asked the major.
"Aluminium," answered Barbicane.
"Aluminium!" cried all the three colleagues of the president.
"Certainly, my friends. You know that an illustrious French chemist, Henry St. Claire Deville, succeeded in 1854 in obtaining aluminium in a compact mass. This precious metal possesses the whiteness of silver, the indestructibility of gold, the tenacity of iron, the fusibility of copper, the lightness of glass; it is easily wrought, and is very widely distributed in nature, as aluminium forms the basis of most rocks; it is three times lighter than iron, and seems to have been created expressly to furnish us with the material for our projectile!"
"Hurrah for aluminium!" cried the secretary, always very noisy in his moments of enthusiasm.
"But, my dear president," said the major, "is not aluminium quoted exceedingly high?"
"It was so," answered Barbicane; "when first discovered a pound of aluminium cost 260 to 280 dollars; then it fell to twenty-seven dollars, and now it is worth nine dollars."
"But nine dollars a pound," replied the major, who did not easily give in; "that is still an enormous price."
"Doubtless, my dear major; but not out of reach."
"What will the projectile weigh, then?" asked Morgan.
"Here is the result of my calculations," answered Barbicane. "A projectile of 108 inches in diameter and 12 inches thick would weigh, if it were made of cast-iron, 67,440 lbs.; cast in aluminium it would be reduced to 19,250 lbs."
"Perfect!" cried Maston; "that suits our programme capitally."
"Yes," replied the major; "but do you not know that at nine dollars a pound the projectile would cost—"
"One hundred seventy-three thousand and fifty dollars. Yes, I know that; but fear nothing, my friends; money for our enterprise will not be wanting, I answer for that."
"It will be showered upon us," replied J.T. Maston.
"Well, what do you say to aluminium?" asked the president.
"Adopted," answered the three members of the committee.
"As to the form of the projectile," resumed Barbicane, "it is of little consequence, since, once the atmosphere cleared, it will find itself in empty space; I therefore propose a round ball, which will turn on itself, if it so pleases."
Thus ended the first committee meeting. The question of the projectile was definitely resolved upon, and J.T. Maston was delighted with the idea of sending an aluminium bullet to the Selenites, "as it will give them no end of an idea of the inhabitants of the earth!"
The resolutions passed at this meeting produced a great effect outside. Some timid people grew alarmed at the idea of a projectile weighing 20,000 lbs. hurled into space. People asked what cannon could ever transmit an initial speed sufficient for such a mass. The report of the second meeting was destined to answer these questions victoriously.
The next evening the four members of the Gun Club sat down before fresh mountains of sandwiches and a veritable ocean of tea. The debate then began.
"My dear colleagues," said Barbicane, "we are going to occupy ourselves with the construction of the engine, its length, form, composition, and weight. It is probable that we shall have to give it gigantic dimensions, but, however great our difficulties might be, our industrial genius will easily overcome them. Will you please listen to me and spare objections for the present? I do not fear them."
An approving murmur greeted this declaration.
"We must not forget," resumed Barbicane, "to what point our yesterday's debate brought us; the problem is now the following: how to give an initial speed of 12,000 yards a second to a shot 108 inches in diameter weighing 20,000 lbs.
"That is the problem indeed," answered Major Elphinstone.
"When a projectile is hurled into space," resumed Barbicane, "what happens? It is acted upon by three independent forces, the resistance of the medium, the attraction of the earth, and the force of impulsion with which it is animated. Let us examine these three forces. The resistance of the medium—that is to say, the resistance of the air—is of little importance. In fact, the terrestrial atmosphere is only forty miles deep. With a rapidity of 12,000 yards the projectile will cross that in five seconds, and this time will be short enough to make the resistance of the medium insignificant. Let us now pass to the attraction of the earth—that is to say, to the weight of the projectile. We know that that weight diminishes in an inverse ratio to the square of distances—in fact, this is what physics teach us: when a body left to itself falls on the surface of the earth, it falls 15 feet in the first second, and if the same body had to fall 257,542 miles—that is to say, the distance between the earth and the moon—its fall would be reduced to half a line in the first second. That is almost equivalent to immobility. The question is, therefore, how progressively to overcome this law of gravitation. How shall we do it? By the force of impulsion?"
"That is the difficulty," answered the major.
"That is it indeed," replied the president. "But we shall triumph over it, for this force of impulsion we want depends on the length of the engine and the quantity of powder employed, the one only being limited by the resistance of the other. Let us occupy ourselves, therefore, to-day with the dimensions to be given to the cannon. It is quite understood that we can make it, as large as we like, seeing it will not have to be moved."
"All that is evident," replied the general.
"Until now," said Barbicane, "the longest cannon, our enormous Columbiads, have not been more than twenty-five feet long; we shall therefore astonish many people by the dimensions we shall have to adopt."
"Certainly," exclaimed J.T. Maston. "For my part, I ask for a cannon half a mile long at least!"
"Half a mile!" cried the major and the general.
"Yes, half a mile, and that will be half too short."
"Come, Maston," answered Morgan, "you exaggerate."
"No, I do not," said the irate secretary; "and I really do not know why you tax me with exaggeration."
"Because you go too far."
"You must know, sir," answered J.T. Maston, looking dignified, "that an artilleryman is like a cannon-ball, he can never go too far."
The debate was getting personal, but the president interfered.
"Be calm, my friends, and let us reason it out. We evidently want a gun of great range, as the length of the engine will increase the detention of gas accumulated behind the projectile, but it is useless to overstep certain limits."
"Perfectly," said the major.
"What are the usual rules in such a case? Ordinarily the length of a cannon is twenty or twenty-five times the diameter of the projectile, and it weighs 235 to 240 times its weight."
"It is not enough," cried J.T. Maston with impetuosity.
"I agree to that, my worthy friend, and in fact by keeping that proportion for a projectile nine feet wide, weighing 30,000 lbs., the engine would only have a length of 225 feet and a weight of 7,200,000 lbs."
"That is ridiculous," resumed J.T. Maston. "You might as well take a pistol."
"I think so too," answered Barbicane; "that is why I propose to quadruple that length, and to construct a cannon 900 feet long."
The general and the major made some objections, but, nevertheless, this proposition, strongly supported by the secretary, was definitely adopted.
"Now," said Elphinstone, "what thickness must we give its sides?"
"A thickness of six feet," answered Barbicane.
"You do not think of raising such a mass upon a gun-carriage?" asked the major.
"That would be superb, however! said J.T. Maston.
"But impracticable," answered Barbicane. "No, I think of casting this engine in the ground itself, binding it up with wrought-iron hoops, and then surrounding it with a thick mass of stone and cement masonry. When it is cast it must be bored with great precision so as to prevent windage, so there will be no loss of gas, and all the expansive force of the powder will be employed in the propulsion."
"Hurrah! hurrah!" said Maston, "we have our cannon."
"Not yet," answered Barbicane, calming his impatient friend with his hand.
"Why not?"
"Because we have not discussed its form. Shall it be a cannon, howitzer, or a mortar?"
"A cannon," replied Morgan.
"A howitzer," said the major.
"A mortar," exclaimed J.T. Maston.
A fresh discussion was pending, each taking the part of his favourite weapon, when the president stopped it short.
"My friends," said he, "I will soon make you agree. Our Columbiad will be a mixture of all three. It will be a cannon, because the powder-magazine will have the same diameter as the chamber. It will be a howitzer, because it will hurl an obus. Lastly, it will be a mortar, because it will be pointed at an angle of 90°, and that without any chance of recoil; unalterably fixed to the ground, it will communicate to the projectile all the power of impulsion accumulated in its body."
"Adopted, adopted," answered the members of the committee.
"One question," said Elphinstone, "and will thiscanobusomortarbe rifled?"
"No," answered Barbicane. "No, we must have an enormous initial speed, and you know very well that a shot leaves a rifle less rapidly than a smooth-bore."
"True," answered the major.
"Well, we have it this time," repeated J.T. Maston.
"Not quite yet," replied the president.
"Why not?"
"Because we do not yet know of what metal it will be made."
"Let us decide that without delay."
"I was going to propose it to you."
The four members of the committee each swallowed a dozen sandwiches, followed by a cup of tea, and the debate recommenced.
"Our cannon," said Barbicane, "must be possessed of great tenacity, great hardness; it must be infusible by heat, indissoluble, and inoxydable by the corrosive action of acids."
"There is no doubt about that," answered the major, "and as we shall have to employ a considerable quantity of metal we shall not have much choice."
"Well, then," said Morgan, "I propose for the fabrication of the Columbiad the best alloy hitherto known—that is to say, 100 parts of copper, 12 of tin, and 6 of brass."
"My friends," answered the president, "I agree that this composition has given excellent results; but in bulk it would be too dear and very hard to work. I therefore think we must adopt an excellent material, but cheap, such as cast-iron. Is not that your opinion, major?"
"Quite," answered Elphinstone.
"In fact," resumed Barbicane, "cast-iron costs ten times less than bronze; it is easily melted, it is readily run into sand moulds, and is rapidly manipulated; it is, therefore, an economy of money and time. Besides, that material is excellent, and I remember that during the war at the siege of Atlanta cast-iron cannon fired a thousand shots each every twenty minutes without being damaged by it."
"Yet cast-iron is very brittle," answered Morgan.
"Yes, but it possesses resistance too. Besides, we shall not let it explode, I can answer for that."
"It is possible to explode and yet be honest," replied J.T. Maston sententiously.
"Evidently," answered Barbicane. "I am, therefore, going to beg our worthy secretary to calculate the weight of a cast-iron cannon 900 feet long, with an inner diameter of nine feet, and sides six feet thick."
"At once," answered J.T. Maston, and, as he had done the day before, he made his calculations with marvellous facility, and said at the end of a minute—
"This cannon will weigh 68,040 tons."
"And how much will that cost at two cents a pound?"
"Two million five hundred and ten thousand seven hundred and one dollars."
J.T. Maston, the major, and the general looked at Barbicane anxiously.
"Well, gentlemen," said the president, "I can only repeat what I said to you yesterday, don't be uneasy; we shall not want for money."
Upon this assurance of its president the committee broke up, after having fixed a third meeting for the next evening.
The question of powder still remained to be settled. The public awaited this last decision with anxiety. The size of the projectile and length of the cannon being given, what would be the quantity of powder necessary to produce the impulsion? This terrible agent, of which, however, man has made himself master, was destined to play a part in unusual proportions.
It is generally known and often asserted that gunpowder was invented in the fourteenth century by the monk Schwartz, who paid for his great discovery with his life. But it is nearly proved now that this story must be ranked among the legends of the Middle Ages. Gunpowder was invented by no one; it is a direct product of Greek fire, composed, like it, of sulphur and saltpetre; only since that epoch these mixtures; which were only dissolving, have been transformed into detonating mixtures.
But if learned men know perfectly the false history of gunpowder, few people are aware of its mechanical power. Now this is necessary to be known in order to understand the importance of the question submitted to the committee.
Thus a litre of gunpowder weighs about 2 lbs.; it produces, by burning, about 400 litres of gas; this gas, liberated, and under the action of a temperature of 2,400°, occupies the space of 4,000 litres. Therefore the volume of powder is to the volume of gas produced by its deflagration as 1 to 400. The frightful force of this gas, when it is compressed into a space 4,000 times too small, may be imagined.
This is what the members of the committee knew perfectly when, the next day, they began their sitting. Major Elphinstone opened the debate.
"My dear comrades," said the distinguished chemist, "I am going to begin with some unexceptionable figures, which will serve as a basis for our calculation. The 24-lb. cannon-ball, of which the Hon. J.T. Maston spoke the day before yesterday, is driven out of the cannon by 16 lbs. of powder only."
"You are certain of your figures?" asked Barbicane.
"Absolutely certain," answered the major. "The Armstrong cannon only uses 75 lbs. of powder for a projectile of 800 lbs., and the Rodman Columbiad only expends 160 lbs. of powder to send its half-ton bullet six miles. These facts cannot be doubted, for I found them myself in the reports of the Committee of Artillery."
"That is certain," answered the general.
"Well," resumed the major, "the conclusion to be drawn from these figures is that the quantity of powder does not augment with the weight of the shot; in fact, if a shot of 24 lbs. took 16 lbs. of powder, and, in other terms, if in ordinary cannons a quantity of powder weighing two-thirds of the weight of the projectile is used, this proportion is not always necessary. Calculate, and you will see that for the shot of half a ton weight, instead of 333 lbs. of powder, this quantity has been reduced to 116 lbs. only.
"What are you driving at?" asked the president.
"The extreme of your theory, my dear major," said J.T. Maston, "would bring you to having no powder at all, provided your shot were sufficiently heavy."
"Friend Maston will have his joke even in the most serious things," replied the major; "but he need not be uneasy; I shall soon propose a quantity of powder that will satisfy him. Only I wish to have it understood that during the war, and for the largest guns, the weight of the powder was reduced, after experience, to a tenth of the weight of the shot."
"Nothing is more exact," said Morgan; "but, before deciding the quantity of powder necessary to give the impulsion, I think it would be well to agree upon its nature."
"We shall use a large-grained powder," answered the major; "its deflagration is the most rapid."
"No doubt," replied Morgan; "but it is very brittle, and ends by damaging the chamber of the gun."
"Certainly; but what would be bad for a gun destined for long service would not be so for our Columbiad. We run no danger of explosion, and the powder must immediately take fire to make its mechanical effect complete."
"We might make several touchholes," said J.T. Maston, "so as to set fire to it in several places at the same time."
"No doubt," answered Elphinstone, "but that would make the working of it more difficult. I therefore come back to my large-grained powder that removes these difficulties."
"So be it," answered the general.
"To load his Columbiad," resumed the major, "Rodman used a powder in grains as large as chestnuts, made of willow charcoal, simply rarefied in cast-iron pans. This powder was hard and shining, left no stain on the hands, contained a great proportion of hydrogen and oxygen, deflagrated instantaneously, and, though very brittle, did not much damage the mouthpiece."
"Well, it seems to me," answered J.T. Maston, "that we have nothing to hesitate about, and that our choice is made."
"Unless you prefer gold-powder," replied the major, laughing, which provoked a threatening gesture from the steel hook of his susceptible friend.
Until then Barbicane had kept himself aloof from the discussion; he listened, and had evidently an idea. He contented himself with saying simply—
"Now, my friends, what quantity of powder do you propose?"
The three members of the Gun Club looked at one another for the space of a minute.
"Two hundred thousand pounds," said Morgan at last.
"Five hundred thousand," replied the major.
"Eight hundred thousand," exclaimed J.T. Maston.
This, time Elphinstone dared not tax his colleague with exaggeration. In fact, the question was that of sending to the moon a projectile weighing 20,000 lbs., and of giving it an initial force of 2000 yards a second. A moment of silence, therefore, followed the triple proposition made by the three colleagues.
It was at last broken by President Barbicane.
"My brave comrades," said he in a quiet tone, "I start from this principle, that the resistance of our cannon, in the given conditions, is unlimited. I shall, therefore, surprise the Honourable J.T. Maston when I tell him that he has been timid in his calculations, and I propose to double his 800,000 lbs. of powder."
"Sixteen hundred thousand pounds!" shouted J.T. Maston, jumping out of his chair.
"Quite as much as that."
"Then we shall have to come back to my cannon half a mile long."
"It is evident," said the major.
"Sixteen hundred thousand pounds of powder," resumed the Secretary of Committee, "will occupy about a space of 22,000 cubic feet; now, as your cannon will only hold about 54,000 cubic feet, it will be half full, and the chamber will not be long enough to allow the explosion of the gas to give sufficient impulsion to your projectile."
There was nothing to answer. J.T. Maston spoke the truth. They all looked at Barbicane.
"However," resumed the president, "I hold to that quantity of powder. Think! 1,600,000 pounds of powder will give 6,000,000,000 litres of gas."
"Then how is it to be done?" asked the general.
"It is very simple. We must reduce this enormous quantity of powder, keeping at the same time its mechanical power."
"Good! By what means?"
"I will tell you," answered Barbicane simply.
His interlocutors all looked at him.
"Nothing is easier, in fact," he resumed, "than to bring that mass of powder to a volume four times less. You all know that curious cellular matter which constitutes the elementary tissues of vegetables?"
"Ah!" said the major, "I understand you, Barbicane."
"This matter," said the president, "is obtained in perfect purity in different things, especially in cotton, which is nothing but the skin of the seeds of the cotton plant. Now cotton, combined with cold nitric acid, is transformed into a substance eminently insoluble, eminently combustible, eminently explosive. Some years ago, in 1832, a French chemist, Braconnot, discovered this substance, which he called xyloidine. In 1838, another Frenchman, Pelouze, studied its different properties; and lastly, in 1846, Schonbein, professor of chemistry at Basle, proposed it as gunpowder. This powder is nitric cotton."
"Or pyroxyle," answered Elphinstone.
"Or fulminating cotton," replied Morgan.
"Is there not an American name to put at the bottom of this discovery?" exclaimed J.T. Maston, animated by a lively sentiment of patriotism.
"Not one, unfortunately," replied the major.
"Nevertheless, to satisfy Maston," resumed the president, "I may tell him that one of our fellow-citizens may be annexed to the study of the celluosity, for collodion, which is one of the principal agents in photography, is simply pyroxyle dissolved in ether to which alcohol has been added, and it was discovered by Maynard, then a medical student."
"Hurrah for Maynard and fulminating cotton!" cried the noisy secretary of the Gun Club.
"I return to pyroxyle," resumed Barbicane. "You are acquainted with its properties which make it so precious to us. It is prepared with the greatest facility; cotton plunged in smoking nitric acid for fifteen minutes, then washed in water, then dried, and that is all."
"Nothing is more simple, certainty," said Morgan.
"What is more, pyroxyle is not damaged by moisture, a precious quality in our eyes, as it will take several days to load the cannon. Its inflammability takes place at 170° instead of at 240° and its deflagration is so immediate that it may be fired on ordinary gunpowder before the latter has time to catch fire too."
"Perfect," answered the major.
"Only it will cost more."
"What does that matter?" said J.T. Maston.
"Lastly, it communicates to projectiles a speed four times greater than that of gunpowder. I may even add that if 8/10ths of its weight of nitrate of potash is added its expansive force is still greatly augmented."
"Will that be necessary?" asked the major.
"I do not think so," answered Barbicane. "Thus instead of 1,600,000 lbs. of powder, we shall only have 400,000 lbs. of fulminating cotton, and as we can, without danger, compress 500 lbs. of cotton into 27 cubic feet, that quantity will not take up more than 180 feet in the chamber of the Columbiad. By these means the projectile will have more than 700 feet of chamber to traverse under a force of 6,000,000,000 of litres of gas before taking its flight over the Queen of Night."
Here J.T. Maston could not contain his emotion. He threw himself into the arms of his friend with the violence of a projectile, and he would have been stove in had he not have been bombproof.
This incident ended the first sitting of the committee. Barbicane and his enterprising colleagues, to whom nothing seemed impossible, had just solved the complex question of the projectile, cannon, and powder. Their plan being made, there was nothing left but to put it into execution.
The American public took great interest in the least details of the Gun Club's enterprise. It followed the committee debates day by day. The most simple preparations for this great experiment, the questions of figures it provoked, the mechanical difficulties to be solved, all excited popular opinion to the highest pitch.
More than a year would elapse between the commencement of the work and its completion; but the interval would not be void of excitement. The place to be chosen for the boring, the casting the metal of the Columbiad, its perilous loading, all this was more than necessary to excite public curiosity. The projectile, once fired, would be out of sight in a few seconds; then what would become of it, how it would behave in space, how it would reach the moon, none but a few privileged persons would see with their own eyes. Thus, then, the preparations for the experiment and the precise details of its execution constituted the real source of interest.
In the meantime the purely scientific attraction of the enterprise was all at once heightened by an incident.
It is known what numerous legions of admirers and friends the Barbicane project had called round its author. But, notwithstanding the number and importance of the majority, it was not destined to be unanimous. One man, one out of all the United States, protested against the Gun Club. He attacked it violently on every occasion, and—for human nature is thus constituted—Barbicane was more sensitive to this one man's opposition than to the applause of all the others.
Nevertheless he well knew the motive of this antipathy, from whence came this solitary enmity, why it was personal and of ancient date; lastly, in what rivalry it had taken root.
The president of the Gun Club had never seen this persevering enemy. Happily, for the meeting of the two men would certainly have had disastrous consequences. This rival was asavantlike Barbicane, a proud, enterprising, determined, and violent character, a pure Yankee. His name was Captain Nicholl. He lived in Philadelphia.
No one is ignorant of the curious struggle which went on during the Federal war between the projectile and ironclad vessels, the former destined to pierce the latter, the latter determined not to be pierced. Thence came a radical transformation in the navies of the two continents. Cannon-balls and iron plates struggled for supremacy, the former getting larger as the latter got thicker. Ships armed with formidable guns went into the fire under shelter of their invulnerable armour. The Merrimac, Monitor, ram Tennessee, and Wechhausen shot enormous projectiles after having made themselves proof against the projectiles of other ships. They did to others what they would not have others do to them, an immoral principle upon which the whole art of war is based.
Now Barbicane was a great caster of projectiles, and Nicholl was an equally great forger of plate-armour. The one cast night and day at Baltimore, the other forged day and night at Philadelphia. Each followed an essentially different current of ideas.
As soon as Barbicane had invented a new projectile, Nicholl invented a new plate armour. The president of the Gun Club passed his life in piercing holes, the captain in preventing him doing it. Hence a constant rivalry which even touched their persons. Nicholl appeared in Barbicane's dreams as an impenetrable ironclad against which he split, and Barbicane in Nicholl's dreams appeared like a projectile which ripped him up.
Still, although they ran along two diverging lines, thesesavantswould have ended by meeting each other in spite of all the axioms in geometry; but then it would have been on a duel field. Happily for these worthy citizens, so useful to their country, a distance of from fifty to sixty miles separated them, and their friends put such obstacles in the way that they never met.
At present it was not clearly known which of the two inventors held the palm. The results obtained rendered a just decision difficult. It seemed, however, that in the end armour-plate would have to give way to projectiles. Nevertheless, competent men had their doubts. At the latest experiments the cylindro-conical shots of Barbicane had no more effect than pins upon Nicholl's armour-plate. That day the forger of Philadelphia believed himself victorious, and henceforth had nothing but disdain for his rival. But when, later on, Barbicane substituted simple howitzers of 600 lbs. for conical shots, the captain was obliged to go down in his own estimation. It fact, these projectiles, though of mediocre velocity, drilled with holes and broke to pieces armour-plate of the best metal.
Things had reached this point and victory seemed to rest with the projectile, when the war ended the very day that Nicholl terminated a new forged armour-plate. It was a masterpiece of its kind. It defied all the projectiles in the world. The captain had it taken to the Washington Polygon and challenged the president of the Gun Club to pierce it. Barbicane, peace having been made, would not attempt the experiment.
Then Nicholl, in a rage, offered to expose his armour-plate to the shock of any kind of projectile, solid, hollow, round, or conical.
The president, who was determined not to compromise his last success, refused.
Nicholl, excited by this unqualified obstinacy, tried to tempt Barbicane by leaving him every advantage. He proposed to put his plate 200 yards from the gun. Barbicane still refused. At 100 yards? Not even at 75.
"At 50, then," cried the captain, through the newspapers, "at 25 yards from my plate, and I will be behind it."
Barbicane answered that even if Captain Nicholl would be in front of it he would not fire any more.
On this reply, Nicholl could no longer contain himself. He had recourse to personalities; he insinuated cowardice—that the man who refuses to fire a shot from a cannon is very nearly being afraid of it; that, in short, the artillerymen who fight now at six miles distance have prudently substituted mathematical formulae for individual courage, and that there is as much bravery required to quietly wait for a cannon-ball behind armour-plate as to send it according to all the rules of science.
To these insinuations Barbicane answered nothing. Perhaps he never knew about them, for the calculations of his great enterprise absorbed him entirely.
When he made his famous communication to the Gun Club, the anger of Captain Nicholl reached its maximum. Mixed with it was supreme jealousy and a sentiment of absolute powerlessness. How could he invent anything better than a Columbiad 900 feet long? What armour-plate could ever resist a projectile of 30,000 lbs.? Nicholl was at first crushed by this cannon-ball, then he recovered and resolved to crush the proposition by the weight of his best arguments.
He therefore violently attacked the labours of the Gun Club. He sent a number of letters to the newspapers, which they did not refuse to publish. He tried to demolish Barbicane's work scientifically. Once the war begun, he called reasons of every kind to his aid, reasons it must be acknowledged often specious and of bad metal.
Firstly, Barbicane was violently attacked about his figures. Nicholl tried to prove by A + B the falseness of his formulae, and he accused him of being ignorant of the rudimentary principles of ballistics. Amongst other errors, and according to Nicholl's own calculations, it was impossible to give any body a velocity of 12,000 yards a second. He sustained, algebra in hand, that even with that velocity a projectile thus heavy would never pass the limits of the terrestrial atmosphere. It would not even go eight leagues! Better still. Granted the velocity, and taking it as sufficient, the shot would not resist the pressure of the gas developed by the combustion of 1,600,000 pounds of powder, and even if it did resist that pressure, it at least would not support such a temperature; it would melt as it issued from the Columbiad, and would fall in red-hot rain on the heads of the imprudent spectators.
Barbicane paid no attention to these attacks, and went on with his work.
Then Nicholl considered the question in its other aspects. Without speaking of its uselessness from all other points of view, he looked upon the experiment as exceedingly dangerous, both for the citizens who authorised so condemnable a spectacle by their presence, and for the towns near the deplorable cannon. He also remarked that if the projectile did not reach its destination, a result absolutely impossible, it was evident that it would fall on to the earth again, and that the fall of such a mass multiplied by the square of its velocity would singularly damage some point on the globe. Therefore, in such a circumstance, and without any restriction being put upon the rights of free citizens, it was one of those cases in which the intervention of government became necessary, and the safety of all must not be endangered for the good pleasure of a single individual.
It will be seen to what exaggeration Captain Nicholl allowed himself to be carried. He was alone in his opinion. Nobody took any notice of his Cassandra prophecies. They let him exclaim as much as he liked, till his throat was sore if he pleased. He had constituted himself the defender of a cause lost in advance. He was heard but not listened to, and he did not carry off a single admirer from the president of the Gun Club, who did not even take the trouble to refute his rival's arguments.
Nicholl, driven into his last intrenchments, and not being able to fight for his opinion, resolved to pay for it. He therefore proposed in theRichmond Inquirera series of bets conceived in these terms and in an increasing proportion.
He bet that—
1. The funds necessary for the Gun Club's enterprise would not be forthcoming, 1,000 dols.
2. That the casting of a cannon of 900 feet was impracticable and would not succeed, 2,000 dols.
3. That it would be impossible to load the Columbiad, and that the pyroxyle would ignite spontaneously under the weight of the projectile, 3,000 dols.
4. That the Columbiad would burst at the first discharge, 4,000 dols.
5. That the projectile would not even go six miles, and would fall a few seconds after its discharge, 5,000 dols.
It will be seen that the captain was risking an important sum in his invincible obstinacy. No less than 15,000 dols. were at stake.
Notwithstanding the importance of the wager, he received on the 19th ofOctober a sealed packet of superb laconism, couched in these terms:—
"Baltimore, October 18th.
"Done.