by Jules Verne
CHAPTER I
TWENTY MINUTES PAST TEN TO FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES PAST TEN P. M.
As ten o'clock struck, Michel Ardan, Barbicane, and Nicholl,took leave of the numerous friends they were leaving on the earth.The two dogs, destined to propagate the canine race on the lunarcontinents, were already shut up in the projectile.
The three travelers approached the orifice of the enormouscast-iron tube, and a crane let them down to the conical top ofthe projectile. There, an opening made for the purpose gavethem access to the aluminum car. The tackle belonging to thecrane being hauled from outside, the mouth of the Columbiad wasinstantly disencumbered of its last supports.
Nicholl, once introduced with his companions inside theprojectile, began to close the opening by means of a strongplate, held in position by powerful screws. Other plates,closely fitted, covered the lenticular glasses, and thetravelers, hermetically enclosed in their metal prison, wereplunged in profound darkness.
"And now, my dear companions," said Michel Ardan, "let usmake ourselves at home; I am a domesticated man and strongin housekeeping. We are bound to make the best of our newlodgings, and make ourselves comfortable. And first let ustry and see a little. Gas was not invented for moles."
So saying, the thoughtless fellow lit a match by striking it onthe sole of his boot; and approached the burner fixed to thereceptacle, in which the carbonized hydrogen, stored at highpressure, sufficed for the lighting and warming of theprojectile for a hundred and forty-four hours, or six days andsix nights. The gas caught fire, and thus lighted theprojectile looked like a comfortable room with thickly paddedwalls, furnished with a circular divan, and a roof rounded inthe shape of a dome.
Michel Ardan examined everything, and declared himself satisfiedwith his installation.
"It is a prison," said he, "but a traveling prison; and, withthe right of putting my nose to the window, I could well standa lease of a hundred years. You smile, Barbicane. Have you any_arriere-pensee_? Do you say to yourself, `This prison may beour tomb?' Tomb, perhaps; still I would not change it forMahomet's, which floats in space but never advances an inch!"
While Michel Ardan was speaking, Barbicane and Nicholl weremaking their last preparations.
Nicholl's chronometer marked twenty minutes past ten P.M. whenthe three travelers were finally enclosed in their projectile.This chronometer was set within the tenth of a second by that ofMurchison the engineer. Barbicane consulted it.
"My friends," said he, "it is twenty minutes past ten. At forty-seven minutes past ten Murchison will launch the electric sparkon the wire which communicates with the charge of the Columbiad.At that precise moment we shall leave our spheroid. Thus westill have twenty-seven minutes to remain on the earth."
"Twenty-six minutes thirteen seconds," replied the methodical Nicholl.
"Well!" exclaimed Michel Ardan, in a good-humored tone, "muchmay be done in twenty-six minutes. The gravest questions ofmorals and politics may be discussed, and even solved.Twenty-six minutes well employed are worth more than twenty-sixyears in which nothing is done. Some seconds of a Pascal or aNewton are more precious than the whole existence of a crowd ofraw simpletons----"
"And you conclude, then, you everlasting talker?" asked Barbicane.
"I conclude that we have twenty-six minutes left," replied Ardan.
"Twenty-four only," said Nicholl.
"Well, twenty-four, if you like, my noble captain," said Ardan;"twenty-four minutes in which to investigate----"
"Michel," said Barbicane, "during the passage we shall haveplenty of time to investigate the most difficult questions.For the present we must occupy ourselves with our departure."
"Are we not ready?"
"Doubtless; but there are still some precautions to be taken,to deaden as much as possible the first shock."
"Have we not the water-cushions placed between the partition-breaks, whose elasticity will sufficiently protect us?"
"I hope so, Michel," replied Barbicane gently, "but I am not sure."
"Ah, the joker!" exclaimed Michel Ardan. "He hopes!--He is notsure!-- and he waits for the moment when we are encased to makethis deplorable admission! I beg to be allowed to get out!"
"And how?" asked Barbicane.
"Humph!" said Michel Ardan, "it is not easy; we are in thetrain, and the guard's whistle will sound before twenty-fourminutes are over."
"Twenty," said Nicholl.
For some moments the three travelers looked at each other.Then they began to examine the objects imprisoned with them.
"Everything is in its place," said Barbicane. "We have now todecide how we can best place ourselves to resist the shock.Position cannot be an indifferent matter; and we must, as muchas possible, prevent the rush of blood to the head."
"Just so," said Nicholl.
"Then," replied Michel Ardan, ready to suit the action to theword, "let us put our heads down and our feet in the air, likethe clowns in the grand circus."
"No," said Barbicane, "let us stretch ourselves on our sides; weshall resist the shock better that way. Remember that, when theprojectile starts, it matters little whether we are in it orbefore it; it amounts to much the same thing."
"If it is only `much the same thing,' I may cheer up," saidMichel Ardan.
"Do you approve of my idea, Nicholl?" asked Barbicane.
"Entirely," replied the captain. "We've still thirteen minutesand a half."
"That Nicholl is not a man," exclaimed Michel; "he is achronometer with seconds, an escape, and eight holes."
But his companions were not listening; they were taking up theirlast positions with the most perfect coolness. They were liketwo methodical travelers in a car, seeking to place themselvesas comfortably as possible.
We might well ask ourselves of what materials are the hearts ofthese Americans made, to whom the approach of the most frightfuldanger added no pulsation.
Three thick and solidly-made couches had been placed inthe projectile. Nicholl and Barbicane placed them in thecenter of the disc forming the floor. There the threetravelers were to stretch themselves some moments beforetheir departure.
During this time, Ardan, not being able to keep still, turned inhis narrow prison like a wild beast in a cage, chatting with hisfriends, speaking to the dogs Diana and Satellite, to whom, asmay be seen, he had given significant names.
"Ah, Diana! Ah, Satellite!" he exclaimed, teasing them; "so youare going to show the moon-dogs the good habits of the dogs ofthe earth! That will do honor to the canine race! If ever wedo come down again, I will bring a cross type of `moon-dogs,'which will make a stir!"
"If there _are_ dogs in the moon," said Barbicane.
"There are," said Michel Ardan, "just as there are horses, cows,donkeys, and chickens. I bet that we shall find chickens."
"A hundred dollars we shall find none!" said Nicholl.
"Done, my captain!" replied Ardan, clasping Nicholl's hand."But, by the bye, you have already lost three bets with ourpresident, as the necessary funds for the enterprise have beenfound, as the operation of casting has been successful, andlastly, as the Columbiad has been loaded without accident, sixthousand dollars."
"Yes," replied Nicholl. "Thirty-seven minutes six seconds past ten."
"It is understood, captain. Well, before another quarter of anhour you will have to count nine thousand dollars to thepresident; four thousand because the Columbiad will not burst,and five thousand because the projectile will rise more than sixmiles in the air."
"I have the dollars," replied Nicholl, slapping the pocket ofthis coat. "I only ask to be allowed to pay."
"Come, Nicholl. I see that you are a man of method, whichI could never be; but indeed you have made a series of betsof very little advantage to yourself, allow me to tell you."
"And why?" asked Nicholl.
"Because, if you gain the first, the Columbiad will have burst,and the projectile with it; and Barbicane will no longer bethere to reimburse your dollars."
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nbsp; "My stake is deposited at the bank in Baltimore," repliedBarbicane simply; "and if Nicholl is not there, it will go tohis heirs."
"Ah, you practical men!" exclaimed Michel Ardan; "I admire youthe more for not being able to understand you."
"Forty-two minutes past ten!" said Nicholl.
"Only five minutes more!" answered Barbicane.
"Yes, five little minutes!" replied Michel Ardan; "and we areenclosed in a projectile, at the bottom of a gun 900 feet long!And under this projectile are rammed 400,000 pounds of gun-cotton,which is equal to 1,600,000 pounds of ordinary powder! And friendMurchison, with his chronometer in hand, his eye fixed on theneedle, his finger on the electric apparatus, is counting theseconds preparatory to launching us into interplanetary space."
"Enough, Michel, enough!" said Barbicane, in a serious voice;"let us prepare. A few instants alone separate us from aneventful moment. One clasp of the hand, my friends."
"Yes," exclaimed Michel Ardan, more moved than he wished toappear; and the three bold companions were united in a last embrace.
"God preserve us!" said the religious Barbicane.
Michel Ardan and Nicholl stretched themselves on the couchesplaced in the center of the disc.
"Forty-seven minutes past ten!" murmured the captain.
"Twenty seconds more!" Barbicane quickly put out the gas andlay down by his companions, and the profound silence was onlybroken by the ticking of the chronometer marking the seconds.
Suddenly a dreadful shock was felt, and the projectile, underthe force of six billions of litres of gas, developed by thecombustion of pyroxyle, mounted into space.
