These words inspired such confidence that Michel Ardan
with his superb assurance would have carried the whole
Gun Club with him. What he said seemed simple,
elementary, and sure of success, and it would have
been sordid attachment to this earth to hesitate to
follow the three travellers upon their lunar expedition.
When the different objects were placed in the projectile
the water was introduced between the partitions and
the gas for lighting purposes laid in. Barbicane
took enough chlorate of potash and caustic potash for
two months, as he feared unforeseen delay. An
extremely ingenious machine working automatically
put the elements for good air in motion. The
projectile, therefore, was ready, and the only thing
left to do was to lower it into the gun, an operation
full of perils and difficulty.
The enormous projectile was taken to the summit of
Stony Hill. There enormous cranes seized it and
held it suspended over the metal well.
This was an anxious moment. If the chains were
to break under the enormous weight the fall of such
a mass would inevitably ignite the gun-cotton.
Happily nothing of the sort happened, and a few hours
afterwards the projectile-compartment rested on its
pyroxyle bed, a veritable fulminating pillow.
The only effect of its pressure was to ram the charge
of the gun more strongly.
“I have lost,” said the captain, handing
the sum of 3,000 dollars to President Barbicane.
Barbicane did not wish to receive this money from
his travelling companion, but he was obliged to give
way to Nicholl, who wished to fulfil all his engagements
before leaving the earth.
“Then,” said Michel Ardan, “there
is but one thing I wish for you now, captain.”
“What is that?” asked Nicholl.
“It is that you may lose your other two wagers.
By that means we shall be sure not to be stopped on
the road.”
FIRE!
The 1st of December came, the fatal day, for if the
projectile did not start that very evening at 10h.
46m. and 40s. p.m., more than eighteen years would
elapse before the moon would present the same simultaneous
conditions of zenith and perigee.
The weather was magnificent; notwithstanding the approach
of winter the sun shone brightly and bathed in its
radiance that earth which three of its inhabitants
were about to leave for a new world.
How many people slept badly during the night that
preceded the ardently-longed-for day! How many
breasts were oppressed with the heavy burden of waiting!
All hearts beat with anxiety except only the heart
of Michel Ardan. This impassible person went
and came in his usual business-like way, but nothing
in him denoted any unusual preoccupation. His
sleep had been peaceful—it was the sleep
of Turenne upon a gun-carriage the night before the
battle.
From early dawn an innumerable crowd covered the prairie,
which extended as far as the eye could reach round
Stony Hill. Every quarter of an hour the railroad
of Tampa brought fresh sightseers. According to
the Tampa Town Observer, five millions of spectators
were that day upon Floridian soil.
