Now it was upon the narrow platform placed round the telescope that the two savants passed their existence, cursing the daylight which hid the moon from their eyes, and the clouds which obstinately veiled her at night.
Who can depict their delight when, after waiting several days, during the night of December 5th they perceived the vehicle that was carrying their friends through space? To that delight succeeded deep disappointment when, trusting to incomplete observations, they sent out with their first telegram to the world the erroneous affirmation that the projectile had become a satellite of the moon gravitating in an immutable orbit.
After that instant the bullet disappeared behind the invisible disc of the moon. But when it ought to have reappeared on the invisible disc the impatience of J. T. Maston and his no less impatient companion may be imagined. At every minute of the night they thought they should see the projectile again, and they did not see it. Hence between them arose endless discussions and violent disputes, Belfast affirming that the projectile was not visible, J. T. Maston affirming that any one but a blind man could see it.
“It is the bullet!” repeated J. T. Maston.
“No!” answered Belfast, “it is an avalanche falling from a lunar mountain!”
“Well, then, we shall see it tomorrow.”
“No, it will be seen no more. It is carried away into space.”
“We shall see it, I tell you.”
“No, we shall not.”
And while these interjections were being showered like hail, the well-known irritability of the Secretary of the Gun Club constituted a permanent danger to the director, Belfast.
Their existence together would soon have become impossible, but an unexpected event cut short these eternal discussions.
During the night between the 14th and 15th of December the two irreconcilable friends were occupied in observing the lunar disc. J. T. Maston was, as usual, saying strong things to the learned Belfast, who was getting angry too. The Secretary of the Gun Club declared for the thousandth time that he had just perceived the projectile, adding even that Michel Ardan’s face had appeared at one of the port-lights. He was emphasising his arguments by a series of gestures which his redoubtable hook rendered dangerous.
At that moment Belfast’s servant appeared upon the platform—it was 10 p.m.—and gave him a telegram. It was the message from the Commander of the Susquehanna.
Belfast tore the envelope, read the inclosure, and uttered a cry.
“What is it?” said J. T. Maston.
“It’s the bullet!”
“What of that?”
“It has fallen upon the earth!”
Another cry; this time a howl answered him.
He turned towards J. T. Maston. The unfortunate fellow, leaning imprudently over the metal tube, had disappeared down the immense telescope—a fall of 280 feet! Belfast, distracted, rushed towards the orifice of the reflector.
He breathed again. J. T. Maston’s steel hook had caught in one of the props which maintained the platform of the telescope. He was uttering formidable cries.
Belfast called. Help came, and the imprudent secretary was hoisted up, not without trouble.
He reappeared unhurt at the upper orifice.
“Suppose I had broken the mirror?” said he.
“You would have paid for it,” answered Belfast severely.
“And where has the infernal bullet fallen?” asked J. T. Maston.
“Into the Pacific.”
“Let us start at once.”
A quarter of an hour afterwards the two learned friends were descending the slope of the Rocky Mountains, and two days afterwards they reached San Francisco at the same time as their friends of the Gun Club, having killed five horses on the road.
Elphinstone, Blomsberry, and Bilsby rushed up to them upon their arrival.
“What is to be done?” they exclaimed.
“The bullet must be fished up,” answered J. T. Maston, “and as soon as possible!”
XXII
Picked Up
The very spot where the projectile had disappeared under the waves was exactly known. The instruments for seizing it and bringing it to the surface of the ocean were still wanting. They had to be invented and then manufactured. American engineers could not be embarrassed by such a trifle. The grappling-irons once established and steam helping, they were assured of raising the projectile, notwithstanding its weight, which diminished the density of the liquid amidst which it was plunged.
But it was not enough to fish up the bullet. It was necessary to act promptly in the interest of the travellers. No one doubted that they were still living.
“Yes,” repeated J. T. Maston incessantly, whose confidence inspired everybody, “our friends are clever fellows, and they cannot have fallen like imbeciles. They are alive, alive and well, but we must make haste in order to find them so. He had no anxiety about provisions and water. They had enough for a long time! But air!—air would soon fail them. Then they must make haste!”
And they did make haste. They prepared the Susquehanna for her new destination. Her powerful engines were arranged to be used for the hauling machines. The aluminium projectile only weighed 19,250 lbs., a much less weight than that of the transatlantic cable, which was picked up under similar circumstances. The only difficulty lay in the smooth sides of the cylindro-conical bullet, which made it difficult to grapple.
With that end in view the engineer Murchison, summoned to San Francisco, caused enormous grappling-irons to be fitted upon an automatical system which would not let the projectile go again if they succeeded in seizing it with their powerful pincers. He also had some diving-dresses prepared, which, by their impermeable and resisting texture, allowed divers to survey the bottom of the sea. He likewise embarked on board the Susquehanna apparatuses for compressed air, very ingeniously contrived. They were veritable rooms, with port-lights in them, and which, by introducing the water into certain compartments, could be sunk to great depths. These apparatuses were already
