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

by Jules Verne

  CHAPTER VII.

  A MOMENT OF INTOXICATION.

  Thus a phenomenon, curious but explicable, was happening under thesestrange conditions.

  Every object thrown from the projectile would follow the same course andnever stop until it did. There was a subject for conversation which thewhole evening could not exhaust.

  Besides, the excitement of the three travellers increased as they drewnear the end of their journey. They expected unforeseen incidents, andnew phenomena; and nothing would have astonished them in the frame ofmind they then were in. Their over-excited imagination went faster thanthe projectile, whose speed was evidently diminishing, though insensiblyto themselves. But the moon grew larger to their eyes, and they fanciedif they stretched out their hands they could seize it.

  The next day, the 5th of November, at five in the morning, all threewere on foot. That day was to be the last of their journey, if allcalculations were true. That very night, at twelve o'clock, in eighteenhours, exactly at the full moon, they would reach its brilliant disc.The next midnight would see that journey ended, the most extraordinaryof ancient or modern times. Thus from the first of the morning, throughthe scuttles silvered by its rays, they saluted the orb of night with aconfident and joyous hurrah.

  The moon was advancing majestically along the starry firmament. A fewmore degrees, and she would reach the exact point where her meeting withthe projectile was to take place.

  According to his own observations, Barbicane reckoned that they wouldland on her northern hemisphere, where stretch immense planes, and wheremountains are rare. A favourable circumstance if, as they thought, thelunar atmosphere was stored only in its depths.

  "Besides," observed Michel Ardan, "a plain is easier to disembark uponthan a mountain. A Selenite, deposited in Europe on the summit of MontBlanc, or in Asia on the top of the Himalayas, would not be quite in theright place."

  "And," added Captain Nicholl, "on a flat ground, the projectile willremain motionless when it has once touched; whereas on a declivity itwould roll like an avalanche, and not being squirrels we should not comeout safe and sound. So it is all for the best."

  Indeed, the success of the audacious attempt no longer appeared doubtful.But Barbicane was preoccupied with one thought; but not wishing to makehis companions uneasy, he kept silence on the subject.

  The direction the projectile was taking towards the moon's northernhemisphere, showed that her course had been slightly altered. Thedischarge, mathematically calculated, would carry the projectile to thevery centre of the lunar disc. If it did not land there, there must havebeen some deviation. What had caused it? Barbicane could neither imaginenor determine the importance of the deviation, for there were no pointsto go by.

  He hoped, however, that it would have no other result than that ofbringing them near the upper border of the moon, a region more suitablefor landing.

  Without imparting his uneasiness to his companions, Barbicane contentedhimself with constantly observing the moon, in order to see whether thecourse of the projectile would not be altered; for the situation wouldhave been terrible if it failed in its aim, and being carried beyondthe disc should be launched into interplanetary space. At that moment,the moon, instead of appearing flat like a disc, showed its convexity.If the sun's rays had struck it obliquely, the shadow thrown would havebrought out the high mountains, which would have been clearly detached.The eye might have gazed into the crater's gaping abysses, and followedthe capricious fissures which wound through the immense plains. But allrelief was as yet levelled in intense brilliancy. They could scarcelydistinguish those large spots which give to the moon the appearance ofa human face.

  "Face, indeed!" said Michel Ardan; "but I am sorry for the amiable sisterof Apollo. A very pitted face!"

  But the travellers, now so near the end, were incessantly observingthis new world. They imagined themselves walking through its unknowncountries, climbing its highest peaks, descending into its lowest depths.Here and there they fancied they saw vast seas, scarcely kept togetherunder so rarefied an atmosphere, and watercourses emptying the mountaintributaries. Leaning over the abyss, they hoped to catch some soundsfrom that orb for ever mute in the solitude of space. That last day leftthem.

  They took down the most trifling details. A vague uneasiness tookpossession of them as they neared the end. This uneasiness would havebeen doubled had they felt how their speed had decreased. It wouldhave seemed to them quite insufficient to carry them to the end. It wasbecause the projectile then "weighed" almost nothing. Its weight wasever decreasing, and would be entirely annihilated on that line wherethe lunar and terrestrial attractions would neutralize each other.

  But in spite of his preoccupation, Michel Ardan did not forget to preparethe morning repast with his accustomed punctuality. They ate with a goodappetite. Nothing was so excellent as the soup liquefied by the heat ofthe gas; nothing better than the preserved meat. Some glasses of goodFrench wine crowned the repast, causing Michel Ardan to remark thatthe lunar vines, warmed by that ardent sun, ought to distil even moregenerous wines; that is, if they existed. In any case, the far-seeingFrenchman had taken care not to forget in his collection some preciouscuttings of the Medoc and Cote d'Or, upon which he founded his hopes.

  Reiset and Regnault's apparatus worked with great regularity. Not anatom of carbonic acid resisted the potash; and as to the oxygen, CaptainNicholl said "it was of the first quality." The little watery vapourenclosed in the projectile mixing with the air tempered the dryness; andmany apartments in London, Paris, or New York, and many theatres, werecertainly not in such a healthy condition.

  But that it might act with regularity, the apparatus must be kept inperfect order; so each morning Michel visited the escape regulators,tried the taps, and regulated the heat of the gas by the pyrometer.Everything had gone well up to that time, and the travellers, imitatingthe worthy Joseph T. Maston, began to acquire a degree of embonpoint,which would have rendered them unrecognizable if their imprisonment hadbeen prolonged to some months. In a word, they behaved like chickens ina coop; they were getting fat.

  In looking through the scuttle Barbicane saw the spectre of the dog,and other divers objects which had been thrown from the projectileobstinately following them. Diana howled lugubriously on seeing theremains of Satellite, which seemed as motionless as if they reposed onthe solid earth.

  "Do you know, my friends," said Michel Ardan, "that if one of us hadsuccumbed to the shock consequent on departure, we should have had agreat deal of trouble to bury him? What am I saying? to _etherize_ him,as here ether takes the place of earth. You see the accusing body wouldhave followed us into space like a remorse."

  "That would have been sad," said Nicholl.

  "Ah!" continued Michel, "what I regret is not being able to take a walkoutside. What voluptuousness to float amid this radiant ether, to batheoneself in it, to wrap oneself in the sun's pure rays. If Barbicane hadonly thought of furnishing us with a diving apparatus and an air-pump,I could have ventured out and assumed fanciful attitudes of feignedmonsters on the top of the projectile."

  "Well, old Michel," replied Barbicane, "you would not have made a feignedmonster long, for in spite of your diver's dress, swollen by the expansionof air within you, you would have burst like a shell, or rather like aballoon which has risen too high. So do not regret it, and do not forgetthis--as long as we float in space, all sentimental walks beyond theprojectile are forbidden."

  Michel Ardan allowed himself to be convinced to a certain extent. Headmitted that the thing was difficult but not _impossible_, a word whichhe never uttered.

  The conversation passed from this subject to another, not failing foran instant. It seemed to the three friends as though, under presentconditions, ideas shot up in their brains as leaves shoot at the firstwarmth of spring. They felt bewildered. In the middle of the questionsand answers which crossed each other, Nicholl put one question which didnot find an immediate solution.

  "Ah, indeed!" said he; "it is all v
ery well to go to the moon, but howto get back again?"

  His two interlocutors looked surprised. One would have thought that thispossibility now occurred to them for the first time.

  "What do you mean by that, Nicholl?" asked Barbicane gravely.

  "To ask for means to leave a country," added Michel, "when we have notyet arrived there, seems to me rather inopportune."

  "I do not say that, wishing to draw back," replied Nicholl; "but I repeatmy question, and I ask, 'How shall we return?'"

  "I know nothing about it," answered Barbicane.

  "And I," said Michel, "if I had known how to return, I would never havestarted."

  Illustration: "I COULD HAVE VENTURED OUT ON THE TOP OF THE PROJECTILE."

  "There's an answer!" cried Nicholl.

  "I quite approve of Michel's words," said Barbicane; "and add, that thequestion has no real interest. Later, when we think it advisable toreturn, we will take counsel together. If the Columbiad is not there,the projectile will be."

  "That is a step certainly. A ball without a gun!"

  "The gun," replied Barbicane, "can be manufactured. The powder can bemade. Neither metals, saltpetre, nor coal can fail in the depths ofthe moon, and we need only go 8000 leagues in order to fall upon theterrestrial globe by virtue of the mere laws of weight."

  "Enough," said Michel with animation. "Let it be no longer a question ofreturning: we have already entertained it too long. As to communicatingwith our former earthly colleagues, that will not be difficult."

  "And how?"

  "By means of meteors launched by lunar volcanos."

  "Well thought of, Michel," said Barbicane in a convinced tone of voice."Laplace has calculated that a force five times greater than that ofour gun would suffice to send a meteor from the moon to the earth, andthere is not one volcano which has not a greater power of propulsion thanthat."

  "Hurrah!" exclaimed Michel; "these meteors are handy postmen, andcost nothing. And how we shall be able to laugh at the post-officeadministration. But now I think of it--"

  "What do you think of?"

  "A capital idea. Why did we not fasten a thread to our projectile, andwe could have exchanged telegrams with the earth?"

  "The deuce!" answered Nicholl. "Do you consider the weight of a thread250,000 miles long nothing?"

  "As nothing. They could have trebled the Columbiad's charge; they couldhave quadrupled or quintupled it!" exclaimed Michel, with whom the verbtook a higher intonation each time.

  "There is but one little objection to make to your proposition," repliedBarbicane, "which is that, during the rotary motion of the globe, ourthread would have wound itself round it like a chain on a capstan, andthat it would inevitably have brought us to the ground."

  "By the thirty-nine stars of the Union!" said Michel, "I have nothingbut impracticable ideas to-day; ideas worthy of J. T. Maston. But I havea notion that, if we do not return to earth, J. T. Maston will be ableto come to us."

  "Yes, he'll come," replied Barbicane; "he is a worthy and a courageouscomrade. Besides, what is easier? Is not the Columbiad still buriedin the soil of Florida? Is cotton and nitric acid wanted wherewith tomanufacture the pyroxile? Will not the moon again pass to the zenith ofFlorida? In eighteen years' time will she not occupy exactly the sameplace as to-day?"

  "Yes," continued Michel, "yes, Marston will come, and with him ourfriends Elphinstone, Blomsberry, all the members of the Gun Club, and theywill be well received. And by and by they will run trains of projectilesbetween the earth and the moon! Hurrah for J. T. Maston!"

  It is probable that, if the Hon. J. T. Maston did not hear the hurrahsuttered in his honour, his ears at least tingled. What was he doing then?Doubtless posted in the Rocky Mountains, at the station of Long's Peak,he was trying to find the invisible projectile gravitating in space. Ifhe was thinking of his dear companions, we must allow that they were notfar behind him; and that, under the influence of a strange excitement,they were devoting to him their best thoughts.

  But whence this excitement, which was evidently growing upon thetenants of the projectile? Their sobriety could not be doubted. Thisstrange irritation of the brain, must it be attributed to the peculiarcircumstances under which they found themselves, to their proximity tothe orb of night, from which only a few hours separated them, to somesecret influence of the moon acting upon their nervous system? Theirfaces were as rosy as if they had been exposed to the roaring flamesof an oven; their voices resounded in loud accents; their words escapedlike a champagne cork driven out by carbonic acid; their gestures becameannoying, they wanted so much room to perform them; and, strange to say,they none of them noticed this great tension of the mind.

  "Now," said Nicholl, in a short tone, "now that I do not know whether weshall ever return from the moon, I want to know what we are going to dothere?"

  "What we are going to do there?" replied Barbicane, stamping with hisfoot as if he was in a fencing saloon; "I do not know."

  "You do not know!" exclaimed Michel, with a bellow which provoked asonorous echo in the projectile.

  "No, I have not even thought about it," retorted Barbicane, in the sameloud tone.

  "Well, I know," replied Michel.

  "Speak, then," cried Nicholl, who could no longer contain the growlingof his voice.

  "I shall speak if it suits me," exclaimed Michel, seizing his companions'arms with violence.

  "_It must_ suit you," said Barbicane, with an eye on fire and a threateninghand. "It was you who drew us into this frightful journey, and we wantto know what for."

  "Yes," said the captain, "now that I do not know where I am going, I wantto know _why_ I am going."

  "Why?" exclaimed Michel, jumping a yard high, "why? To take possessionof the moon in the name of the United States; to add a fortieth State tothe Union; to colonize the lunar regions; to cultivate them, to peoplethem, to transport thither all the prodigies of art, of science, andindustry; to civilize the Selenites, unless they are more civilized thanwe are; and to constitute them a republic, if they are not already one!"

  "And if there are no Selenites?" retorted Nicholl, who, under theinfluence of this unaccountable intoxication, was very contradictory.

  "Who said that there were no Selenites?" exclaimed Michel in a threateningtone.

  "I do," howled Nicholl.

  "Captain," said Michel, "do not repeat that insolence, or I will knockyour teeth down your throat!"

  The two adversaries were going to fall upon each other, and the incoherentdiscussion threatened to merge into a fight, when Barbicane intervenedwith one bound.

  "Stop, miserable men," said he, separating his two companions; "if thereare no Selenites, we will do without them."

  "Yes," exclaimed Michel, who was not particular; "yes, we will do withoutthem. We have only to make Selenites. Down with the Selenites!"

  "The empire of the moon belongs to us," said Nicholl. "Let us threeconstitute the republic."

  "I will be the congress," cried Michel.

  "And I the senate," retorted Nicholl.

  "And Barbicane, the president," howled Michel.

  "Not a president elected by the nation," replied Barbicane.

  "Very well, a president elected by the congress," cried Michel; "and asI am the congress, you are unanimously elected!"

  "Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! for President Barbicane," exclaimed Nicholl.

  "Hip! hip! hip!" vociferated Michel Ardan.

  Then the President and the Senate struck up in a tremendous voice thepopular song "Yankee Doodle," whilst from the Congress resounded themasculine tones of the "Marseillaise."

  Then they struck up a frantic dance, with maniacal gestures, idioticstampings, and somersaults like those of the boneless clowns in thecircus. Diana, joining in the dance, and howling in her turn, jumped tothe top of the projectile. An unaccountable flapping of wings was thenheard amidst most fantastic cock-crows, while five or six hens flutteredlike bats against the walls.

  Illustration: THEY STRUCK UP A
FRANTIC DANCE.

  Then the three travelling companions, acted upon by some unaccountableinfluence above that of intoxication, inflamed by the air which had settheir respiratory apparatus on fire, fell motionless to the bottom ofthe projectile.