by Jules Verne
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PASSENGER OF THE "ATLANTA."
If this astounding news, instead of flying through the electric wires,had simply arrived by post in the ordinary sealed envelope, Barbicanewould not have hesitated a moment. He would have held his tongue aboutit, both as a measure of prudence, and in order not to have to reconsiderhis plans. This telegram might be a cover for some jest, especially asit came from a Frenchman. What human being would ever have conceived theidea of such a journey? and, if such a person really existed, he must bean idiot, whom one would shut up in a lunatic ward, rather than withinthe walls of the projectile.
The contents of the despatch, however, speedily became known; forthe telegraphic officials possessed but little discretion, and MichelArdan's proposition ran at once throughout the several States of theUnion. Barbicane had, therefore, no further motive for keeping silence.Consequently, he called together such of his colleagues as were at themoment in Tampa Town, and without any expression of his own opinionssimply read to them the laconic text itself. It was received with everypossible variety of expressions of doubt, incredulity, and derision fromevery one, with the exception of J. T. Maston, who exclaimed, "It is agrand idea, however!"
When Barbicane originally proposed to send a shot to the moon every onelooked upon the enterprise as simple and practicable enough--a merequestion of gunnery; but when a person, professing to be a reasonablebeing, offered to take passage within the projectile, the whole thingbecame a farce, or, in plainer language a _humbug._
Illustration: PRESIDENT BARBICANE AT HIS WINDOW.
One question, however, remained. Did such a being exist? This telegramflashed across the depths of the Atlantic, the designation of the vesselon board which he was to take his passage, the date assigned for hisspeedy arrival, all combined to impart a certain character of reality tothe proposal. They must get some clearer notion of the matter. Scatteredgroups of inquirers at length condensed themselves into a compact crowd,which made straight for the residence of President Barbicane. That worthyindividual was keeping quiet with the intention of watching events as theyarose. But he had forgotten to take into account the public impatience;and it was with no pleasant countenance that he watched the populationof Tampa Town gathering under his windows. The murmurs and vociferationsbelow presently obliged him to appear. He came forward, therefore, andon silence being procured, a citizen put point-blank to him the followingquestion:--"Is the person mentioned in the telegram, under the name ofMichel Ardan, on his way here? Yes or no."
"Gentlemen," replied Barbicane, "I know no more than you do."
"We must know," roared the impatient voices.
"Time will show," calmly replied the President.
"Time has no business to keep a whole country in suspense," replied theorator. "Have you altered the plans of the projectile according to therequest of the telegram?"
"Not yet, gentlemen; but you are right! we must have better informationto go by. The telegraph must complete its information."
"To the telegraph!" roared the crowd.
Barbicane descended; and heading the immense assemblage, led the way tothe telegraph office. A few minutes later a telegram was despatched tothe secretary of the underwriters at Liverpool, requesting answers tothe following queries:--
"About the ship 'Atlanta'--when did she leave Europe? Had she on boarda Frenchman named Michel Ardan?"
Two hours afterwards Barbicane received information too exact to leaveroom for the smallest remaining doubt.
"The steamer 'Atlanta' from Liverpool put to sea on the 2nd October,bound for Tampa Town, having on board a Frenchman borne on the list ofpassengers by the name of Michel Ardan."
That very evening he wrote to the house of Breadwill and Co., requestingthem to suspend the casting of the projectile until the receipt offurther orders. On the 20th October, at 9 a.m., the semaphores of theBahama Canal signalled a thick smoke on the horizon. Two hours later alarge steamer exchanged signals with them. The name of the Atlanta flewat once over Tampa Town. At four o'clock the English vessel entered theBay of Espiritu Santo. At five it crossed the passage of HillisboroughBay at full steam. At six she cast anchor at Port Tampa. The anchor hadscarcely caught the sandy bottom when 500 boats surrounded the "Atlanta,"and the steamer was taken by assault. Barbicane was the first to set footon deck, and in a voice of which he vainly tried to conceal the emotion,called "Michel Ardan."
"Here!" replied an individual perched on the poop.
Barbicane, with arms crossed, looked fixedly at the passenger of the"Atlanta."
He was a man of about 42 years of age, of large build, but slightlyround-shouldered. His massive head momentarily shook a shock of reddishhair, which resembled a lion's mane. His face was short with a broadforehead, and furnished with a moustache as bristly as a cat's, and littlepatches of yellowish whisker upon full cheeks. Round, wildish eyes,slightly near-sighted, completed a physiognomy essentially _feline._ Hisnose was firmly shaped, his mouth particularly sweet in expression, highforehead, intelligent and furrowed with wrinkles like a newly-ploughedfield. The body was powerfully developed and firmly fixed upon long legs.Muscular arms, and a general air of decision gave him the appearance ofa hardy, jolly companion. He was dressed in a suit of ample dimensions,loose neckerchief, open shirt-collar, disclosing a robust neck; his cuffswere invariably unbuttoned, through which appeared a pair of red hands.
Illustration: MICHEL ARDEN.
On the bridge of the steamer, in the midst of the crowd, he bustled toand fro, never still for a moment, "dragging his anchors," as the sailorssay, gesticulating, making free with everybody, biting his nails withnervous avidity. He was one of those originals which nature sometimesinvents in the freak of a moment, and of which she then breaks the mould.
Amongst other peculiarities, this curiosity gave himself out for asublime ignoramus, "like Shakespeare," and professed supreme contemptfor all scientific men. Those "fellows," as he called them, "are onlyfit to mark the points, while we play the game." He was, in fact, athorough Bohemian, adventurous, but not an adventurer; a hair-brainedfellow, a kind of Icarus, only possessing relays of wings. For the rest,he was ever in scrapes, ending invariably by falling on his feet, likethose little pith figures which they sell for children's toys. In twowords, his motto was "I have my opinions," and the love of the impossibleconstituted his ruling passion.
Such was the passenger of the "Atlanta," always excitable, as if boilingunder the action of some internal fire by the character of his physicalorganization. If ever two individuals offered a striking contrast to eachother, these were certainly Michel Ardan and the Yankee Barbicane; both,moreover, being equally enterprising and daring, each in his own way.
The scrutiny which the President of the Gun Club had instituted regardingthis new rival was quickly interrupted by the shouts and hurrahs of thecrowd. The cries became at last so uproarious, and the popular enthusiasmassumed so personal a form, that Michel Ardan, after having shaken handssome thousands of times, at the imminent risk of leaving his fingersbehind him, was fain at last to make a bolt for his cabin.
Barbicane followed him without uttering a word.
"You are Barbicane, I suppose?" said Michel Ardan in a tone of voice inwhich he would have addressed a friend of twenty years' standing.
"Yes," replied the President of the G. C.
"All right! how d'ye do, Barbicane? how are you getting on--pretty well?that's right."
"So," said Barbicane without further preliminary, "you are quitedetermined to go."
"Quite decided."
"Nothing will stop you?"
"Nothing. Have you modified your projectile according to my telegram."
"I waited for your arrival. But," asked Barbicane again, "have youcarefully reflected?"
"Reflected? have I any time to spare? I find an opportunity of making atour in the moon, and I mean to profit by it. There is the whole gist ofthe matter."
Barbicane looked hard at this man who spoke so ligh
tly of his projectwith such complete absence of anxiety. "But, at least," said he, "youhave some plans, some means of carrying your project into execution?"
"Excellent, my dear Barbicane; only permit me to offer one remark:--Mywish is to tell my story once for all, to everybody, and then to havedone with it; then there will be no need for recapitulation. So, if youhave no objection, assemble your friends, colleagues, the whole town,all Florida, all America if you like, and to-morrow I shall be ready toexplain my plans and answer any objections whatever that may be advanced.You may rest assured I shall wait without stirring. Will that suit you?"
"All right," replied Barbicane.
So saying, the President left the cabin and informed the crowd of theproposal of Michel Ardan. His words were received with clappings of handsand shouts of joy. They had removed all difficulties. To-morrow everyone would contemplate at his ease this European hero. However, some ofthe spectators, more infatuated than the rest, would not leave the deckof the "Atlanta." They passed the night on board. Amongst others, J.T. Maston got his hook fixed in the combing of the poop, and it prettynearly required the capstan to get it out again.
"He is a hero! a hero!" he cried, a theme of which he was never tired ofringing the changes; "and we are only like weak, silly women, comparedwith this European!"
As to the president, after having suggested to the visitors it was timeto retire, he re-entered the passenger's cabin, and remained there tillthe bell of the steamer made it midnight.
But then the two rivals in popularity shook hands heartily and parted onterms of intimate friendship.
