 1. Recapitulating the first part of this work and serving as a preface to the second. In the year 1860, blank, the whole world was greatly excited by a scientific experiment unprecedented in the annals of science. The members of the Gun Club, a circle of artillery men formed at Baltimore after the American War, conceived the idea of putting themselves in communication with the moon, yes, with the moon, by sending to her a projectile. Their President, Barbican, the promoter of the Enterprise, having consulted the astronomers of the Cambridge Observatory upon the subject, took all necessary means to ensure the success of this extraordinary Enterprise, which had been declared practicable by the majority of competent judges. After setting on foot a public subscription, which realized nearly 1.2 million pounds, they began the gigantic work. According to the advice forwarded from the members of the Observatory, the gun destined to launch the projectile had to be fixed in a country situated between the zero and twenty-eighth degrees of north or south latitude in order to aim at the moon when at the zenith, and its initiatory velocity was fixed at twelve thousand yards to the second. Launched on the first of December at ten hours forty-six minutes forty seconds p.m., it ought to reach the moon four days after its departure, that is, on the fifth of December, at midnight precisely, at the moment of her attaining her perigee, that is, her nearest distance from the earth, which is exactly eighty-six thousand four hundred and ten leagues, French, or two hundred and thirty-eight thousand eight hundred and thirty-three miles mean distance, English. The principal members of the Gun Club, President Barbican, Major Elphinstone, the Secretary Joseph T. Maston, and other learned men held several meetings at which the shape and composition of the projectile were discussed, also the position and nature of the gun and the quality and quantity of powder to be used. It was decided, first, that the projectile should be a shell made of aluminum with a diameter of one hundred and eight inches and a thickness of twelve inches to its walls, and should weigh nineteen thousand two hundred and fifty pounds. Second, that the gun should be a columbiad cast in iron nine hundred feet long and run perpendicularly into the earth. Third, that the charge should contain four hundred thousand pounds of gun cotton, which, giving out six billions of liters of gas in rear of the projectile, would easily carry it toward the orb of night. These questions determined President Barbican, assisted by Murchison the engineer, to choose a spot situated in Florida, in twenty-seven degrees seven minutes north latitude, and seventy-seven degrees three minutes west, Greenwich, and the Longitude. It was on this spot, after stupendous labor, that the columbiad was cast with full success. Things stood thus when an incident took place which increased the interest attached to this great enterprise a hundred-fold. A Frenchman, an enthusiastic Parisian, as witty as he was bold, asked to be enclosed in the projectile in order that he might reach the moon and reconnoiter this terrestrial satellite. The name of this intrepid adventurer was Michel Ardan. He landed in America, was received with enthusiasm, held meetings, saw himself carried in triumph, reconciled President Barbican to his mortal enemy Captain Nicol, and, as a token of reconciliation, persuaded them both to start with him in the projectile. The proposition being accepted, the shape of the projectile was slightly altered. It was made of a cylindroconical form. This species of aerial car was lined with strong springs and partitions to deaden the shock of departure. It was provided with food for a year, water for some months, and gas for some days. A self-acting apparatus supplied the three travelers with air to breathe. At the same time, on one of the highest points of the Rocky Mountains, the Gun Club had a gigantic telescope erected in order that they might be able to follow the course of the projectile through space. All was then ready. On the 30th of November, at the hour fixed upon, from the midst of an extraordinary crowd of spectators, the departure took place, and for the first time three human beings quitted the terrestrial globe and launched into interplanetary space with almost a certainty of reaching their destination. These bold travelers, Michel Ardan, President Barbican, and Captain Nicoll, ought to make the passage in 97 hours, 13 minutes, and 20 seconds. Consequently, their arrival on the lunar disk could not take place until the 5th of December at twelve at night, at the exact moment when the moon should be full, and not on the fourth as some badly informed journalists had announced. But an unforeseen circumstance, that is, the detonation produced by the Columbia had the immediate effect of troubling the terrestrial atmosphere by accumulating a large quantity of vapor, a phenomenon which excited universal indignation, for the moon was hidden from the eyes of the watchers for several nights. The worthy Joseph T. Maston, the staunchest friend of the three travelers, started for the Rocky Mountains, accompanied by the Honorable J. Belfast, Director of the Cambridge Observatory, and reached the station of Long's Peak where the telescope was erected which brought the moon within an apparent distance of two leagues. The Honorable Secretary of the Gun Club wished himself to observe the vehicle of his daring friends. The accumulation of the clouds in the atmosphere prevented all observation on the 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, and 10th of December. Indeed, it was thought that all observations would have to be put off to the 3rd of January in the following year, for the moon entering its last quarter on the 11th, would then only present an ever-decreasing portion of her disk insufficient to allow of their following the course of the projectile. At length to the general satisfaction, a heavy storm cleared the atmosphere on the night of the 11th and 12th of December, and the moon, with half-illuminated disk, was plainly to be seen upon the black sky. That very night a telegram was sent from the station of Long's Peak by Joseph T. Maston and Belfast to the Gentleman of the Cambridge Observatory, announcing that on the 11th of December, at eight hours forty-seven minutes p.m., the projectile launched by the Columbia of Stone's Hill had been detected by Messers Belfast and Maston, that it had deviated from its course from some unknown cause, and had not reached its destination, but that it had passed near enough to be retained by the lunar attraction, that its rectilinear movement had been changed to a circular one, and that following an elliptical orbit round the star of night it had become its satellite. The telegram added that the elements of this new star had not yet been calculated, and indeed three observations made upon a star in three different positions are necessary to determine these elements. Then it showed that the distance separating the projectile from the lunar surface might be reckoned at about 2,833 miles. It ended with a double hypothesis. Either the attraction of the moon would draw it to herself, and the travellers thus attained their end, or that the projectile, held in one immutable orbit, would gravitate around the lunar disk to all eternity. With such alternatives what would be the fate of the travellers? Certainly they had food for some time, but supposing they did succeed in their rash enterprise, how would they return? Could they ever return? Should they hear from them? These questions, debated by the most learned pins of the day, strongly engrossed the public attention. It is advisable here to make a remark which ought to be well considered by hasty observers. When a purely speculative discovery is announced to the public, it cannot be done with too much prudence. No one is obliged to discover either a planet, a comet, or a satellite, and whoever makes a mistake in such a case exposes himself justly to the derision of the mass. Far better is it to wait. And that is what the impatient Joseph T. Maston should have done before sending this telegram forth to the world, which according to his idea, told the whole result of the enterprise. Indeed this telegram contained two sorts of errors, as was proved eventually. First errors of observation concerning the distance of the projectile from the surface of the moon. For on the eleventh of December it was impossible to see it, and what Joseph T. Maston had seen, or thought he saw, could not have been the projectile of the Columbia ad. Second errors of theory on the fate in store for the said projectile. For in making it a satellite of the moon it was putting it in direct contradiction of all mechanical laws. One single hypothesis of the observers of Long's Peak could ever be realized, that which foresaw the case of the travellers, if still alive, uniting their efforts with the lunar attraction to attain the surface of the disc. Now these men, as clever as they were daring, had survived the terrible shock consequent on their departure, and it is their journey in the projectile car which is here related in its most dramatic, as well as in its most singular details. This recital will destroy many illusions and surmises, but it will give a true idea of the singular changes in store for such an enterprise. It will bring out the scientific instincts of Barbican, the industrious resources of nickel, and the audacious humour of Michele Ardan. Besides this it will prove that their worthy friend, Joseph T. Maston, was wasting his time while leaning over the gigantic telescope he watched the course of the moon through the starry space. 20 minutes past 10 to 47 minutes past 10 p.m. As 10 o'clock struck, Michele Ardan, Barbican, and nickel, took leave of the numerous friends they were leaving on the earth. The two dogs destined to propagate the canine race on the lunar continents were already shut up in the projectile. The three travellers approached the orifice of the enormous cast iron tube, and a crane let them down to the conical top of the projectile. There an opening made for the purpose gave them access to the aluminum car. The tackle belonging to the crane being hauled from outside, the mouth of the Columbia was instantly disencumbered of its last supports. Nickel, once introduced with his companions inside the projectile, began to close the opening by means of a strong plate held in position by powerful screws. Other plates, closely fitted, covered the lenticular glasses, and the travellers hermetically enclosed in their metal prison were plunged in profound darkness. And now, my dear companions, said Michele Ardan, let us make ourselves at home. I am a domesticated man and strong in housekeeping. We are bound to make the best of our new lodgings and make ourselves comfortable. And first, let us try and see a little. Gas was not invented for molds. So saying, the thoughtless fellow lit a match by striking it on the sole of his boot, and approached the burner fixed to the receptacle in which the carbonized hydrogen stored at high pressure, sufficed for the lighting and warming of the projectile for a hundred and forty-four hours, or six days and six nights. The gas caught fire, and thus lighted the projectile looked like a comfortable room with thickly padded walls, furnished with a circular divan, and a roof rounded in the shape of a dome. Michele Ardan examined everything and declared himself satisfied with his installation. It is a prison, said he, but a travelling prison. And with the right of putting my nose to the window, I could well stand a lease of a hundred years. You smile, Barbican. Have you any arreia pensée? Do you say to yourself, this prison may be our tomb? Tomb, perhaps. Still, I would not change it for Mohammed's, which floats in space but never advances an inch. While Michele Ardan was speaking, Barbican and Nicol were making their last preparations. Nicol's chronometer marked twenty minutes past ten p.m. when the three travellers were finally enclosed in their projectile. This chronometer was set within a tenth of a second by that of Mergerson the engineer. Barbican consulted it. My friends, said he, it is twenty minutes past ten. At forty-seven minutes past ten, Mergerson will launch the electric spark on the wire which communicates with the charge of the Columbia. At that precise moment, we shall leave our spheroid. Thus, we still have twenty-seven minutes to remain on the earth. Twenty-seven minutes thirteen seconds replied the methodical Nicol. Well, exclaimed Michele Ardan in a good humor tone, much may be done in twenty-six minutes. The gravest questions of morals and politics may be discussed and even solved. Twenty-six minutes well employed are worth more than twenty-six years in which nothing is done. Some seconds of a Pascal or a Newton are more precious than the whole existence of a crowd of raw simpletons. And you conclude, then, you everlasting talker, asked Barbican. I conclude that we have twenty-six minutes left, replied Ardan. Twenty-four only, said Nicol. Well, twenty-four if you like, my noble captain, said Ardan. Twenty-four minutes in which to investigate. Michele said Barbican. During the passage we shall have plenty of time to investigate the most difficult questions. For the present we must occupy ourselves with our departure. Are we not ready? Doubtless, but there are still some precautions to be taken to deaden as much as possible the first shock. Have we not the water cushions placed between the partition breaks whose elasticity will sufficiently protect us? I hope so, Michele, replied Barbican gently. But I am not sure. Ah, the Joker exclaimed Michele Ardan. He hopes. He is not sure. And he waits for the moment when we are encased to make this deplorable admission. I beg to be allowed to get out. And how, asked Barbican, humph, said Michele Ardan. It is not easy. We are in the train, and the guard's whistle will sound before twenty-four minutes are over. Twenty, said Michele. For some moments the three travelers looked at each other. Then they began to examine the objects imprisoned with them. Everything is in its place, said Barbican. We have now to decide how we can best place ourselves to resist the shock. Position cannot be an indifferent matter, and we must, as much as possible, prevent the rush of blood to the head. Just so, said Nikol. Then replied Michele Ardan, ready to suit the action to the word. Let us put our heads down and our feet in the air, like the clowns in the grand circus. No, said Barbican. Let us stretch ourselves on our sides. We shall resist the shock better that way. Remember that, when the projectile starts, it matters little whether we are in it or before it. It amounts to much the same thing. If it is only much the same thing, I may cheer up, said Michele Ardan. Do you approve of my idea, Nikol? asked Barbican. Entirely, replied the captain. We've still thirteen minutes and a half. That Nikol is not a man, exclaimed Michele. He is a chronometer with seconds and escape and eight holes. But his companions were not listening. They were taking up their last positions with the most perfect coolness. They were like two methodical travelers in a car, seeking to place themselves as comfortably as possible. We might well ask ourselves of what materials are the hearts of these Americans made, to whom the approach of the most frightful danger added no pulsation. Three thick and solidly made cloutches had been placed in the projectile. Nikol and Barbican placed them in the center of the disk forming the floor. There the three travelers were to stretch themselves some moments before their departure. During this time, Ardan, not being able to keep still, turned in his narrow prison like a wild beast in a cage, chatting with his friends, speaking to the dogs Diana and Satellite, to whom, as may be seen, he had given significant names. Ah, Diana! Ah, Satellite! he exclaimed, teasing them. So you are going to show the moon dogs the good habits of the dogs of the earth. That will do honor to the canine race. If ever we do come down again, I will bring a cross type of moon dogs which will make a stir. If there are dogs in the moon, said Barbican. There are, said Michelin Ardan, just as there are horses, cows, donkeys, and chickens. I bet that we shall find chickens. A hundred dollars we shall find none, said Nikol. Done, my captain, replied Ardan, clasping Nikol's hand. But, by the by, you have already lost three bets with our president as the necessary funds for the enterprise have been found, as the operation of casting has been successful, and lastly, as the colombiet has been loaded without accident, six thousand dollars. Yes, replied Nikol. Thirty-seven minutes, six seconds, past ten. It is understood, captain. Well, before another quarter of an hour you will have to count nine thousand dollars to the president. Four thousand because the colombiad will not burst, and five thousand because a projectile will rise more than six miles in the air. I have the dollars, replied Nikol, slapping the pocket of his coat. I only ask to be allowed to pay. Come, Nikol, I see that you are a man of method, which I could never be. But indeed you have made a series of bets of very little advantage to yourself allow me to tell you. And why? asked Nikol. Because, if you gain the first, the colombiad will have burst, and the projectile with it, and Barbican will no longer be there to reimburse your dollars. My stake is deposited at the bank in Baltimore, replied Barbican simply, and if Nikol is not there it will go to his heirs. Ah, you practical men, exclaimed Michel Arden. I admire you the more for not being able to understand you. Forty-two minutes past ten, said Nikol. Only five minutes more, answered Barbican. Yes, five little minutes, replied Michel Arden, and we are enclosed in a projectile at the bottom of a gun nine hundred feet long, and under this projectile are rammed four hundred thousand pounds of gun cotton, which is equal to one million six hundred thousand pounds of ordinary powder. And friend Mergeson, with his conometer in hand, his eye fixed on the needle, his finger on the electric apparatus, is counting the seconds preparatory to launching us into interplanetary space. Enough, Michel, enough, said Barbican, in a serious voice. Let us prepare. A few instants alone separate us from an eventful moment. One clasp of a hand, my friends. Yes, exclaimed Michel Arden, more moved than he wished to appear, and the three bold companions were united in the last embrace. God preserve us, said the religious Barbican. Michael Arden and Nikol stretched themselves on the couches placed in the center of the disc. Forty-seven minutes past ten, murmured the captain. Twenty seconds more. Barbican quickly put out the gas and laid down by his companions, and the profound silence was only broken by the ticking of the chronometer, marking the seconds. Suddenly a dreadful shock was felt, and the projectile, under the force of six billions of liters of gas, developed by the combustion of peroxide, mounted into space. End of chapter one. Chapter two of Round the Moon. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leone Rose. Round the Moon by Jules Verne. Chapter two. The first half hour had happened. What effect had this frightful shock produced? Had the ingenuity of the constructors of the projectile obtained any happy result? Had the shock been deadened, thanks to the springs, the four plugs, the water cushions, and the partition brakes? Had they been able to subdue the frightful pressure of the initiatory speed of more than eleven thousand yards, which was enough to traverse Paris or New York in a second? This was evidently the question suggested to the thousand spectators of this moving scene. They forgot the aim of the journey and thought only of the travelers. And if one of them, Joseph T. Mastin, for example, could have cast one glimpse into the projectile, what would he have seen? Nothing then, the darkness was profound. But its cylindrical, conical partitions had resisted wonderfully. Not a rent or a dent anywhere. The wonderful projectile was not even heated under the intense deflagration of the powder, nor liquefied, as they seemed to fear, in a shower of aluminum. The interior showed but little disorder. Indeed, only a few objects had been violently thrown toward the roof. But the most important seemed not to have suffered from the shock at all. Their fixtures were intact. On the movable disc, sunk down to the bottom by the smashing of the partition brakes and the escape of the water, three bodies lay apparently lifeless. Barbequeen, Nicolle, and Michel Ardan, did they still breathe? Was the projectile nothing now but a metal coffin bearing three corpses into space? Some minutes after the departure of the projectile, one of the bodies moved, shook its arms, lifted its head, and finally succeeded in getting on its knees. It was Michel Ardan. He felt himself all over, gave a sonorous hum, and then said, Michel Ardan is home, how about the others? The courageous Frenchman tried to rise, but could not stand. His head swam from the rush of blood. He was blind, he was a drunken man. Said he. It produces the same effect as two bottles of cotton, though perhaps less agreeable to swallow. Then, passing his hand several times across his forehead and rubbing his temples, he called in a firm voice, Nicolle, Barbequeen. He waited anxiously. No answer. Not even a sigh to show that the hearts of his companions were still beating. He called again. The same silence. The devil, he exclaimed. They look as if they had fallen from a fifth story on their heads. Bah, he added, with that imperturbable confidence which nothing could check. If a Frenchman can get on his knees, two Americans ought to be able to get on their feet. But first, let us light up. Ardan felt the tide of life return by degrees. His blood became calm and returned to its accustomed circulation. Another effort restored his equilibrium. He succeeded in rising, drew a match from his pocket, and approaching the burner, lighted it. The receiver had not suffered at all. The gas had not escaped. Besides, the smell would have betrayed it. And in that case, Michel Ardan could not have carried a lighted match with impunity through the space filled with hydrogen. The gas mixing with the air would have produced a detonating mixture, and the explosion would have finished what the shock had perhaps begun. When the burner was lit, Ardan leaned over the bodies of his companions. They were lying one on the other, and inert mass, nickel above, barbecane underneath. Ardan lifted the captain, propped him up against the devan, and began to rub vigorously. This means, used with judgment, restored Nicole, who opened his eyes and instantly recovering his presence of mind, seized Ardan's hand and looked around him. And barbecane, said he? Each intern, replied Michel Ardan, I began with you, Nicole, because you were on the top. Now let us look to barbecane, saying which Ardan and Nicole raised the president of the gun club and laid him on the devan. He seemed to have suffered more than either of his companions. He was bleeding, but Nicole was reassured by finding that the hemorrhage came from a slight wound on the shoulder, a mere graze, which he bound up carefully. Still, barbecane was a long time coming to himself, which frightened his friends, who did not spare friction. He breathed, though, said Nicole, putting his ear to the chest of the wounded man. Yes, replied Ardan, he breathes like a man who has some notion of that daily operation. Rub, Nicole, let us rub harder. And the two improvised practitioners worked so hard and so well that barbecane recovered his senses. He opened his eyes, sat up, took his two friends by the hands, and his first words were, Nicole, are we moving? Nicole and Ardan looked at each other. They had not yet troubled themselves about the projectile. The first thought had been for the traveler, not for the car. Well, are we really moving? repeated Michel Ardan. Or quietly resting on the sole of Florida, asked Nicole. Or at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico, added Michel Ardan. What an idea, exclaimed the President. And this double hypothesis suggested by his companions had the effect of recalling him to his senses. In any case, they could not decide on the position of the projectile. Its apparent immovability and the want of communication with the outside prevented them from solving the question. Perhaps the projectile was unwinding its course through space. Perhaps after a short rise, it had fallen upon the earth, or even in the Gulf of Mexico. A fall which the narrowness of the peninsula of Florida would render not impossible. The case was serious, the problem interesting, and one that must be solved as soon as possible. Thus, highly excited, Barbecayne's moral energy triumphed over physical weakness, and he rose to his feet. He listened. Outside was perfect silence. But the thick padding was enough to intercept all sounds coming from the earth. But one circumstance struck Barbecayne's vis, that the temperature inside the projectile was singularly high. The President drew a thermometer from its case and consulted it. The instrument showed 81 degrees Fahrenheit. Yes, he exclaimed. Yes, we are moving. The stifling heat penetrating through the partitions of the projectile is produced by its friction on the atmospheric strata. It will soon diminish because we are already floating in space, and after having nearly stifled, we shall have to suffer intense cold. What? said Michel Ardan. According to your showing, Barbecayne, we are already beyond the limits of the terrestrial atmosphere. Without a doubt, Michel. Listen to me. It is 55 minutes past 10. We have been gone about 8 minutes. And if our initiatory speed has not been checked by the friction, six seconds would be enough for us to pass through the 40 miles of atmosphere which surrounds the globe. Just so, replied Michel. But in what proportion do you estimate the diminution of speed by friction? In the proportion of one third, Michel. This diminution is considerable. But according to my calculations, it is nothing less. If, then, we had an initiatory speed of 12,000 yards, on leaving the atmosphere, this speed would be reduced to 9,165 yards. In any case, we have already passed through this interval and, and then, said Michel Ardan, friend Nicol has lost his two bets. $4,000 because the Columbia did not burst. $5,000 because the projectile has risen more than six miles. Now, Nicol, pay up. Let us prove it first, said the captain, and we will pay afterward. It is quite possible that Barbican's reasoning is correct, and that I have lost my $9,000. But a new hypothesis presents itself to my mind, and it annulls the wager. What is that? asked Barbican quickly. The hypothesis that, for some reason or other, fire was never set to the powder, and we have not started at all. My goodness, Captain, exclaimed Michel Ardan. That hypothesis is not worthy of my brain. It cannot be a serious one. For have we not been half annihilated by the shock? Did I not recall you to life? Is not the President's shoulder still bleeding from the blow it has received? Granted, replied Nicol. But one question. Well, Captain, did you hear the detonation, which certainly ought to be loud? No, replied Ardan, much surprised. Certainly I did not hear the detonation. And you Barbican? Nor I either. Very well, said Nicol. Well now, murmured the President, why did we not hear the detonation? The three friends looked at each other with a disconcerted air. It was quite an inexplicable phenomenon. The projectile had started, and consequently there must have been a detonation. Let us first find out where we are, said Barbican, and let down this panel. This very simple operation was soon accomplished. The nuts which held the bolts to the outer plates of the right-hand scuttle gave way under the pressure of the English wrench. These bolts were pushed outside, and the buffers covered with India rubber stopped up the holes which let them through. Immediately the outer plate fell back upon its hinges like a porthole, and the lenticular glass which closed the scuttle appeared. A similar one was led into the thick partition on the opposite side of the projectile, another in the top of the dome, and finally a fourth in the middle of the base. They could therefore make observations in four different directions. The firmament by the side and most direct windows, the earth or the moon by the upper and under openings in the projectile. Barbican and his two companions immediately rushed to the uncovered window, but it was lit by no ray of light. Profound darkness surrounded them, which, however, did not prevent the president from exclaiming. No, my friends, we have not fallen back upon the earth. No, nor are we submerged in the Gulf of Mexico. Yes, we are mounting into space. See those stars shining in the night, and that impenetrable darkness heaped up between the earth and us. Hurrah, hurrah! exclaimed Michel Arden and Nicole in one voice. Indeed, this thick darkness proved that the projectile had left the earth for the soil brilliantly lit by the moonbeams would have been visible to the travelers if they had been lying on its surface. This darkness also showed that the projectile had passed the atmospheric strata, for the diffused light spread in the air would have been reflected on the metal walls, which reflection was wanting. This light would have lit the window, and the window was dark. Doubt was no longer possible. The travelers had left the earth. I have lost, said Nicole. I congratulate you, replied Arden. Here are the nine thousand dollars, said the captain, drawing a roll of paper dollars from his pocket. When you have a receipt for it, asked Barbara Cain, taking this sum. If you do not mind, answered Nicole, it is more business-like. And coolly and seriously, as if he had been at his strongbox, the president drew forth his notebook, tore out a blank leaf, wrote a paper receipt in pencil, dated and signed it with the usual flourish, and gave it to the captain, who carefully placed it in his pocket-book. The flourish, this is a purely French habit. Michel Arden, taking off his hat, bowed to his two companions without speaking. So much formality under such circumstances left him speechless. He had never before seen anything so American. This affair settled, Barbara Cain and Nicole had returned to the window, and were watching the constellations. Stars looked like bright points on the black sky. But from that side, they could not see the orb of night, which, traveling from east to west, would rise by degrees toward the zenith. Its absence drew the following remark from Arden. And the moon? Will she perchance fail at our rendezvous? Do not alarm yourself, said Barbara Cain. Our future globe is at its post, but we cannot see her from this side. Let us open the other. As Barbara Cain was about leaving the window to open the opposite scuttle, his attention was attracted by the approach of a brilliant object. It was an enormous disk, whose colossal dimension could not be estimated. Its face, which was churned to the earth, was very bright. One might have thought it a small moon, reflecting the light of the large one. She advanced with great speed, and seemed to describe an orbit round the earth, which would intersect the passage of the projectile. This body revolved upon its axis, and exhibited the phenomena of all celestial bodies abandoned in space. Ah, exclaimed Michel Arden. What is that, another projectile? Barbara Cain did not answer. The appearance of this enormous body surprised and troubled him. A collision was possible, and might be attended with deplorable results. Either the projectile would deviate from its path, or a shock, breaking its impetus, might precipitate it to earth. Or, lastly, it might be irresistibly drawn away by the powerful asteroid. The present caught at a glance the consequences of these three hypotheses, either of which would, one way or the other, bring their experiment to an unsuccessful and fatal termination. His companions stood silently looking into space. The object grew rapidly as it approached them, and by an optical illusion the projectile seemed to be throwing itself before it. By Jove, exclaimed Michel Arden, we shall run into one another. Instinctively, the travelers drew back. Their dread was great, but it did not last many seconds. The asteroid passed several hundred yards from the projectile, and disappeared, not so much from the rapidity of its course, as that its face being opposite the moon, it was suddenly merged into the perfect darkness of space. A happy journey to you, exclaimed Michel Arden, with a sigh of relief. Surely, infinity of space is large enough for a poor little projectile to walk through without fear. Now, what is this portentous globe which nearly struck us? I know, replied Barbican. Oh, indeed, you know everything! It is, said Barbican, a simple meteorite, but an enormous one, which the attraction of the earth has retained as a satellite. Is it possible, exclaimed Michel Arden, the earth then has two moons, like Neptune? Yes, my friends, two moons, though it passes generally for having only one. But this second moon is so small, and its speed so great, that the inhabitants of the earth cannot see it. It was by noticing disturbances that a French astronomer, Monsieur Petit, was able to determine the existence of this second satellite and calculate its elements. According to his observations, this meteorite will accomplish its revolution around the earth in three hours and twenty minutes, which implies a wonderful rate of speed. Do all astronomers admit the existence of this satellite? Asked Nicole. No, replied Barbican. But if like us they had met it, they could no longer doubt it. Indeed, I think that this meteorite, which, had it struck the projectile, would have much embarrassed us, will give us the means of deciding what our position in space is. How? said Arden. Because its distance is known, and when we met it, we were exactly 4,650 miles from the surface of the terrestrial globe. More than 2,000 French Leagues, explained Michel Arden. That beats the express trains of the pit of a globe called the earth. I should think so, replied Nicole, consulting his chronometer. It is 11 o'clock, and it is only 13 minutes since we left the American continent. Only 13 minutes, said Barbican. Yes, said Nicole, and if our initiatory speed of 12,000 yards has been kept up, we shall have made about 20,000 miles in the hour. That is all very well, my friends, said the President. But the insoluble question still remains. Why did we not hear the detonation of the Columbia? For want of an answer, the conversation dropped, and Barbican began thoughtfully to let down the shutter of the second side. He succeeded, and through the uncovered glass, the moon filled the projectile with a brilliant light. Nicole, as an economical man, put out the gas, now useless, and whose brilliancy prevented any observation of the interplanetary space. The lunar disk shone with wonderful purity. Her rays no longer filtered through the vapory atmosphere of the terrestrial globe, shone through the glass, filling the air in the interior of the projectile with silvery reflections. The black curtain of the firmament in reality heightened the moon's brilliancy, which in this void of ether unfavorable to diffusion did not eclipse the neighboring stars. The heavens, thus seen, presented quite a new aspect, and one which the human eye could never dream of. One may conceive the interest with which these bold men watched the orb of night, the great aim of their journey. In its motion the earth's satellite was insensibly nearing the zenith, the mathematical point which it ought to attain 96 hours later. Her mountains, her plains, every projection was as clearly discernable to their eyes as if they were observing it from some spot upon the earth. But its light was developed through space with wonderful intensity. The disk shone like a platinum mirror. Of the earth flying from under their feet the travelers had lost all recollection. It was Captain Nicol who first recalled their attention to the vanishing globe. Yes, said Michel Ardan, do not let us be ungrateful to it, since we are leaving our country that our last looks be directed to it. I wish to see the earth once more before it is quite hidden from my eyes. To satisfy his companions, Barbequin began to uncover the window at the bottom of the projectile which would allow them to observe the earth direct. The disk which the force of the projection had beaten down to the base was removed, not without difficulty. Its fragments, placed carefully against a wall, might serve again upon occasion. Then a circular gap appeared, 19 inches in diameter, hollowed out of the lower part of the projectile. A glass cover, 6 inches thick and strengthened with upper fastenings, closed it tightly. Beneath was fixed an aluminum plate held in place by bolts. The screws being undone and the bolts let go, the plate fell down, and visible communication was established between the interior and the exterior. Michel Ardan knelt by the glass. It was cloudy, seemingly opaque. Well, he exclaimed, and the earth? The earth, said Barbequin. There it is. What? That little thread? That silver crescent? Doubtless, Michel. In four days, when the moon will be full, at the very time we shall reach it, the earth will be new, and will only appear to us as a slender crescent, which will soon disappear, and for some days will be enveloped in utter darkness. That the earth, repeated Michel Ardan, looking with all his eyes at the thin slip of his native planet. The explanation given by President Barbequin was correct. The earth, with respect to the projectile, was entering its last phase. It was in its octant, and showed a crescent finely traced on the dark background of the sky. Its light, rendered bluish by the thick strata of the atmosphere, was less intense than that of the crescent moon, but it was of considerable dimensions, and looked like an enormous arch stretched across the firmament. Some parts, brilliantly lighted, especially on its concave part, showed the presence of high mountains, often disappearing behind thick spots, which are never seen on the lunar disc. They were rings of clouds placed concentrically around the terrestrial globe. While the travelers were trying to pierce the profound darkness, a brilliant cluster of shooting stars burst upon their eyes. Hundreds of meteorites, ignited by the friction of the atmosphere, irradiated the shadow of the luminous train, and lined the cloudy parts of the disc with their fire. At this period, the earth was in its perihelion, and the month of December is so propitious to these shooting stars that astronomers have counted as many as 24,000 in an hour. But Michelle Ardan, disdaining scientific reasonings, preferred thinking that the earth was thus saluting the departure of her three children with her most brilliant fireworks. Indeed, this was all they saw of the globe lost in the solar world, rising and setting to the great planets like a simple morning or evening star. This globe, where they had left all their affections, was nothing more than a fugitive crescent. Long did the three friends look without speaking, though united in heart, while their projectiles sped onward with an ever-decreasing speed. Then an irresistible drowsiness crept over their brain. Was it weariness of body and mind? No doubt, for after the over-excitement of those last hours passed upon earth, reaction was inevitable. Well, said Nicole, since we must sleep, let us sleep. And stretching themselves on their couches, they were all three soon in a profound slumber. But they had not forgotten themselves more than a quarter of an hour when Barbican sat up suddenly and rousing his companions with a loud voice exclaimed, I have found it. What have you found? asked Michelle Ardan, jumping from his bed. The reason why we did not hear the detonation of the colombiad, and it is, said Nicole, because our projectile travelled faster than the sound. End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 of Round to the Moon This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Lizzie Driver Round the Moon by Jules Verne Chapter 3 Their Place of Shelter This curious, but certainly correct explanation once given to three friends returned to their slumbers. Could they have found a calmer or more peaceful spot to sleep in? On the earth, houses, towns, cottages and country fill every shock given to the exterior of the globe. On sea, the vessels rocked by the waves are still in motion. In the air, the balloon oscillates incessantly on the fluid strata of diver's densities. This projectile alone, floating in perfect space, in the midst of perfect silence, offered perfect repose. Thus the sleep of our adventurous travellers might have been indefinitely prolonged. If an unexpected noise had not awakened them at about seven o'clock in the morning, of the second of December, eight hours after their departure, this noise was a very natural barking. The dogs, it is the dogs, exclaimed Michelle Ardham, rising at once. They are hungry, said Nicole. By Jove, replied Michelle, we have forgotten them. Where are they? asked Barbican. They looked and found one of the animals crouched under the divan, terrified and shaken by the initiatory shock. It had remained in the corner till its voice returned with the pangs of hunger. It was the amiable Diana, still very confused, who crept out of her retreat. Though not without much persuasion. Michelle Ardham encouraging her with most gracious words. Come Diana, said he, come my girl, thou whose destiny will be marked in the synergetic annals, thou whom the pagans would have given as companion to the god Anubis, and Christians as friend to Saint Roche, thou who art rushing into interplanetary space, and will perhaps be the eve of all celonite dogs, come Diana, come here. Diana, flattered or not, advanced by degrees, uttering plaintive cries. Good, said Barbican, I see Eve, but where is Adam? Adam replied, Michelle. Adam cannot be far off. He is there somewhere, we must call him. Satellite here, Satellite! But Satellite did not appear. Diana would not leave off howling. They found, however, that she was not bruised, and they gave her a pie, which silenced her complaints. As to Satellite, he seemed quite lost. They had to hunt a long time before finding him in one of the upper compartments of the projectile. Wither some unaccountable shock must have violently hurled him. The poor beast, much hurt, was in a piteous state. The devil, said Michelle, they brought the unfortunate dog down with great care. Its skull had been broken against the roof, and it seemed unlikely that he could recover from such a shock. Meanwhile, he was stretched comfortably on a cushion. Once there, he heaved a sigh. We will take care of you, said Michelle. We are responsible for your existence. I would rather lose an arm than a poor of my poor Satellite. Saying which, he offered some water to the wounded dog, who swallowed it with avidity. This attention paid the travellers watch to the earth and the moon attentively. The earth was now only discernible by a cloudy disc, ending in a crescent. Rather more contracted than that of the previous evening. But its expanse was still enormous, compared with that of the moon. It was approaching nearer and nearer to a perfect circle. By Jove, said Michelle O'Donne, I am really sorry that we did not start when the earth was full. That is to say, when our globe was in opposition to the sun. Why? said Nicole. Because we should have seen our continents and seas in a new light, the first resplendent under the solar rays, the latter cloudy as represented on some maps of the world. I should like to have seen those poles on the earth to which the eye of man has never yet rested. I dare say, replied Barbican, but if the earth had been full, the moon would have been new. That is to say, invisible because of the rays of the sun. It is better for us to see the destination we wish to reach, than the point of departure. You are right, Barbican, replied Captain Nicole. And besides, when we have reached the moon, we shall have time during the long lunar nights to consider at our leisure the globe on which our likenesses swarm. Our likenesses, exclaimed Michelle O'Donne. They are no more our likenesses than the selenites are. We inhabit a new world, peopled by ourselves, the projectile. I am Barbican's likeness, and Barbican is Nicole's. Beyond us, around us, human nature is at an end. And we are the only population of this microcosm until we become pure selenites. In about eighty-eight hours, replied the Captain, Which means to say, asked Michelle O'Donne, that it is half past eight, replied Nicole. Very well, retorted Michelle, then it is impossible for me to find even the shadow of a reason why we should not go to breakfast. Indeed, the inhabitants of the new star could not live without eating, and their stomachs were suffering from the imperious laws of hunger. Michelle O'Donne, as a Frenchman, was declared Chief Cook. An important function which raised no rival. The gas gave sufficient heat for the colony apparatus, and the provision box furnished the elements of this first feast. The breakfast began with three bowls of excellent soup, thanks to the liquefaction in hot water, of those precious cakes of libig, prepared from the best parts of the remnants of the pampas. To the soup succeeded some beef steaks, compressed by an hydraulic press, as tender and succulent as if brought straight from the kitchen of an English eating-house. Michelle, who was imaginative, maintained that they were even red. Preserved vegetables, fresher than nature, said the amiable Michelle, succeeded the dish of meat, and was followed by some cups of tea with bread and butter, after the American fashion. The beverage was declared exquisite, and was due to the infusion of the choicest leaves, of which the Emperor of Russia had given some chests for the benefit of the travellers. And lastly, to crown the repast, O'Donne had brought out a fine bottle of nuts, which was found, by chance, in the provision box. The three friends drunk to the union of the earth into satellite. And, as if he had not already done enough for the generous wine, which he had distilled on the slopes of Burgundy, the sun chose to be part of the party. At this moment the projectile emerged from the conical shadow cast by the terrestrial globe, and the rays of the radiant orb struck the lower disc of the projectile, direct occasioned by the angle which the moon's orbit makes with that of the earth. The sun, exclaimed Michelle O'Donne. No doubt, replied Barbican, I expected it. But, said Michelle, the conical shadow which the earth leaves in space extends beyond the moon, far beyond it, if the atmospheric refraction is not taken into consideration, said Barbican. But when the moon is enveloped in this shadow, it is because the centres of the three stars the sun, the earth, and the moon, are all in one and the same straight line. Then the nodes coincide with the faces of the moon, and there is an eclipse. If we had started when there was an eclipse of the moon, all our passage would have been in the shadow, which would have been a pity. Why? Because, though we are floating in space, our projectile, bathed in the solar rays, will receive light and heat. It economises the gas, which is in every respect a good economy. Indeed, under these rays, which no atmosphere can temper, either in temperature or brilliancy, the projectile grew warm and bright, as if it had passed suddenly from winter to summer. The moon above, the sun beneath, were inundating it with their fire. It is pleasant here, said Nicole. I should think so, said Michelle Ardan. With the little earth spread in our aluminium planet, we should have green peas in 24 hours. I have but one fear, which is that that of the walls of the projectile might melt. Harm yourself, my worthy friend, replied Barbican. The projectile withstood a very much higher level of heat than the earth. The projectile withstood a very much higher temperature, than this as it slid through the strata of the atmosphere. I should not be surprised if it did not look like a meteor on fire to the eyes of the spectators in Florida. But then JT Maston will think we are roasted. What astonishes me, said Barbican, is that we have not been. That was a danger we had not provided for. I feared it, said Nicole simply. And yet you never mentioned it, my sublime captain, exclaimed Michelle Ardan, clasping his friend's hand. Barbican now began to settle himself in the projectile, as if he was never to leave it. One must remember that this aerial car had a base, with the super-fishies of 54 square feet. Its height to the roof was 12 feet. Carefully laid out in the inside, and little encumbered by instruments and travelling utensils, which each had their particular place, it left the three travellers a certain freedom of movement. The thick window inserted in the bottom could bear any amount of weight, and Barbican and his companions walked upon it as if it were solid plank. But the sun striking it directly with its rays led the interior of the projectile from beneath, thus producing singular effects of light. They began by investigating the state of their store of water and provisions, neither of which had suffered thanks to the care taken to deaden the shock. Their provisions were abundant, and plentiful enough to last the three travellers for more than a year. Barbican wished to be cautious, in case the projectile should land on a part of the moon which was utterly barren. As to water and the reserves of brandy, which consisted of fifty gallons, there was only enough for two months. But according to the last observations of astronomers, the moon had a low dense and thick atmosphere, at least in the deep valleys, and their springs and streams could not fail. Thus during their passage, and for the first year of their settlement on the lunar continent, these adventurous explorers would suffer neither hunger nor thirst. Now about to the air in the projectile. There, too, they were secure. Reset and Reginalt's apparatus, intended for the production of oxygen, was supplied with chlorate and potassium for two months. They necessarily consumed a certain quantity of gas, for they were obliged to keep the producing substance at a temperature of above four hundred degrees. But there again they were all safe. The apparatus only wanted a little care, but it was not enough to renew the oxygen. They must absorb the carbonic acid produced by exploration. During the last twelve hours the atmosphere of the projectile had become charged with the deleterious gas. Nicole discovered the state of the air by observing Diana panting painfully. The carbonic acid, by a phenomenon similar to that produced in the famous grotto del can, had collected at the bottom of the projectile owing to its weight. Poor Diana, with her head low, would suffer before her masters from the presence of this gas. But Captain Nicole hastened to remedy the state of things. By placing on the floor several receivers containing caustic potash, which she shook about for some time, and this substance, greedy of carbonic acid, soon completely absorbed it, thus purifying the air. An inventory of instruments was then begun. The thermometers and barometers had resisted, all but one minimal thermometer, the glass of which was broken. An excellent aneroid was drawn from the wadded box, which contained it, and hung on the wall. Of course it was only affected by and marked the pressure of the air inside the projectile. But it also showed the quantity of moisture which contained. At that moment its needle oscillated between 25.24 and 25.08. It was fine weather. Barbecane had also brought several compasses, which he found intact. One must understand that under present conditions, their needles were acting wildly, that is, without any constant direction. Indeed, at the distance they were from the earth, the magnetic pole could have no perceptible action upon the apparatus. But the box placed on the lunar disk might perhaps exhibit some strange phenomena. In any case it would be interesting to see whether the earth's satellite submitted like a self to its magnetic influence. A hypsometer to measure the height of the lunar mountains. A sextant to take the height of the sun. Glasses which would be useful as they neared the moon. All these instruments were carefully looked over, and pronounced good in spite of the violent shock. As to the pickaxes and different tools, which when a coal's a special choice. As to the sacks of different kinds of grain and shrubs which Michel Ardain hoped to transplant into cellar night ground. They were stowed away in the upper part of the projectile. There was a sort of granary there, loaded with things which the extravagant Frenchman had heaped up. What they were no one knew, and the good tempered fellow did not explain. Now and then he climbed up by the crampions riveted to the walls, but kept the inspection to himself. He arranged and rearranged. He plunged his hand rapidly into certain mysterious boxes, singing in one of the falsest of voices, an old French refrain to enliven the situation. Barbican observed with some interest that his guns and other arms had not been damaged. They were important because, heavily loaded, they were to help lessen the fall of the projectile, when drawn by the lunar attraction, after having passed the point of neutral attraction onto the moon's surface. A fall which ought to be six times less rapid than it would have been on the earth's surface, thanks to the difference of bulk. The inspection ended with general satisfaction, when each returned to watch space through the side windows and the lower glass cover lid. There was the same view. The whole extent of the celestial sphere swarmed with stars and constellations of wonderful purity, enough to drive an astronomer out of his mind. On one side the sun, like the mouth of a lighted oven, a dazzling disc without a halo, standing out on the dark background of the sky. On the other the moon returning its fire by reflection, and apparently motionless in the midst of the starry world. Then a large spot, seemingly nailed to the firmament, bordered by a silvery cord. It was the earth, here and there nebulous masses, like large flakes of starry snow. And, from the zenith to the nadir, an immense ring formed by an impalpable dust of stars, the milky way, in the midst of which the sun ranks only as a star of the fourth magnitude. The observers could not take their eyes from this novel spectacle, of which no description could give an adequate idea. What reflections it suggested, what emotions hithero unknown awoke in their souls. Barber came wished to begin the relation of his journey while under its first impressions, and hour after hour took notes of all facts happening in the beginning of the enterprise. He wrote quietly, with his large square writing, in a business-like style. During this time, Nicolle, the calculator, looked over the minutes of their passage, and worked out figures with unparalleled dexterity. Michel Ardan chatted first with Barber Cain, who did not answer him, and them with Nicolle, who did not hear him, with Diana, who understood none of his theories, and lastly with himself, questioning and answering, going and coming, busy with a thousand details. At one time bent over the lower glass, at another roosting in the heights of the projectile, and always singing. In this microcosm he represented French loquacity and excitability, and we beg you to believe that they were well represented. The day, or rather, for the expression is not correct, the lapse of twelve hours which forms a day upon the earth, closed with a plentiful supper carefully prepared. No accident of any nature had yet happened to shake the traveller's confidence. So, full of hope, already sure of success, they slept peacefully, while the projectile, under a uniformly decreasing speed, was crossing the sky. CHAPTER IV. A LITTLE ALGIBRA. The night passed without incident. The word night, however, is scarcely applicable. The position of the projectile with regard to the sun did not change. Astronomically it was daylight on the lower part and night on the upper, so when during this narrative these words are used they represent the lapse of time between rising and setting of the sun upon the earth. The traveller's sleep was rendered more peaceful by the projectile's excessive speed, for it seemed absolutely motionless. Not a motion betrayed its onward course through space. The rate of progress, however rapid it might be, cannot produce any sensible effect on the human frame when it takes place in a vacuum, or when the mass of air circulates with the body which is carried with it. What inhabitant of the earth perceives its speed, which, however, is at the rate of sixty-eight thousand miles per hour. Motion, under such conditions, is felt no more than repose, and when a body is in repose it will remain so, as long as no strange force displaces it. If moving it will not stop unless an obstacle comes in its way. This indifference to motion or repose is called inertia. Barbican and his companions might have believed themselves perfectly stationary, being shut up in the projectile. Indeed, the effect would have been the same if they had been on the outside of it. Had it not been for the moon, which was increasing above them, they might have sworn that they were floating in complete stagnation. That morning, the third of December, the travellers were awakened by a joyous but unexpected noise. It was the crowing of a cock which sounded through the car. Michel Ardain, who was the first on his feet, climbed to the top of the projectile, and shutting a box, the lid of which was partly open, said in a low voice, will you hold your tongue? That creature will spoil my design. But Nicole and Barbican were awake. A cock said, Nicole. Why, no, my friends, Michel answered quickly. It was I who wished to awake you by this rural sound. So saying, he gave vent to a splendid cock-a-doodle-doo, which would have done honour to the proudest of poultry-yards. The two Americans could not help laughing. Fine talent that, said Nicole, looking suspiciously at his companion. Yes, said Michel, a joke in my country. It is very Gaelic. They play the cock, so in the best society. Then, turning the conversation, Barbican, do you know what I have been thinking of all night? No, answered the President. Of our Cambridge friends, you have already remarked that I am an ignoramus in mathematical subjects, and it is impossible for me to find out how the savants of the observatory were able to calculate what initiatory speed the projectile ought to have on leaving the Colombiad in order to attain the moon. You mean to say, replied Barbican, to attain that neutral point where the terrestrial and lunar attractions are equal. For, starting from that point, situated about nine-tenth of the distance traveled over, the projectile would simply fall upon the moon on account of its weight. So be it, said Michel. But once more, how could they calculate the initiatory speed? Nothing can be easier, replied Barbican. And you knew how to make that calculation, asked Michel Ardent. Perfectly, Nicole and I would have made it, if the observatory had not saved us the trouble. Very well, old Barbican, replied Michel. They might have cut off my head, beginning at my feet, before they could have made me solve that problem. Because you don't know algebra, answered Barbican quietly. Ah, there you are, you eaters of X to the power of one. You think you have said all when you have said algebra. Michel, said Barbican, can you use a forge without a hammer, or a plow without a plowshare? Hardly. Well, algebra is a tool, like the plow or the hammer, and a good tool to those who know how to use it. Seriously? Quite seriously. And you can use that tool in my presence. If it will interest you. And show me how they calculated the initiatory speed of our car. Yes, my worthy friend, take into consideration all the elements of the problem, the distance from the centre of the earth to the centre of the moon, of the radius of the earth, of its bulk, and of the bulk of the moon. I can tell exactly what ought to be the initiatory speed of the projectile, and that by a simple formula. Let us see. You shall see it. Only I shall not give you the real course drawn by the projectile between the moon and the earth in considering their motion round the sun. No, I shall consider—no, I shall consider these two orbs as perfectly motionless, which will answer all our purpose. And why? Because it will be trying to solve the problem called the problem of the three bodies, for which the integral calculus is not yet far enough advanced. Then, said Michel Ardall, in his sly tone, mathematics have not said their last word. Certainly not, replied Barbican. Well, perhaps the selenites have carried the integral calculus further than you have, and, by the by, what is this integral calculus? It is a calculation, the converse of the differential, replied Barbican seriously. Much obliged, it is all very clear, no doubt. And now, continued Barbican, a slip of paper and a bit of pencil, and before a half hour is over, I will have found the required formula. Half an hour had not elapsed before Barbican, raising his head, showed Michel Ardall a page covered with algebraical signs, in which the general formula for the solution was contained. Well, and does Nicole understand what that means? Of course, Michel, replied the captain. All these signs, which seem cabalistic to you, form the plainest, the clearest, and the most logical language to those who know how to read it. And you pretend, Nicole, asked Michel, that by means of these hieroglyphics more incomprehensible than the Egyptian ibis, you can find what initiatory speed it was necessary to give the projectile. Incontestably, replied Nicole, and even by this same formula, I can always tell you its speed at any point of its transit. On your word? On my word. Then you are as cunning as our president. No, Michel, the difficult part is what Barbican has done, that is, to get an equation, which shall satisfy all the conditions of the problem. The remainder is only a question of arithmetic, requiring merely the knowledge of the four rules. That is something, replied Michel Ardall, who for his life could not do addition right, and to define the rule as a Chinese puzzle, which allowed one to obtain all sorts of totals. The expression, v zero, which you see in that equation, is the speed which the projectile will have on leaving the atmosphere. Just so, said Nicole, it is from that point that we must calculate the velocity, since we already know that the velocity at departure was exactly one and a half times more than on leaving the atmosphere. I understand no more, said Michel. It is a very simple calculation, said Barbican. Not as simple as I am, retorted Michel. That means that when our projectile reached the limits of the terrestrial atmosphere, it had already lost one third of its initiatory speed. As much as that? Yes, my friend, merely by friction against the atmospheric strata. You understand that the faster it goes, the more resistance it meets with from the air. That, I admit, answered Michel. And I understand it, although your x's and zero's, an algebraic formula, are rattling in my head like nails in a bag. First effects of algebra, replied Barbican. And now, to finish, we are going to prove the given number of these different expressions. That is, work out their value. Finish me, replied Michel. Barbican took the paper and began to make his calculations with great rapidity. Nicole looked over and greedily read the work as it proceeded. That's it, that's it, at last, he cried. Is it clear, asked Barbican. It is written in letters of fire, said Nicole. Wonderful fellows, muttered Ardain. Do you understand it, at last, asked Barbican. Do I understand it, cried Ardain. My head is splitting with it. And now, said Nicole, to find out the speed of the projectile when it leaves the atmosphere, we have only to calculate that. The captain, as a practical man equal to all difficulties, began to write with frightful rapidity. Divisions and multiplications grew under his fingers. The figures were like hail on the white page. Barbican watched him, while Michel Ardain nursed a growing headache with both hands. Very well, asked Barbican, after some minutes' silence. Well, replied Nicole, every calculation made. V zero, that is to say, the speed necessary for the projectile on leaving the atmosphere to enable it to reach the equal point of attraction ought to be, yes, said Barbican, twelve thousand yards. What! exclaimed Barbican, starting. You say, twelve thousand yards. The devil, cried the president, making a gesture of despair. What is the matter? asked Michel Ardain, much surprised. What is the matter? Why, if at this moment, or speed, had already diminished one-third by friction, the initiatory speed ought to have been, Seventeen thousand yards. And the Cambridge observatory declared that twelve thousand yards was enough at starting at a projectile which only started with that speed. Well, asked Nicole, well, it will not be enough. Good. We shall not be able to reach the neutral point. The deuce. We shall not even get half way. In the name of the projectile, exclaimed Michel Ardain, jumping as if it were already on the point of striking the terrestrial globe. And we shall fall back upon the earth. Leone Rose Round the Moon by Jules Verne Chapter Five The Cold of Space This revelation came like a thunderbolt. Who could have expected such an error in calculation? Barbican would not believe it. Nicole revised his figures. They were exact. As to the formula which had determined them, they could not suspect its truth. It was evident that an initiatory velocity of 17,000 yards in the first second was necessary to enable them to reach the neutral point. The three friends looked at each other silently. There was no thought of breakfast. Barbican, with clenched teeth, knitted brows, and hands clasped convulsively, was watching through the window. Nicole had crossed his arms and was examining his calculations. Michel Ardain was muttering. That is just like these scientific men. They never do anything else. I would give twenty pistols if we could fall upon the Cambridge Observatory and crush it, together with a whole lot of dabblers and figures which it contains. Suddenly a thought struck the captain, which he at once communicated to Barbican. Ah! said he. It is seven o'clock in the morning. We have already been gone thirty-two hours. More than half our passage is over, and we are not falling that I am aware of. Barbican did not answer, but after a rapid glance at the captain took a pair of compasses wherewith to measure the angular distance of the terrestrial globe. Then from the lower window he took an exact observation, and noticed that the projectile was apparently stationary. Then rising and wiping his forehead, on which large drops of perspiration were standing, he put some figures on paper. A call understood that the president was deducting from the terrestrial diameter the projectile's distance from the earth. He watched him anxiously. No, exclaimed Barbican, after some moments. No, we are not falling. No, we are already more than fifty thousand leagues from the earth. We have passed the point at which the projectile would have stopped if its speed had only been twelve thousand yards at starting. We are still going up. That is evident, replied Nicole, and we must conclude that our initial speed, under the power of the four hundred thousand pounds of gun-cutten, must have exceeded the required twelve thousand yards. Now I can understand how, after thirteen minutes only, we met the second satellite, which gravitates around the earth at more than two thousand leagues' distance. And this explanation is the more probable added Barbican. Because in throwing off the water enclosed between its partition breaks, the projectile found itself lightened of a considerable weight. Just so, said Nicole. Ah, my brave nickel, we are saved! Very well, then, said Michel Ardain quietly. As we are safe, let us have breakfast. Nicole was not mistaken. The initial speed had been, very fortunately, much above that estimated by the Cambridge Observatory. But the Cambridge Observatory had nevertheless made a mistake. The travellers recovered from this false alarm, breakfasted merrily. If they ate a good deal, they talked more. Their confidence was greater after than before the incident of the algebra. Why should we not succeed? said Michel Ardain. Why should we not arrive safely? We are launched. We have no obstacle before us. No stones in the way. The road is open, more so than that of a ship battling with the sea. More open than that of a balloon battling with the wind. And if a ship can reach its destination, a balloon go where it pleases, why cannot our projectile attain its end and aim? It will attain it, said Barbican. If only to do honour to the Americans, added Michel Ardain. The only people who could bring such an enterprise to a happy termination, and the only one which could produce a President Barbican. Ah, now we are no longer uneasy. I begin to think. What will become of us? We shall get right royally weary. Barbican and Nicole made a gesture of denial. But I have provided for the contingency, my friends, replied Michel. You have only to speak. And I have chess, drafts, cards, and dominoes at your disposal. Nothing is wanting but a billiard table. What? exclaimed Barbican. You brought away such trifles? Certainly, replied Michel. And not only to distract ourselves, but also with the laudable intention of endowing the selenite smoking davans with them. My friend, said Barbican. If the moon is inhabited, its inhabitants must have appeared some thousands of years before those of the earth. For we cannot doubt that their star is much older than ours. If then these selenites have existed their hundreds of thousands of years, and if their brain is of the same organisation of the human brain, they have already invented all that we have invented, and even what we may invent in future ages. They have nothing to learn from us, and we have everything to learn from them. What? said Michel. You believe that they have artists like Phidias, Michelangelo, or Raphael? Yes. Poets like Homer, Virgil, Milton, Lamartine, and Hugo? I am sure of it. Philosophers like Plato, Aristotle, Descartes, Kant? I have no doubt of it. Scientific men like Archimedes, Euclid, Pascal, Newton? I could swear it. Comic writers like Arnal and photographers like Nadar? Certain. Then, friend Barbican, if they are as strong as we are, and even stronger, these selenites, why have they not tried to communicate with the earth? Why have they not launched a lunar projectile to our terrestrial regions? Who told you that they have never done so? said Barbican seriously. Indeed, added Nicoll, it would be easier for them than for us for two reasons. First, because the attraction on the moon's surface is six times less than on that of the earth, which would allow a projectile to rise more easily. Secondly, because it would be enough to send such a projectile only at 8,000 leagues instead of 80,000, which would require the force of projection to be 10 times less strong. Then continued Michel. I repeat it. Why have they not done it? And I repeat, said Barbican, who told you that they have not done it? When? Thousands of years before man appeared on earth. And the projectile? Where is the projectile? I demand to see the projectile. My friend, replied Barbican, the sea covers five sixths of our globe. From that we may draw five good reasons for supposing that the lunar projectile if ever launched is now at the bottom of the Atlantic or the Pacific, unless it sped into some crevasse at that period when the crust of the earth was not yet hardened. Old Barbican, said Michel, you have an answer for everything, and I bow before your wisdom. But there is one hypothesis that would suit me better than all the others, which is the selenites being older than we are wiser and have not invented gunpowder. At this moment Diana joined in the conversation by a sonorous barking. She was asking for her breakfast. Ah, said Michel Ardenne, in our discussion we have forgotten Diana and satellite. Immediately a good-sized pie was given to the dog, which devoured it hungrily. Do you see Barbican, said Michel, we should have made a second Noah's Ark of this projectile, and borne with us to the moon a couple of every kind of domestic animal. I dare say, but room would have failed us. Oh, said Michel, we might have squeezed a little. The fact is, replied Nicoll, that cows, bulls, and horses, and all ruminants, would have been very useful on the lunar continent, but unfortunately the car could neither have been made a stable nor a shed. Well, we might have at least brought a donkey, only a little donkey, that courageous beast which old selenites love to mount. I love those old donkeys. They are the least favorite animals in creation. They are not only beaten while alive, but even after they are dead. How do you make that out? asked Barbican. Why? said Michel. They make their skins into drums. Barbican and Nicoll could not help laughing at this ridiculous remark. But a cry from their merry companion stopped them. The latter was leaning over the spot where satellite lay. He rose, saying, my good satellite is no longer ill. Ah, said Nicoll. No, answered Michel. He is dead. There, added he, in a piteous tone. That is embarrassing. I much fear, my poor Diana, that you will leave no progeny in the lunar regions. Indeed, the unfortunate satellite had not survived its wound. It was quite dead. Michel Ardan looked at his friends with a rueful countenance. One question presents itself, said Barbican. We cannot keep the dead body of this dog with us for the next forty-eight hours. No, certainly not, replied Nicoll. But our scuttles are fixed on hinges. They can be let down. We will open one and throw the body out into space. The president thought for some moments and then said, Yes, we must do so, but at the same time taking very great precautions. Why? asked Michel. For two reasons which you will understand, answered Barbican. The first relates to the air shut up in the projectile, and of which we must lose as little as possible. But we manufacture the air only in part. We make only the oxygen, my worthy Michel. And with regard to that, we must watch that the apparatus does not furnish the oxygen in too great a quantity. For an excess would bring us very serious physiological troubles. But if we make the oxygen, we do not make the azote, that medium which the lungs do not absorb, and which ought to remain intact. And that azote will escape rapidly through the open scuttles. Oh, the time for throwing out poor satellite, said Michel, agreed, but we must act quickly. And the second reason, asked Michel. The second reason is that we must not let the outer cold, which is excessive, penetrate the projectile, or we shall be frozen to death. But the sun? The sun warms our projectile, which absorbs its rays, but it does not warm the vacuum in which we are floating at this moment. Where there is no air, there is no more heat than diffused light, and the same with darkness. It is cold where the sun's rays do not strike direct. This temperature is only the temperature produced by the radiation of the stars. That is to say, what the terrestrial globe would undergo if the sun disappeared one day. Which is not to be feared, replied Michel. Who knows, said Michel Ardan. But in admitting that the sun does not go out, might it not happen that the earth might move away from it? There, said Barbican. There is Michel with his ideas. And continued Michel. Do we not know that in 1861 the earth passed through the tail of a comet? Or let us suppose a comet whose power of attraction is greater than that of the sun, the terrestrial orbit will bend toward the wandering star, and the earth becoming its satellite will be drawn such a distance that the rays of the sun will have no action on its surface. That might happen indeed, replied Barbican, but the consequences of such a displacement need not be so formidable as you suppose. And why not? Because the heat and cold would be equalized on our globe. It has been calculated that, had our earth been carried along in its course by the comet of 1861, at its perihelion, that is, its nearest approach to the sun, it would have undergone a heat 28,000 times greater than that of summer. But this heat, which is sufficient to evaporate the waters, would have formed a thick ring of cloud, which would have modified that excessive temperature. Hence the compensation between the cold of the aphelion and the heat of the perihelion. At how many degrees, asked Nicolle, is the temperature of the planetary space estimated? Formerly, replied Barbican, it was greatly exaggerated. But now, after the calculations of Fourier of the French Academy of Science, it is not supposed to exceed 60 degrees centigrade below zero. Poo! said Michel. That's nothing. It is very much, replied Barbican. The temperature, which was observed in the polar regions, at Melville Island and Fort Reliance, that is 76 degrees Fahrenheit below zero. If I mistake not, said Nicolle. Monsieur Pouillet, another savant, estimates a temperature of space at 250 degrees Fahrenheit below zero. We shall, however, be able to verify these calculations for ourselves. Not at present, because the solar rays, beating directly upon our thermometer, would give, on the contrary, a very high temperature. But when we arrive in the moon, during its 15 days of night at either face, we shall have leisure to make the experiment, for our satellite lies in a vacuum. What do you mean by a vacuum? asked Michel. Is it perfectly such? It is absolutely void of air. And is the air replaced by nothing whatever? By the ether only, replied Barbican. And pray, what is the ether? The ether, my friend, is an agglomeration of imponderable atoms, which, relatively to their dimensions, are as far removed from each other as the celestial bodies are in space. It is these atoms which, by their vibratory motion, produce both light and heat in the universe. They now proceeded to the burial of satellite. They had merely to drop him into space, in the same way that sailors drop a body into the sea. But, as President Barbican suggested, they must act quickly, so as to lose as little as possible of that air whose elasticity would rapidly have spread it into space. The bolts of the right scuttle, the opening of which measured about 12 inches across, were carefully drawn, while Michel, quite grieved, prepared to launch the dog into space. The glass, raised by a powerful lever, which enabled it to overcome the pressure of the inside air on the walls of the projectile, turned rapidly on its hinges, and satellite was thrown out. Scarcely a particle of air could have escaped, and the operation was so successful that later on Barbican did not fear to dispose of the rubbish which encumbered the car. End of chapter 5 Chapter 6 Of Round the Moon This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Round the Moon by Jules Verne. Chapter 6 Question and Answer On the fourth day of December, when the travellers awoke, after 54 hours' journey, the chronometer marked five o'clock of the terrestrial morning. In time it was just over five hours and forty minutes—half of that assigned to their sojourn in the projectile. But they had already accomplished nearly seven-tenths of the way. This peculiarity was due to their regularly decreasing speed. Now, when they observed the earth through the lower window, it looked like nothing more than a dark spot, drowned in the solar rays. No more crescent, no more cloudy light. The next day at midnight the earth would be new, at the very moment when the moon would be full. Above, the orb of night was nearing the line, followed by the projectile, so as to meet it at the given hour. All around the black vault was studded with brilliant points, which seemed to move slowly. But at the great distance they were from them, their relative size did not seem to change. The sun and stars appeared exactly as they do to us upon earth. As to the moon she was considerably larger, but the traveller's glasses, not very powerful, did not allow them as yet to make any useful observation upon her surface, or to reconnoitre her topographically or geologically. Thus the time passed in never-ending conversations all about the moon. Each one brought forward his own contingent of particular facts. Barbican and Nicole were always serious. Michel Ardant always enthusiastic. The projectile, its situation, its direction, incidents which might happen, the precautions necessitated by their fall onto the moon, were inexhaustible matters of conjecture. As they were breakfasting, a question of Michel's relating to the projectile provoked rather a curious answer from Barbican, which is worth repeating. Michel, supposing it to be roughly stopped, while still under its formidable initial speed, wished to know what the consequences of the stoppage would have been. But, said Barbican, I do not see how it could have been stopped, but let us oppose so, said Michel. It is an impossible supposition, said the practical Barbican, unless that impulsive force had failed, but even then its speed would diminish by degrees, and it would not have stopped suddenly. Admit that it had struck a body in space. What body? Why, that enormous meteor which we met? Then, said Nicole, the projectile would have been broken into a thousand pieces, and we with it. More than that, replied Barbican, we should have been burned to death. Burned, exclaimed Michel, by Jove, I am sorry it did not happen, just to see. And you would have seen, replied Barbican, it is known now that the heat is only a modification of motion. When water is warmed, that is to say, when heat is added to it, its particles are set in motion. Well, said Michel, this is an ingenious theory. And a true one, my worthy friend, for it explains every phenomenon of caloric. Heat is but the motion of atoms, a simple oscillation of the particles of a body. When they apply the break to a train, the train comes to a stop. But what becomes of the motion which it had previously possessed? It is transformed into heat, and the break becomes hot. Why do they grease the axles of the wheels, to prevent their heating, because this heat would be generated by the motion which is thus lost by transformation? Yes, I understand, replied Michel. Perfectly. For example, when I have run a long time, when I am swimming, when I am perspiring in large drops, why am I obliged to stop? Simply because my motion is changed into heat. Barbican could not help smiling at Michel's reply. Then returning to his theory said, thus, in case of a shock, it would have been with her projectile, as with a ball which falls in a burning state after having struck the metal plate. It is its motion which is turned into heat. Consequently I affirm that, if her projectile had struck the meteor, its speed thus suddenly checked would have raised a heat great enough to turn it into vapor instantaneously. Then, asked Nicole, what would happen if the earth's motion were to stop suddenly? Her temperature would be raised to such a pitch, said Barbican, that she would be at once reduced to vapor. Well, said Michel, that is a way of ending the earth which will greatly simplify things. And if the earth fell upon the sun, asked Nicole. According to calculation, replied Barbican, the fall would develop a heat equal to that produced by sixteen thousand globes of coal. Each equal in bulk to our terrestrial globe. Good additional heat for the sun, replied Michel Ardent, of which the inhabitants of Uranus or Neptune would doubtless not complain. They must be perished with cold on their planets. Thus, my friends, said Barbican, all motion suddenly stopped produces heat, and this theory allows us to infer that the heat of the solar discs is fed by a hail of meteors falling incessantly on its surface. They have even calculated, oh dear, murmured Michel, the figures are coming. They have even calculated, continued the imperturbable Barbican, that the shock of each meteor on the sun ought to produce a heat equal to that of four thousand masses of coal of an equal bulk. And what is the solar heat? asked Michel. It is equal to that produced by the combustion of a stratum of coal surrounding the sun to a depth of forty seven miles. And that heat would be able to boil two billions nine hundred millions of cubic merimeters of water. Footnote. The meriameter is equal to rather more than ten thousand nine hundred and thirty six cubic yards English. And it does not roast us, exclaimed Michel. No, replied Barbican, because the terrestrial atmosphere absorbs four tenths of the solar heat. Besides, the quantity of heat intercepted by the earth is but a billionth part of the entire radiation. I see that all is for the best, said Michel, and that this atmosphere is a useful invention, for it not only allows us to breathe, but it prevents us from roasting. Yes, said Nicole. Unfortunately, it will not be the same in the moon. Bah! said Michel, always hopeful. If there are inhabitants, they must breathe. If there are no longer any, they must have left enough oxygen for three people. If only at the bottom of the ravines, where its own weight will cause it to accumulate, and we will not climb the mountains, that is all. And Michel Rising went to look at the lunar disk, which shone with intolerable brilliancy. By Jove, said he, it must be hot up there. Without considering, replied Nicole, that the day lasts three hundred and sixty hours. And to compensate that, said Barbican, the nights have the same length, and as heat is restored by radiation their temperature can only be that of the planetary space. A pretty country that, exclaimed Michel. Never mind, I wish I was there. My dear comrades, it will be rather curious to have the earth for our moon, to see it rise on the horizon, to recognize the shape of its continents, and to say to oneself, there is America, there is Europe, then to follow it, when it is about to lose itself in the sun's rays. By the bye, Barbican, have the sullenites eclipses? Yes, eclipses of the sun, replied Barbican, when the centers of the three orbs are on a line, the earth being in the middle. But they are only partial, during which the earth, cast like a screen upon the solar disk, allows the greater portion to be seen. And why, asked Nicole, is there no total eclipse? Does not the cone of the shadow cast by the earth extend beyond the moon? Yes, if we do not take into consideration the refraction produced by the terrestrial atmosphere, no, if we take that refraction into consideration. Thus let lowercase delta be the horizontal parallel, and p the apparent semi-diameter. Oh, said Michel, do speak plainly, you man of algebra. Very well, replied Barbican, in popular language, the mean distance from the moon to the earth being 60 terrestrial radii, the length of the cone of the shadow, on account of refraction, is reduced to less than 42 radii. The result is that when there are eclipses, the moon finds itself beyond the cone of pure shadow, and that the sun sends her its rays, not only from its edges, but also from its center. Then, said Michel in a very merry tone, why are there eclipses when there ought not to be any? Simply because the solar rays are weakened by this refraction, and the atmosphere, through which they pass, extinguished the greater part of them. That reason satisfies me, replied Michel. Besides, we shall see when we get there. Now tell me, Barbican, do you believe that the moon is an old comet? There is an idea. Yes, replied Michel, with an amiable swagger. I have a few ideas of that sort. But that the idea not spring from Michel. Answered Nicole. Well, then, I am a plagiarist. No doubt about it. According to the ancients, the Arcadians pretend that their ancestors inhabited the earth before the moon became her satellite. Starting from this fact, some scientific men have seen in the moon a comet whose orbit will one day bring it so near to the earth that it will be held there by its attraction. Is there any truth in this hypothesis? asked Michel. None whatever, said Barbican, and the proof is that the moon has preserved no trace of the gaseous envelope which always accompanies comets. But, continued Nicole, before becoming the earth's satellite, could not the moon, when in her perihelion, pass so near the sun as by evaporation to get rid of all those gaseous substances? It is possible, friend Nicole, but not probable. Why not? Because— Faith, I do not know. Ah, exclaimed Michel, what hundreds of volumes we might make of all that we do not know. Ah, indeed. What time is it? asked Barbican. Three o'clock, answered Nicole. How time goes, said Michel. In the conversation of scientific men, such as we are, certainly I feel I know too much. I feel that I am becoming a well, saying which Michel hoisted himself to the roof of the projectile. To observe the moon better, he pretended. During this time, his two companions were watching through the lower glass. Nothing new to note. When Michel Ardain came down, he went to the side-scuttle, and suddenly they heard an exclamation of surprise. What is it? asked Barbican. The President approached the window, and saw a sort of flattened sack, floating some yards from the projectile, and was consequently animated with the same ascending motion. What is that machine? continued Michel Ardain. Is it one of the bodies which our projectile keeps within its attraction, and which will accompany it to the moon? What astonishes me, said Nicole, is that the specific weight of the body, which is certainly less than that of the projectile, allows it to keep so perfectly on a level with it. Nicole, replied Barbican, after a moment's reflection, I do not know what the object is, but I do know why it maintains our level. And why? Because we are floating in space, my dear Captain, and in space bodies fall or move, which is the same thing, with equal speed whatever be their weight or form. It is the air by which its resistance creates these differences in weight. When you create a vacuum in a tube, the objects you send through it, grains of dust or grains of lead, fall with the same rapidity. Here in space is just the same cause and the same effect. Just so, said Nicole, and everything we throw out of the projectile will accompany it until it reaches the moon. Ah, fools that we are, exclaimed Michel. Why that expletive? asked Barbican. Because we might have filled the projectile with useful objects, books, instruments, tools, etc., we could have thrown them all out, and all would have followed in our train. But happy thought! Why cannot we walk outside like the meteor? Why cannot we launch into space through the scuttle? What enjoyment it would be to feel oneself thus suspended in either, more favoured than the birds who must use their wings to keep themselves up. Granted, said Barbican, but how to breathe? Hang the air to fail so inopportunally. But if it did not fail, Michel, your density being less than that of the projectile, you would soon be left behind. Then we must remain in our car. We must. Ah, exclaimed Michel in a loud voice. What is the matter? asked Nicole. I know, I guess, what this pretended meteor is. It is no asteroid which is accompanying us. It is not a piece of a planet. What is it then? asked Barbican. It is our unfortunate dog. It is Diana's husband. Indeed, this deformed, unrecognisable object, reduced to nothing, was the body of satellite, flattened like a bagpipe without wind, and ever mounting, mounting.