From the Earth to the Moon, Direct in Ninety-Seven Hours and Twenty Minutes: and a Trip Round It

by Jules Verne

  CHAPTER XXI.

  HOW A FRENCHMAN MANAGES AN AFFAIR.

  While the contract of this duel was being discussed by the president andthe captain--this dreadful, savage duel, in which each adversary becamea man-hunter--Michel Ardan was resting from the fatigues of his triumph._Resting_ is hardly an appropriate expression, for American beds rivalmarble or granite tables for hardness.

  Ardan was sleeping, then, badly enough, tossing about between the clothswhich served him for sheets, and he was dreaming of making a morecomfortable couch in his projectile when a frightful noise disturbed hisdreams. Thundering blows shook his door. They seemed to be caused by someiron instrument. A great deal of loud talking was distinguishable in thisracket, which was rather too early in the morning. "Open the door," someone shrieked, "for Heaven's sake!" Ardan saw no reason for complying witha demand so roughly expressed. However, he got up and opened the doorjust as it was giving way before the blows of this determined visitor.The secretary of the Gun Club burst into the room. A bomb could not havemade more noise or have entered the room with less ceremony.

  "Last night," cried J. T. Maston, _ex abrupto_, "our president waspublicly insulted during the meeting. He provoked his adversary, who isnone other than Captain Nicholl! They are fighting this morning in thewood of Skersnaw. I heard all particulars from the mouth of Barbicanehimself. If he is killed, then our scheme is at end. We must prevent thisduel; and one man alone has enough influence over Barbicane to stop him,and that man is Michel Ardan."

  Illustration: MASTON BURST INTO THE ROOM.

  While J. T. Maston was speaking, Michel Ardan, without interrupting him,had hastily put on his clothes; and, in less than two minutes, the twofriends were making for the suburbs of Tampa Town with rapid strides.

  It was during this walk that Maston told Ardan the state of the case. Hetold him the real causes of the hostility between Barbicane and Nicholl;how it was of old date, and why, thanks to unknown friends, the presidentand the captain had, as yet, never met face to face. He added that itarose simply from a rivalry between iron plates and shot, and, finally,that the scene at the meeting was only the long-wished-for opportunityfor Nicholl to pay off an old grudge.

  Nothing is more dreadful than private duels in America. The two adversariesattack each other like wild beasts. Then it is that they might well covetthose wonderful properties of the Indians of the prairies--their quickintelligence, their ingenious cunning, their scent of the enemy. A singlemistake, a moment's hesitation, a single false step may cause death. Onthese occasions Yankees are often accompanied by their dogs, and keep upthe struggle for hours.

  "What demons you are!" cried Michel Ardan, when his companion had depictedthis scene to him with much energy.

  "Yes we are," replied J. T. modestly; "but we had better make haste."

  Though Michel Ardan and he had crossed the plain still wet with dew, andhad taken the shortest route over creeks and ricefields, they could notreach Skersnaw under five hours and a half.

  Barbicane must have passed the border half an hour ago.

  There was an old bushman working there, occupied in selling faggots fromtrees that had been levelled by his axe.

  Maston ran towards him, saying, "Have you seen a man go into the wood,armed with a rifle? Barbicane, the president, my best friend?"

  The worthy secretary of the Gun Club thought that his president must beknown by all the world. But the bushman did not seem to understand him.

  "A hunter?" said Ardan.

  "A hunter? Yes," replied the bushman.

  "Long ago?"

  "About an hour."

  "Too late!" cried Maston.

  "Have you heard any gun-shots?" asked Ardan.

  "No!"

  "Not one?"

  "Not one! that hunter did not look as if he knew how to hunt!"

  "What is to be done?" said Maston.

  "We must go into the wood, at the risk of getting a ball which is notintended for us."

  "Ah!" cried Maston, in a tone which could not be mistaken, "I wouldrather have twenty balls in my own head than one in Barbicane's."

  "Forward, then," said Ardan, pressing his companion's hand.

  A few moments later the two friends had disappeared in the copse. It wasa dense thicket, in which rose huge cypresses, sycamores, tulip-trees,olives, tamarinds, oaks, and magnolias. These different trees hadinterwoven their branches into an inextricable maze, through which theeye could not penetrate. Michel Ardan and Maston walked side by side insilence through the tall grass, cutting themselves a path through thestrong creepers, casting curious glances on the bushes, and momentarilyexpecting to hear the sound of rifles. As for the traces which Barbicaneought to have left of his passage through the wood, there was not avestige of them visible: so they followed the barely perceptible pathsalong which Indians had tracked some enemy, and which the dense foliagedarkly overshadowed.

  After an hour spent in vain pursuit the two stopped in intensifiedanxiety.

  "It must be all over," said Maston, discouraged. "A man like Barbicanewould not dodge with his enemy, or ensnare him, would not even manoeuvre!He is too open, too brave. He has gone straight ahead, right into thedanger, and doubtless far enough from the bushman for the wind to preventhis hearing the report of the rifles."

  "But surely," replied Michel Ardan, "since we entered the wood we shouldhave heard!"

  "And what if we came too late?" cried Maston in tones of despair.

  For once Ardan had no reply to make, he and Maston resuming their walkin silence. From time to time, indeed, they raised great shouts, callingalternately Barbicane and Nicholl, neither of whom, however, answeredtheir cries. Only the birds, awakened by the sound, flew past themand disappeared among the branches, while some frightened deer fledprecipitately before them.

  For another hour their search was continued. The greater part of thewood had been explored. There was nothing to reveal the presence of thecombatants. The information of the bushman was after all doubtful, andArdan was about to propose their abandoning this useless pursuit, whenall at once Maston stopped.

  "Hush!" said he, "there is some one down there!"

  "Some one?" repeated Michel Ardan.

  "Yes; a man! He seems motionless. His rifle is not in his hands. Whatcan he be doing?"

  "But can you recognize him?" asked Ardan, whose short sight was of littleuse to him in such circumstances.

  "Yes! yes! He is turning towards us," answered Maston.

  "And it is?"

  "Captain Nicholl!"

  "Nicholl?" cried Michel Ardan, feeling a terrible pang of grief.

  "Nicholl unarmed! He has, then, no longer any fear of his adversary!"

  "Let us go to him," said Michel Ardan, "and find out the truth."

  But he and his companion had barely taken fifty steps when they paused toexamine the captain more attentively. They expected to find a bloodthirstyman, happy in his revenge!

  On seeing him, they remained stupefied.

  A net, composed of very fine meshes, hung between two enormoustulip-trees, and in the midst of this snare, with its wings entangled,was a poor little bird, uttering pitiful cries, while it vainly struggledto escape. The bird-catcher who had laid this snare was no human being,but a venomous spider, peculiar to that country, as large as a pigeon'segg, and armed with enormous claws. The hideous creature, instead ofrushing on its prey, had beaten a sudden retreat and taken refuge inthe upper branches of the tulip-tree, for a formidable enemy menaced itsstronghold.

  Here, then, was Nicholl, his gun on the ground, forgetful of danger,trying if possible to save the victim from its cobweb prison. At last itwas accomplished, and the little bird flew joyfully away and disappeared.

  Nicholl lovingly watched its flight, when he heard these words pronouncedby a voice full of emotion,--

  "You are indeed a brave man!"

  He turned. Michel Ardan was before him, repeating in a different tone,--

  "And a kindhearted one!"

 
; "Michel Ardan!" cried the captain. "Why are you here?"

  "To press your hand, Nicholl, and to prevent you from either killingBarbicane or being killed by him."

  "Barbicane!" returned the captain. "I have been looking for him for thelast two hours in vain. Where is he hiding?"

  Illustration: IN THE MIDST OF THIS SNARE WAS A POOR LITTLE BIRD.

  "Nicholl!" said Michel Ardan, "this is not courteous! we ought always totreat an adversary with respect; rest assured if Barbicane is still alivewe shall find him all the more easily; because if he has not, like you,been amusing himself with freeing oppressed birds, he must be lookingfor _you_. When we have found him, Michel Ardan tells you this, therewill be no duel between you."

  "Between President Barbicane and myself," gravely replied Nicholl, "thereis a rivalry which the death of one of us--"

  "Pooh, pooh!" said Ardan. "Brave fellows like you indeed! you shall notfight!"

  "I will fight, sir!"

  "No!"

  "Captain," said J. T. Maston, with much feeling, "I am a friend of thepresident's, his _alter ego_, his second self; if you really must killsome one, _shoot me!_ it will do just as well!"

  "Sir," Nicholl replied, seizing his rifle convulsively, "these jokes--"

  "Our friend Maston is not joking," replied Ardan. "I fully understandhis idea of being killed himself in order to save his friend. But neitherhe nor Barbicane will fall before the balls of Captain Nicholl. Indeed Ihave so attractive a proposal to make to the two rivals, that both willbe eager to accept it."

  "What is it?" asked Nicholl with manifest incredulity.

  "Patience!" exclaimed Ardan. "I can only reveal it in the presence ofBarbicane."

  "Let us go in search of him then!" cried the captain.

  The three men started off at once; the captain having discharged hisrifle threw it over his shoulder, and advanced in silence.

  Another half-hour passed, and the pursuit was still fruitless. Maston wasoppressed by sinister forebodings. He looked fiercely at Nicholl, askinghimself whether the captain's vengeance had been already satisfied, andthe unfortunate Barbicane, shot, was perhaps lying dead on some bloodytrack. The same thought seemed to occur to Ardan; and both were castinginquiring glances on Nicholl, when suddenly Maston paused.

  The motionless figure of a man leaning against a gigantic catalpa twentyfeet off appeared, half-veiled by the foliage. "It is he!" said Maston.

  Barbicane never moved. Ardan looked at the captain, but he did not wince.Ardan went forward crying,--

  "Barbicane, Barbicane!"

  No answer! Ardan rushed towards his friend; but in the act of seizinghis arms, he stopped short and uttered a cry of surprise.

  Barbicane, pencil in hand, was tracing geometrical figures in a memorandumbook, whilst his unloaded rifle lay beside him on the ground.

  Absorbed in his studies, Barbicane, in his turn forgetful of the duel,had seen and heard nothing.

  When Ardan took his hand, he looked up and stared at his visitor inastonishment.

  "Ah, it is you!" he cried at last. "I have found it, my friend, I havefound it!"

  "What?"

  "My plan!"

  "What plan?"

  "The plan for counteracting the effect of the shock at the departure ofthe projectile!"

  "Indeed?" said Michel Ardan, looking at the captain out of the corner ofhis eye.

  "Yes! water! simply water, which will act as a spring--ah! Maston,"cried Barbicane, "you here also?"

  "Himself," replied Ardan; "and permit me to introduce to you at the sametime the worthy Captain Nicholl!"

  "Nicholl!" cried Barbicane, who jumped up at once. "Pardon me, captain,I had quite forgotten--I am ready!"

  Michel Ardan interfered, without giving the two enemies time to sayanything more.

  Illustration: "GO WITH ME, AND SEE WHETHER WE ARE STOPPED ON OUR JOURNEY."

  "Thank Heaven!" said he. "It is a happy thing that brave men like you twodid not meet sooner! we should now have been mourning for one or otherof you. But, thanks to Providence, which has interfered, there is now nofurther cause for alarm. When one forgets one's anger in mechanics or incobwebs, it is a sign that the anger is not dangerous."

  Michel Ardan then told the president how the captain had been foundoccupied.

  "I put it to you now," said he in conclusion, "are two such good fellowsas you are made on purpose to smash each other's skulls with shot?"

  There was in "the situation" somewhat of the ridiculous, somethingquite unexpected; Michel Ardan saw this, and determined to effect areconciliation.

  "My good friends," said he, with his most bewitching smile, "this isnothing but a misunderstanding. Nothing more! well! to prove that it isall over between you, accept frankly the proposal I am going to make toyou."

  "Make it," said Nicholl.

  "Our friend Barbicane believes that his projectile will go straight tothe moon?"

  "Yes, certainly," replied the president.

  "And our friend Nicholl is persuaded it will fall back upon the earth?"

  "I am certain of it," cried the captain.

  "Good!" said Ardan. "I cannot pretend to make you agree; but I suggestthis:--Go with me, and so see whether we are stopped on our journey."

  "What?" exclaimed J. T. Maston, stupefied.

  The two rivals, on this sudden proposal, looked steadily at each other.Barbicane waited for the captain's answer. Nicholl watched for thedecision of the president.

  "Well?" said Michel. "There is now no fear of the shock!"

  "Done!" cried Barbicane.

  But quickly as he pronounced the word, he was not before Nicholl.

  "Hurrah! bravo! hip! hip! hurrah!" cried Michel, giving a hand to eachof the late adversaries. "Now that it is all settled, my friends, allowme to treat you after French fashion. Let us be off to breakfast!"