From the Earth to the Moon (23 page)

I
T WAS
November 22. The supreme departure was to take place ten days later. Only one operation remained to be carried out, a dangerous, delicate operation that required infinite precautions, and against whose success Captain Nicholl had made his third bet: the operation of loading the cannon, of putting the 400,000 pounds of guncotton into it. Nicholl had thought, not without reason, perhaps, that the handling of such a formidable quantity of guncotton would bring on a grave catastrophe, or at any rate that the eminently explosive mass would ignite itself under the pressure of the projectile.

The serious dangers involved were increased still more by the carelessness and unconcern of the Americans, who, during the Civil War, did not hesitate to load their bombshells with cigars in their mouths. But Barbicane was determined that his experiment would not fail before it even got under way; he chose his best workers, kept his eye on them at all times and, by caution and precautions, was able to put the chances of success in his favor.

First of all, he was careful not to bring the whole charge into the enclosure at once. He had it brought in little by little in tightly sealed caissons. The 400,000 pounds of guncotton was divided into 500-pound portions and placed in 800 cartridge bags made by the best craftsmen
in Pensacola. The caissons held ten bags each. They came in one by one on the railroad from Tampa. In that way there was never any more than 5,000 pounds of guncotton within the enclosure at any given time. As soon as each caisson arrived it was unloaded by barefoot workers. The cartridge bags were taken to the cannon and lowered into it by means of hand cranes. All steam machinery had been removed from the vicinity, and all fires had been put out for two miles around. Merely protecting that mass of guncotton from the heat of the sun, even in November, was a major concern. The work was done preferably at night, with the aid of a Ruhmkorff apparatus which cast bright light all the way to the bottom of the cannon. There the cartridge bags were stacked with perfect regularity and connected with the wires that were to bring an electric spark to the center of each one of them simultaneously, for it was by means of a battery that the guncotton was going to be ignited.

The wires, surrounded by an insulating material, were united into a single cable that passed through an opening in the wall of the cannon just below the height at which the projectile was to be placed, then went up to the surface of the ground through a hole in the stonework that had been made for that purpose. When it reached the top of Stone Hill, the cable continued for a distance of two miles, supported by poles, until it reached a powerful Bunsen battery, after passing through a switch. One would have only to push the button of the switch to make the current flow and ignite the 400,000 pounds of guncotton. Needless to say, the battery was not to be activated until the last moment.

By November 28 the 800 cartridge bags were stacked at the bottom of the cannon. This part of the operation had been successful. But what worries, apprehensions, and
struggles Barbicane had been through! He had vainly tried to keep all visitors away from Stone Hill: every day people had climbed over the stockade, and some of them had carried lack of caution to the point of madness by smoking in the midst of the bags of guncotton. Barbicane had flown into a rage several times a day. J. T. Maston had helped as best he could, driving away intruders with great vigor and picking up the burning cigar butts they had tossed here and there. It was a hard job, because there were more than 300,000 people thronged around the enclosure. Michel Ardan had volunteered to escort the caissons to the mouth of the cannon, but when Barbicane saw him holding a big cigar between his lips as he chased away careless bystanders and gave them a bad example at the same time, he realized that he could not count on that daring smoker, and he had to have him watched more closely than anyone else.

Finally, since there is a God for artillerymen, nothing blew up and the loading operation was completed. Captain Nicholl was in serious danger of losing the third part of his bet, although the projectile still had to be placed in the cannon and lowered onto the deep pile of guncotton.

But before beginning that operation, the objects necessary for the journey were methodically stowed in the projectile. There were quite a few of them, and if Michel Ardan had been allowed to have his way they would soon have taken up all the space reserved for the passengers. The charming Frenchman had an incredible number of things that he wanted to take to the moon, and they were as useless as they were numerous. But Barbicane intervened and the list of objects was reduced to what was strictly necessary.

Several thermometers, barometers, and telescopes were placed in the instrument chest.

The passengers were curious to examine the moon during the journey; to facilitate their scrutiny of that new world they decided to take Beer and Moedler’s excellent map, the
Mappa Selenographica,
printed in four sheets and rightly regarded as a masterpiece of observation and patience. It reproduced with scrupulous accuracy the slightest details of that portion of the moon which is turned toward the earth; mountains, valleys, basins, craters, peaks, and rills were shown with their exact dimensions, correct locations and names, from Mount Doerfel and Mount Leibnitz, whose tall peak stands in the eastern part of the visible disk, to the Mare Frigoris, which lies in the northern circumpolar region. It was a valuable document for the three explorers, because they could already study the new land before they had ever set foot on it.

They also took three shotguns and three repeating rifles that fired explosive bullets, plus a large quantity of ammunition.

“We don’t know whom we may run into,” said Michel Ardan. “There may be men or animals that won’t appreciate our coming to pay them a visit. We must take precautions.”

These defensive weapons were accompanied by picks, mattocks, saws, and other indispensable tools, and clothes suited to all temperatures, from the cold of the polar regions to the heat of the torrid zone.

Michel Ardan would have liked to take along a certain number of animals, though not a couple of each species, for he saw no need to stock the moon with snakes, tigers, alligators, and other harmful beasts.

“No,” he said to Barbicane, “but a few beasts of burden,
such as oxen, cows, donkeys or horses, would look good in the landscape and be very useful to us.”

“I agree,” replied Barbicane, “but our projectile isn’t Noah’s ark; it has neither the same capacity nor the same destination. Let’s stay within the limits of the possible.”

Finally, after long discussions, it was agreed that they would content themselves with taking along an excellent hunting bitch belonging to Captain Nicholl and a vigorous, prodigiously strong Newfoundland dog. Several boxes of useful seeds were numbered among the essential objects. If Michel Ardan had had his way, he would also have taken a few bags of soil to plant them in. He did, however, take a dozen shrubs that were carefully wrapped in a straw covering and stowed in the projectile.

There was still the important matter of food, for they had to take into account the possibility that they would land on a barren portion of the moon. Barbicane arranged to take a year’s supply. This is not surprising when one considers that the food consisted of canned meat and vegetables reduced to their minimum volume by a hydraulic press, and that they contained a large amount of nutritive elements. They had little variety, but one could not be particular on such an expedition. There was also fifty gallons of brandy, and enough water for only two months; as a result of the astronomers’ latest observations, no one had any doubt that there was a certain amount of water on the moon. As for food, it would have been foolish to believe that inhabitants of the earth would not find anything to eat up there. Michel Ardan did not have the slightest doubt on the subject. If he had, he would have decided not to go.

“Besides,” he said one day to his friends, “we won’t be completely abandoned by our comrades on earth, and they won’t forget us.”

“Certainly not,” said J. T. Maston.

“What do you mean?” asked Nicholl.

“It’s quite simple,” replied Ardan. “The cannon will still be here, won’t it? Well, each time the moon is in a favorable position as far as zenith or perigee is concerned, which will be about once a year, can’t our friends send us a projectile full of food, which we’ll be expecting on a certain day?”

“Of course!” cried J. T. Maston in the tone of a man who has just conceived an idea. “That’s an excellent plan! We won’t forget you!”

“I’m sure you won’t. So we’ll have regular news from the earth, and we’ll be terribly inept if we don’t find some way of communicating with our friends down here!”

These words were spoken with such confidence that Michel Ardan, with his air of determination and his superb self-assurance, could have persuaded the whole Gun Club to come with him. What he said seemed simple, elementary, easy, and sure to succeed, and a man would have had to have a truly sordid attachment to this terrestrial globe not to accompany the three explorers on their lunar expedition.

When the various objects had been stowed in the projectile, the water that would act as a spring was poured between the partitions and the gas was compressed into its container. As for the potassium chlorate and the caustic potash, Barbicane, fearing unexpected delays on the way, took enough to replenish the oxygen and absorb the carbonic acid for two months. An ingenious automatic apparatus was installed to purify the air and restore its life-giving properties. The projectile was now ready, and all that remained to be done was to lower it into the cannon. This was going to be an operation filled with difficulties and perils.

The enormous shell was brought to the top of Stone Hill, where powerful cranes seized it and held it suspended above the deep metal pit.

This was the crucial moment. If the chains had broken from the immense weight, the fall of such a mass would surely have made the guncotton explode.

Fortunately this did not happen, and a few hours later the projectile, having been slowly lowered down the bore of the cannon, was resting on its explosive cushion of guncotton. Its weight had no other effect than to compress the charge more tightly.

“I’ve lost,” said Captain Nicholl, handing Barbicane three thousand dollars.

Barbicane did not want to take the money from his traveling companion, but he had to yield to Nicholl’s insistence; the captain wanted to fulfill all his obligations before leaving the earth.

“Then I have only one wish for you, my brave captain,” said Michel Ardan.

“What is it?” asked Nicholl.

“That you’ll lose your other two bets! If you do, we’ll at least be sure of getting under way.”

T
HE FIRST
day of December had arrived. It was a fateful day, for if the projectile was not fired that evening at forty-six minutes and forty seconds past ten o’clock, more than eighteen years would go by before the moon was in the same simultaneous conditions of zenith and perigee.

The weather was magnificent. Despite the approach of winter, the sun was shining brightly on the globe that was about to lose three of its inhabitants to another world.

How many people had slept badly during the night that had preceded this impatiently desired day! How many breasts were oppressed by the heavy burden of waiting! All hearts were palpitating with anxiety, except Michel Ardan’s. Unperturbed, he came and went with his usual hurry and bustle, without showing any sign of unwonted concern. He had slept peacefully, like Turenne sleeping on a gun carriage before a battle.

Since dawn a vast crowd had covered the plain that stretched out around Stone Hill as far as the eye could see. Every quarter of an hour the railroad brought a new load of onlookers. This immigration soon took on fantastic proportions. According to the
Tampa Observer,
five million people trod the soil of Florida on that memorable day.