A few minutes after he was joining his bass to the captain’s baritone.
“Decidedly,” said Michel Ardan, when he found himself alone, “these practical people sometimes do have opportune ideas.”
And stretching out his long legs, and folding his long arms under his head, Michel went to sleep too.
But this slumber could neither be durable nor peaceful. Too many preoccupations filled the minds of these three men, and a few hours after, at about 7 a.m., they all three awoke at once.
The projectile was still moving away from the moon, inclining its conical summit more and more towards her. This phenomenon was inexplicable at present, but it fortunately aided the designs of Barbicane.
Another seventeen hours and the time for action would have come.
That day seemed long. However bold they might be, the travellers felt much anxiety at the approach of the minute that was to decide everything, either their fall upon the moon or their imprisonment in an immutable orbit. They therefore counted the hours, which went too slowly for them, Barbicane and Nicholl obstinately plunged in calculations, Michel walking up and down the narrow space between the walls contemplating with longing eye the impassible moon.
Sometimes thoughts of the earth passed through their minds. They saw again their friends of the Gun Club, and the dearest of them all, J. T. Maston. At that moment the honourable secretary must have been occupying his post on the Rocky Mountains. If he should perceive the projectile upon the mirror of his gigantic telescope what would he think? After having seen it disappear behind the south pole of the moon, they would see it reappear at the north! It was, therefore, the satellite of a satellite! Had J. T. Maston sent that unexpected announcement into the world? Was this to be the denouement of the great enterprise?
Meanwhile the day passed without incident. Terrestrial midnight came. The 8th of December was about to commence. Another hour and the point of equal attraction would be reached. What velocity then animated the projectile? They could form no estimate; but no error could vitiate Barbicane’s calculations. At 1 a.m. that velocity ought to be and would be nil.
Besides, another phenomenon would mark the stopping point of the projectile on the neutral line. In that spot the two attractions, terrestrial and lunar, would be annihilated. Objects would not weigh anything. This singular fact, which had so curiously surprised Barbicane and his companions before, must again come about under identical circumstances. It was at that precise moment they must act.
The conical summit of the bullet had already sensibly turned towards the lunar disc. The projectile was just right for utilising all the recoil produced by setting fire to the apparatus. Chance was therefore in the travellers’ favour. If the velocity of the projectile were to be absolutely annihilated upon the neutral point, a given motion, however slight, towards the moon would determine its fall.
“Five minutes to one,” said Nicholl.
“Everything is ready,” answered Michel Ardan, directing his match towards the flame of the gas.
“Wait!” said Barbicane, chronometer in hand.
At that moment weight had no effect. The travellers felt its complete disappearance in themselves. They were near the neutral point if they had not reached it.
“One o’clock!” said Barbicane.
Michel Ardan put his match to a contrivance that put all the fuses into instantaneous communication. No detonation was heard outside, where air was wanting, but through the port-lights Barbicane saw the prolonged flame, which was immediately extinguished.
The projectile had a slight shock which was very sensibly felt in the interior.
The three friends looked, listened, without speaking, hardly breathing. The beating of their hearts might have been heard in the absolute silence.
“Are we falling?” asked Michel Ardan at last.
“No,” answered Nicholl; “for the bottom of the projectile has not turned towards the lunar disc!”
At that moment Barbicane left his window and turned towards his two companions. He was frightfully pale, his forehead wrinkled, his lips contracted.
“We are falling!” said he.
“Ah!” cried Michel Ardan, “upon the moon?”
“Upon the earth!” answered Barbicane.
“The devil!” cried Michel Ardan; and he added philosophically, “when we entered the bullet we did not think it would be so difficult to get out of it again.”
In fact, the frightful fall had begun. The velocity kept by the projectile had sent it beyond the neutral point. The explosion of the fuses had not stopped it. That velocity which had carried the projectile beyond the neutral line as it went was destined to do the same upon its return. The law of physics condemned it, in its elliptical orbit, to pass by every point it had already passed.
It was a terrible fall from a height of 78,000 leagues, and which no springs could deaden. According to the laws of ballistics the projectile would strike the earth with a velocity equal to that which animated it as it left the Columbiad—a velocity of “16,000 metres in the last second!”
And in order to give some figures for comparison it has been calculated that an object thrown from the towers of Notre Dame, the altitude of which is only 200 feet, would reach the pavement with a velocity of 120 leagues an hour. Here the projectile would strike the earth with a velocity of 57,600 leagues an hour.
“We are lost men,” said Nicholl coldly.
“Well, if we die,” answered Barbicane, with a sort of religious enthusiasm, “the result of our journey will be magnificently enlarged! God will tell us His own secret! In the other life the soul will need neither machines nor engines in order to know! It will be identified with eternal wisdom!”
“True,” replied Michel Ardan: “the other world may well console us for that trifling orb called the moon!”
Barbicane crossed his arms upon his chest with a movement of sublime resignation.
“God’s will be done!” he said.
XX
The Soundings of the Susquehanna
“Well, lieutenant, and what about those soundings?”
“I think the operation is almost over, sir. But who would have expected to find such a
