However that might be, when night again enveloped the earth—­a dark, impenetrable night—­it was impossible to see the moon above the horizon; it might have been thought that she was hiding on purpose from the bold beings who had shot at her.  No observation was, therefore, possible, and the despatches from Long’s Peak confirmed the disastrous intelligence.

However, if the experiment had succeeded, the travellers, who had started on the 1st of December, at 10h. 46m. 40s. p.m., were due at their destination on the 4th at midnight; so that as up to that time it would, after all, have been difficult to observe a body so small, people waited with all the patience they could muster.

On the 4th of December, from 8 p.m. till midnight, it would have been possible to follow the trace of the projectile, which would have appeared like a black speck on the shining disc of the moon.  But the weather remained imperturbably cloudy, and exasperated the public, who swore at the moon for not showing herself. Sic transit gloria mundi!

J.T.  Maston, in despair, set out for Long’s Peak.  He wished to make an observation himself.  He did not doubt that his friends had arrived at the goal of their journey.  No one had heard that the projectile had fallen upon any continent or island upon earth, and J.T.  Maston did not admit for a moment that it could have fallen into any of the oceans with which the earth is three parts covered.

On the 5th the same weather.  The large telescopes of the old world—­those of Herschel, Rosse, and Foucault—­were invariably fixed upon the Queen of Night, for the weather was magnificent in Europe, but the relative weakness of these instruments prevented any useful observation.

On the 6th the same weather reigned.  Impatience devoured three parts of the globe.  The most insane means were proposed for dissipating the clouds accumulated in the air.

On the 7th the sky seemed to clear a little.  Hopes revived but did not last long, and in the evening thick clouds defended the starry vault against all eyes.

Things now became grave.  In fact, on the 11th, at 9.11 a.m., the moon would enter her last quarter.  After this delay she would decline every day, and even if the sky should clear the chances of observation would be considerably lessened—­in fact, the moon would then show only a constantly-decreasing portion of her disc, and would end by becoming new—­that is to say, she would rise and set with the sun, whose rays would make her quite invisible.  They would, therefore, be obliged to wait till the 3rd of January, at 12.43 p.m., till she would be full again and ready for observation.

The newspapers published these reflections with a thousand commentaries, and did not fail to tell the public that it must arm itself with angelic patience.

On the 8th no change.  On the 9th the sun appeared for a moment, as if to jeer at the Americans.  It was received with hisses, and wounded, doubtless, by such a reception, it was very miserly of its rays.