 22 The spot where the projectile sank under the waves was exactly known, but the machinery to grasp it and bring it to the surface of the ocean was still wanting. It must first be invented, then made. American engineers could not be troubled with such trifles. The grappling irons once fixed, by their help they were sure to raise it in spite of its weight, which was lessened by the density of the liquid in which it was plunged. But fishing up the projectile was not the only thing to be thought of. They must act promptly in the interest of the travellers. No one doubted that they were still living. Yes, repeated J. T. Maston incessantly, whose confidence gained over everybody. Our friends are clever people, and they cannot have fallen like simpletons. They are alive, quite alive, but we must make haste if we wish to find them so. Food and water, do not trouble me. They have enough for a long while. But air, air, that is what they will soon want, so quick, quick. And they did go quick. They fitted up the Susquehanna for her new destination. Her powerful machinery was brought to bear upon the hauling-chains. The aluminum projectile only weighed nineteen thousand two hundred and fifty pounds, a weight very inferior to that of the transatlantic cable which had been drawn up under similar conditions. The only difficulty was in fishing up a cylindrical projectile, the walls of which were so smooth as to offer no hold for the hooks. On that account, engineer Murchison hastened to San Francisco and had some enormous grappling-irons fixed on an automatic system which would never let the projectile go if it once succeeded in seizing it in its powerful claws. Diving-dresses were also prepared, which through this impervious covering allowed the divers to observe the bottom of the sea. He also had put on board an apparatus of compressed air very cleverly designed. There were perfect chambers pierced with scuttles which, with water led into certain compartments, could draw it down to great depths. These apparatuses were at San Francisco, where they had been used in the construction of a submarine breakwater, and very fortunately it was so, for there was no time to construct any. But in spite of the perfection of the machinery, in spite of the ingenuity of the savants entrusted with the use of them, the success of the operation was far from being certain. How great were the chances against them, the projectile being twenty thousand feet under the water! And if even it was brought to the surface, how would the travellers have borne the terrible shock which twenty thousand feet of water had perhaps not sufficiently broken? At any rate they must act quickly. J. T. Maston hurried the workman day and night. He was ready to don the diving-dress himself, or try the air apparatus in order to reconnoitre the situation of his courageous friends. But in spite of all the diligence displayed in preparing the different engines, in spite of the considerable sum placed at the disposal of the gun-club by the Government of the Union five long days, five centuries, elapsed before the preparations were complete. During this time public opinion was excited to the highest pitch. Telegrams were exchanged incessantly throughout the entire world by means of wires and electric cables. The saving of Barbican, Nicole, and Michel Ardain was an international affair. Everyone who had subscribed to the gun-club was directly interested in the welfare of the travellers. At length the hauling-chains, the air-champions, and the automatic grappling-irons were put on board. J. T. Maston, engineer Murchison, and the delegates of the gun-club were already in their cabins. They had but to start, which they did on the twenty first of December at eight o'clock at night, the Corvette meeting with a beautiful sea, a northwesterly wind, and rather sharp cold. The whole population of San Francisco was gathered on the quay, greatly excited but silent, reserving their hurrahs for the return. Steam was fully up, and the screw of the sescajena carried them briskly out of the bay. It is needless to relate the conversations on board between the officers, sailors, and passengers. All these men had but one thought. All these hearts beat under the same emotion. While there were hastening to help them, what were Barbican and his companions doing? What had become of them? Were they able to attempt any bold manoeuvre to regain their liberty? None could say. The truth is that every attempt must have failed. Immersed nearly four miles under the ocean, this metal prison defied every effort of its prisoners. On the twenty-third inst, at eight in the morning, after a rapid passage, the sescajena was due at the fatal spot. They must wait till twelve to take the reckoning exactly. The boy to which the surrounding line had been lashed had not yet been recognized. At twelve, Captain Bloomsbury, assisted by his officers, who superintended the observations, took the reckoning in the presence of the delegates of the gun-club. Then there was a moment of anxiety. Her position decided. The sescajena was found to be some minutes westward of the spot where the projectile had disappeared beneath the waves. The ship's course was then changed so as to reach this exact point. At forty-seven minutes past twelve they reached the boy. It was in perfect condition and must have shifted but little. At last exclaimed J. T. Maston. Shall we begin? asked Captain Bloomsbury. Without losing a second. Every precaution was taken to keep the corvette almost completely motionless. Before trying to seize the projectile, Engineer Mergeson wanted to find its exact position at the bottom of the ocean. The submarine apparatus destined for this expedition was supplied with air. The working of these engines was not without danger. For at twenty thousand feet below the surface of the water and under such great pressure they were exposed to fracture, the consequences of which would be dreadful. J. T. Maston, the brother's Bloomsbury and Engineer Mergeson, without heeding these dangers, took their places in the air chamber. The commander, posted on his bridge, superintended the operation, ready to stop or haul in the chains on the slightest signal. The screw had been shipped and the whole power of the machinery collected on the capstan would have quickly drawn the apparatus on board. The descent began at twenty-five minutes past one at night, and the chamber drawn under by the reservoirs full of water disappeared from the surface of the ocean. The emotion of the officers and sailors on board was now divided between the prisoners in the projectile and the prisoners in the submarine apparatus. As to the latter they forgot themselves and glued to the windows of the scuttles, attentively watched the liquid mass through which they were passing. The descent was rapid. At seventeen minutes past two J. T. Maston and his companions had reached the bottom of the Pacific, but they saw nothing but an arid desert, no longer animated by either fauna or flora. By the light of their lamps furnished with powerful reflectors they could see the dark beds of the ocean for a considerable extent of view, but the projectile was nowhere to be seen. The impatience of these bold divers cannot be described, and having an electrical communication with the corvette they made a signal already agreed upon, and for the space of a mile the Ciscajana moved their chamber along some yards above the bottom. Thus they explored the whole submarine plain, deceived at every turn by optical illusions which almost broke their hearts. Here a rock, there a projection from the ground, seemed to be the much sought-for projectile, but their mistake was soon discovered, and they were in despair. But where are they? Where are they? cried J. T. Maston, and the poor man called loudly upon Nicole, Barbican, and Michel Ardain, as if his unfortunate friends could either hear or answer him, through such an impenetrable medium. The search continued under these conditions until the vitiated air compelled the divers to ascend. The hauling-in began about six in the evening, and was not ended before midnight. "'Tomorrow,' said J. T. Maston, as he set foot on the bridge of the corvette. "'Yes,' answered Captain Bloomsbury. "'And on another spot?' "'Yes.' J. T. Maston did not doubt of their final success, but his companions no longer upheld by the excitement of the first hours understood all the difficulty of the enterprise. What seemed easy at San Francisco seemed here in the wide ocean almost impossible. The chances of success diminished in rapid proportion, and it was from chance alone that the meeting with the projectile might be expected. The next day the twenty-fourth, in spite of the fatigue of the previous day, the operation was renewed. The corvette advanced some minutes to westward, and the apparatus, provided with air, bore the same explorers to the depth of the ocean. The whole day passed in fruitless research. The bed of the sea was a desert. The twenty-fifth brought no result, nor the twenty-sixth. It was disheartening. They thought of those unfortunate shut up in the projectile for twenty-six days. Perhaps at that moment they were experiencing the first approach of suffocation, that is, if they had escaped the dangers of their fall. The air was spent and doubtless with the air all their morale. The air possibly, answered J. T. Maston resolutely, but their morale never. On the twenty-eighth after two more days of search all hope was gone. This projectile was but an atom in the immensity of the ocean. They must give up all idea of finding it. But J. T. Maston would not hear of going away. He would not abandon the place without at least discovering the tomb of his friends. But Commander Bloomsbury could no longer persist and in spite of the exclamations of the worthy secretary was obliged to give the order to sail. On the twenty-ninth of December at nine a.m. the Susquehanna, heading northeast, resumed her course to the Bay of San Francisco. It was ten in the morning. The corvette was under half-steam as it was regretting to leave the spot where the catastrophe had taken place. One assailor, perched on the main top gallant, cross-trees, watching the sea, cried suddenly, "'A boy on the lee-bow!' The officers looked in the direction indicated and by the help of their glasses saw that the object signalled, had the appearance of one of those boys which are used to mark the passage of bays or rivers. But, singularly to say, a flag floating on the wind surmounted its cone, which emerged five or six feet out of the water. This boy shone under the rays of the sun as if it had been made of plates of silver. Commander Bloomsbury, J. T. Maston, and the delegates of the gun-club, were mounted on the bridge, examining this object straying at random on the waves. All looked with feverish anxiety, but in silence none dared give expression to the thoughts which came to the minds of all. The corvette approached to within two cables' length of the object. A shudder ran through the whole crew. That flag was the American flag. At this moment a perfect howling was heard. It was the brave J. T. Maston who had just fallen all in a heap, forgetting on the one hand that his right arm had been replaced by an iron hook, and on the other that a simple guccipercia cap covered his brain-box he had given himself a formidable blow. They hurried toward him, picked him up, restored him to life. And what were his first words? Ah, trebly brutes, quadruple idiots, quintuple boobies that we are! What is it? exclaimed everyone around him. What is it? Come speak! It is, simpletons, howled the terrible secretary, it is that the projectile only weighs nineteen thousand two hundred and fifty pounds. Well, and that it displaces twenty-eight tons, or in other words fifty-six thousand pounds, and that consequently it floats. Ah, what stress the worthy man had laid on the verb float! And it was true. Ah, yes, all these savants had forgotten this fundamental law, namely that on account of its specific lightness the projectile after having been drawn by its full fall to the greatest depths of the ocean must naturally return to the surface. And now it was floating quietly at the mercy of the waves. The boats were put to sea. J. T. Maston and his friends had rushed into them. Excitement was at its height. Every heart beat loudly, while they advanced to the projectile. What did it contain, living or dead? Living, yes, living, at least, unless death had struck Barbican and his two friends, since they had hoisted the flag. Profound silence reigned on the boats. All were breathless, eyes no longer saw. One of the scuttles of the projectile was open. Some pieces of glass remained in the frame, showing that it had been broken. This scuttle was actually five feet above the water. A boat came alongside that of J. T. Maston, and J. T. Maston rushed to the broken window. At that moment they heard a clear and merry voice, the one of Michel Ardennes, exclaiming in an accent of triumph, Vaital, Barbicane, Vaital, Barbicane, Michel Ardennes, and Nicole were playing at Domino's. End of CHAPTER XXII. CHAPTER XXIII. OF ROUND THE MOON. CHAPTER XXIII. THE END. We may remember the intense sympathy which had accompanied the travellers on their departure. If at the beginning of the enterprise they had excited such emotion, both in the old and new world, with what enthusiasm would they be received on their return? The millions of spectators which had beset the peninsula of Florida, would they not rush to meet these sublime adventurers? Those legions of strangers hurrying from all parts of the globe toward the American shores, would they leave the union without having seen Barbicane, Nicole, and Michel Ardennes? No, and the ardent passion of the public was bound to respond worthily to the greatness of the enterprise. Human creatures who had left the terrestrial sphere and returned after this strange voyage into celestial space could not fail to be received as the Prophet Elias would be if he came back to earth. To see them first and then to hear them such was the universal longing. Barbicane, Michel Ardennes, Nicole, and the delegates of the gun club, returning without delay to Baltimore, were received with indescribable enthusiasm. The notes of President Barbicane's voyage were ready to be given to the public. The New York Herald bought the manuscript at a price not yet known but which must have been very high. Indeed, during the publication of A Journey to the Moon, the sale of this paper amounted to five millions of copies. Three days after the return of the travelers to the earth, the slightest detail of their expedition was known. There remained nothing more but to see the heroes of this superhuman enterprise. The expedition of Barbicane and his friends round the Moon had enabled them to correct the many admitted theories regarding the terrestrial satellite. These savants had observed Devisu and under particular circumstances. They knew what systems should be rejected, what retained with regard to the formation of that orb, its origin, its habitability, its past, present, and future had even given up their last secrets. Who could advance objections against conscientious observers who at less than twenty-four miles distance had marked that curious mountain of Tycho, the strangest system of lunar orrography? How answer those savants whose sight had penetrated the abyss of Pluto's circle? How contradict those bold ones whom the chances of their enterprise had borne over that invisible face of the disk which no human eye until then had ever seen? It was now their turn to impose some limit on that selenographic science which had reconstructed the lunar world as Cuvier did the skeleton of a fossil and say, The Moon was this, a habitable world inhabited before the earth. The Moon is that, a world uninhabitable, and now uninhabited. To celebrate the return of its most illustrious member and his two companions, the gun club decided upon giving a banquet, but a banquet worthy of the conquerors, worthy of the American people, and under such conditions that all the inhabitants of the Union could directly take part in it. All the headlines of railroads in the States were joined by flying rails, and on all the platforms, lined with the same flags and decorated with the same ornaments, where tables laid and all served alike. At certain hours, successively calculated, marked by electric clocks which beat the seconds at the same time, the population were invited to take their places at the banquet tables. For four days, from the fifth to the ninth of January, the trains were stopped as they are on Sundays on the railways of the United States, and every road was open. One engine only at full speed, drawing a triumphal carriage, had the right of traveling for those four days on the railroads of the United States. The engine was manned by a driver and a stoker, and bore, by special favour, the Honourable J. T. Maston, Secretary of the Gun Club. The carriage was reserved for President Barbican, Colonel Nicolle, and Michele Ardan. At the whistle of the driver, amid the hurrahs, and all the admiring vociferations of the American language, the train left the platform of Baltimore. It travelled at a speed of one hundred and sixty miles in the hour. But what was this speed compared with that which had carried the three heroes from the mouth of the Columbia ad? Thus they sped from one town to the other, finding whole populations at table on their road, saluting them with the same acclamations, lavishing the same bravos. They travelled in this way through the east of the Union, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, Massachusetts, Vermont, Maine, and New Hampshire, the north and west by New York, Ohio, Michigan, and Wisconsin, returning to the south by Illinois, Missouri, Arkansas, Texas, and Louisiana. They went to the southeast by Alabama and Florida, going up by Georgia and the Carolinas, visiting the center by Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, and Indiana, and after quitting the Washington Station, re-entered Baltimore, where for four days one would have thought that the United States of America were seated at one immense banquet, saluting them simultaneously with the same hurrahs. The apotheosis was worthy of these three heroes whom Fable would have placed in the rank of demigods. And now, will this attempt, unprecedented in the annals of travels, lead to any practical result? Will direct communication with the moon ever be established? Will they ever lay the foundation of a traveling service through the solar world? Will they go from one planet to another, from Jupiter to Mercury, and after a while from one star to another, from the polar to Sirius? Will this means of locomotion allow us to visit those suns which swarm in the firmament? To such questions no answer can be given. But knowing the bold ingenuity of the Anglo-Saxon race, no one would be astonished if the Americans seek to make some use of President Barbican's attempt. Thus, sometime after the return of the travelers, the public received with marked favor the announcement of a company, limited, with a capital of a hundred million of dollars, divided into a hundred thousand shares of a thousand dollars each, under the name of the national company of interstellar communication. President Barbican, Vice President Captain Nicol, Secretary J. T. Mastin, Director of Movements Michelle Ardan, and as it is part of the American temperament to foresee everything in business, even failure, the Honorable Harry Trollop, Judge Commissioner, and Francis Straighton Magistrate were nominated beforehand. End of Chapter 23. This concludes Round the Moon by Jules Fern.