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Chapter XX: Attack and Riposte
As soon as the excitement had subsided, the following words were
heard uttered in a strong and determined voice:
“Now that the speaker has favored us with so much
imagination, would he be so good as to return to his subject, and
give us a little practical view of the question?”
All eyes were directed toward the person who spoke. He was a
little dried-up man, of an active figure, with an American
“goatee” beard. Profiting by the different movements in
the crowd, he had managed by degrees to gain the front row of
spectators. There, with arms crossed and stern gaze, he watched the
hero of the meeting. After having put his question he remained
silent, and appeared to take no notice of the thousands of looks
directed toward himself, nor of the murmur of disapprobation
excited by his words. Meeting at first with no reply, he repeated
his question with marked emphasis, adding, “We are here to
talk about the moon and not about the earth.”
“You are right, sir,” replied Michel Ardan;
“the discussion has become irregular. We will return to the
moon.”
“Sir,” said the unknown, “you pretend that our
satellite is inhabited. Very good, but if Selenites do exist, that
race of beings assuredly must live without breathing, for— I
warn you for your own sake— there is not the smallest
particle of air on the surface of the moon.”
At this remark Ardan pushed up his shock of red hair; he saw
that he was on the point of being involved in a struggle with this
person upon the very gist of the whole question. He looked sternly
at him in his turn and said:
“Oh! so there is no air in the moon? And pray, if you are
so good, who ventures to affirm that?
“The men of science.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Sir,” replied Michel, “pleasantry apart, I
have a profound respect for men of science who do possess science,
but a profound contempt for men of science who do not.”
“Do you know any who belong to the latter
category?”
“Decidedly. In France there are some who maintain that,
mathematically, a bird cannot possibly fly; and others who
demonstrate theoretically that fishes were never made to live in
water.”
“I have nothing to do with persons of that description,
and I can quote, in support of my statement, names which you cannot
refuse deference to.”
“Then, sir, you will sadly embarrass a poor ignorant, who,
besides, asks nothing better than to learn.”
“Why, then, do you introduce scientific questions if you
have never studied them?” asked the unknown somewhat
coarsely.
“For the reason that ‘he is always brave who never
suspects danger.’ I know nothing, it is true; but it is
precisely my very weakness which constitutes my
strength.”
“Your weakness amounts to folly,” retorted the
unknown in a passion.
“All the better,” replied our Frenchman, “if
it carries me up to the moon.”
Barbicane and his colleagues devoured with their eyes the
intruder who had so boldly placed himself in antagonism to their
enterprise. Nobody knew him, and the president, uneasy as to the
result of so free a discussion, watched his new friend with some
anxiety. The meeting began to be somewhat fidgety also, for the
contest directed their attention to the dangers, if not the actual
impossibilities, of the proposed expedition.
“Sir,” replied Ardan’s antagonist,
“there are many and incontrovertible reasons which prove the
absence of an atmosphere in the moon. I might say that, a priori,
if one ever did exist, it must have been absorbed by the earth; but
I prefer to bring forward indisputable facts.”
“Bring them forward then, sir, as many as you
please.”
“You know,” said the stranger, “that when any
luminous rays cross a medium such as the air, they are deflected
out of the straight line; in other words, they undergo refraction.
Well! When stars are occulted by the moon, their rays, on grazing
the edge of her disc, exhibit not the least deviation, nor offer
the slightest indication of refraction. It follows, therefore, that
the moon cannot be surrounded by an atmosphere.
“In point of fact,” replied Ardan, “this is
your chief, if not your only argument; and a really scientific man
might be puzzled to answer it. For myself, I will simply say that
it is defective, because it assumes that the angular diameter of
the moon has been completely determined, which is not the case. But
let us proceed. Tell me, my dear sir, do you admit the existence of
volcanoes on the moon’s surface?”
“Extinct, yes! In activity, no!”
“These volcanoes, however, were at one time in a state of
activity?”
“True, but, as they furnish themselves the oxygen
necessary for combustion, the mere fact of their eruption does not
prove the presence of an atmosphere.”
“Proceed again, then; and let us set aside this class of
arguments in order to come to direct observations. In 1715 the
astronomers Louville and Halley, watching the eclipse of the 3rd of
May, remarked some very extraordinary scintillations. These jets of
light, rapid in nature, and of frequent recurrence, they attributed
to thunderstorms generated in the lunar atmosphere.”
“In 1715,” replied the unknown, “the
astronomers Louville and Halley mistook for lunar phenomena some
which were purely terrestrial, such as meteoric or other bodies
which are generated in our own atmosphere. This was the scientific
explanation at the time of the facts; and that is my answer
now.”
“On again, then,” replied Ardan; “Herschel, in
1787, observed a great number of luminous points on the
moon’s surface, did he not?”
“Yes! but without offering any solution of them. Herschel
himself never inferred from them the necessity of a lunar
atmosphere. And I may add that Baeer and Maedler, the two great
authorities upon the moon, are quite agreed as to the entire
absence of air on its surface.”
A movement was here manifest among the assemblage, who appeared
to be growing excited by the arguments of this singular
personage.
“Let us proceed,” replied Ardan, with perfect
coolness, “and come to one important fact. A skillful French
astronomer, M. Laussedat, in watching the eclipse of July 18, 1860,
probed that the horns of the lunar crescent were rounded and
truncated. Now, this appearance could only have been produced by a
deviation of the solar rays in traversing the atmosphere of the
moon. There is no other possible explanation of the
facts.”
“But is this established as a fact?”
“Absolutely certain!”
A counter-movement here took place in favor of the hero of the
meeting, whose opponent was now reduced to silence. Ardan resumed
the conversation; and without exhibiting any exultation at the
advantage he had gained, simply said:
“You see, then, my dear sir, we must not pronounce with
absolute positiveness against the existence of an atmosphere in the
moon. That atmosphere is, probably, of extreme rarity; nevertheless
at the present day science generally admits that it
exists.”
“Not in the mountains, at all events,” returned the
unknown, unwilling to give in.
“No! but at the bottom of the valleys, and not exceeding a
few hundred feet in height.”
“In any case you will do well to take every precaution,
for the air will be terribly rarified.”
“My good sir, there will always be enough for a solitary
individual; besides, once arrived up there, I shall do my best to
economize, and not to breathe except on grand occasions!”
A tremendous roar of laughter rang in the ears of the mysterious
interlocutor, who glared fiercely round upon the assembly.
“Then,” continued Ardan, with a careless air,
“since we are in accord regarding the presence of a certain
atmosphere, we are forced to admit the presence of a certain
quantity of water. This is a happy consequence for me. Moreover, my
amiable contradictor, permit me to submit to you one further
observation. We only know one side of the moon’s disc; and if
there is but little air on the face presented to us, it is possible
that there is plenty on the one turned away from us.”
“And for what reason?”
“Because the moon, under the action of the earth’s
attraction, has assumed the form of an egg, which we look at from
the smaller end. Hence it follows, by Hausen’s calculations,
that its center of gravity is situated in the other hemisphere.
Hence it results that the great mass of air and water must have
been drawn away to the other face of our satellite during the first
days of its creation.”
“Pure fancies!” cried the unknown.
“No! Pure theories! which are based upon the laws of
mechanics, and it seems difficult to me to refute them. I appeal
then to this meeting, and I put it to them whether life, such as
exists upon the earth, is possible on the surface of the
moon?”
Three hundred thousand auditors at once applauded the
proposition. Ardan’s opponent tried to get in another word,
but he could not obtain a hearing. Cries and menaces fell upon him
like hail.
“Enough! enough!” cried some.
“Drive the intruder off!” shouted others.
“Turn him out!” roared the exasperated crowd.
But he, holding firmly on to the platform, did not budge an
inch, and let the storm pass on, which would soon have assumed
formidable proportions, if Michel Ardan had not quieted it by a
gesture. He was too chivalrous to abandon his opponent in an
apparent extremity.
“You wished to say a few more words?” he asked, in a
pleasant voice.
“Yes, a thousand; or rather, no, only one! If you
persevere in your enterprise, you must be
a——”
“Very rash person! How can you treat me as such? me, who
have demanded a cylindro-conical projectile, in order to prevent
turning round and round on my way like a squirrel?”
“But, unhappy man, the dreadful recoil will smash you to
pieces at your starting.”
“My dear contradictor, you have just put your finger upon
the true and only difficulty; nevertheless, I have too good an
opinion of the industrial genius of the Americans not to believe
that they will succeed in overcoming it.”
“But the heat developed by the rapidity of the projectile
in crossing the strata of air?”
“Oh! the walls are thick, and I shall soon have crossed
the atmosphere.”
“But victuals and water?”
“I have calculated for a twelvemonth’s supply, and I
shall be only four days on the journey.”
“But for air to breathe on the road?”
“I shall make it by a chemical process.”
“But your fall on the moon, supposing you ever reach
it?”
“It will be six times less dangerous than a sudden fall
upon the earth, because the weight will be only one-sixth as great
on the surface of the moon.”
“Still it will be enough to smash you like
glass!”
“What is to prevent my retarding the shock by means of
rockets conveniently placed, and lighted at the right
moment?”
“But after all, supposing all difficulties surmounted, all
obstacles removed, supposing everything combined to favor you, and
granting that you may arrive safe and sound in the moon, how will
you come back?”
“I am not coming back!”
At this reply, almost sublime in its very simplicity, the
assembly became silent. But its silence was more eloquent than
could have been its cries of enthusiasm. The unknown profited by
the opportunity and once more protested:
“You will inevitably kill yourself!” he cried;
“and your death will be that of a madman, useless even to
science!”
“Go on, my dear unknown, for truly your prophecies are
most agreeable!”
“It really is too much!” cried Michel Ardan’s
adversary. “I do not know why I should continue so frivolous
a discussion! Please yourself about this insane expedition! We need
not trouble ourselves about you!”
“Pray don’t stand upon ceremony!”
“No! another person is responsible for your
act.”
“Who, may I ask?” demanded Michel Ardan in an
imperious tone.
“The ignoramus who organized this equally absurd and
impossible experiment!”
The attack was direct. Barbicane, ever since the interference of
the unknown, had been making fearful efforts of self-control; now,
however, seeing himself directly attacked, he could restrain
himself no longer. He rose suddenly, and was rushing upon the enemy
who thus braved him to the face, when all at once he found himself
separated from him.
The platform was lifted by a hundred strong arms, and the
president of the Gun Club shared with Michel Ardan triumphal
honors. The shield was heavy, but the bearers came in continuous
relays, disputing, struggling, even fighting among themselves in
their eagerness to lend their shoulders to this demonstration.
However, the unknown had not profited by the tumult to quit his
post. Besides he could not have done it in the midst of that
compact crowd. There he held on in the front row with crossed arms,
glaring at President Barbicane.
The shouts of the immense crowd continued at their highest pitch
throughout this triumphant march. Michel Ardan took it all with
evident pleasure. His face gleamed with delight. Several times the
platform seemed seized with pitching and rolling like a
weatherbeaten ship. But the two heros of the meeting had good
sea-legs. They never stumbled; and their vessel arrived without
dues at the port of Tampa Town.
Michel Ardan managed fortunately to escape from the last
embraces of his vigorous admirers. He made for the Hotel Franklin,
quickly gained his chamber, and slid under the bedclothes, while an
army of a hundred thousand men kept watch under his windows.
During this time a scene, short, grave, and decisive, took place
between the mysterious personage and the president of the Gun
Club.
Barbicane, free at last, had gone straight at his adversary.
“Come!” he said shortly.
The other followed him on the quay; and the two presently found
themselves alone at the entrance of an open wharf on Jones’
Fall.
The two enemies, still mutually unknown, gazed at each
other.
“Who are you?” asked Barbicane.
“Captain Nicholl!”
“So I suspected. Hitherto chance has never thrown you in
my way.”
“I am come for that purpose.”
“You have insulted me.”
“Publicly!”
“And you will answer to me for this insult?”
“At this very moment.”
“No! I desire that all that passes between us shall be
secret. Their is a wood situated three miles from Tampa, the wood
of Skersnaw. Do you know it?”
“I know it.”
“Will you be so good as to enter it to-morrow morning at
five o’clock, on one side?”
“Yes! if you will enter at the other side at the same
hour.”
“And you will not forget your rifle?” said
Barbicane.
“No more than you will forget yours?” replied
Nicholl.
These words having been coldly spoken, the president of the Gun
Club and the captain parted. Barbicane returned to his lodging; but
instead of snatching a few hours of repose, he passed the night in
endeavoring to discover a means of evading the recoil of the
projectile, and resolving the difficult problem proposed by Michel
Ardan during the discussion at the meeting.
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