turning to the lunar disc!”
At this moment, Barbicane, quitting his scuttle, turned to his
two companions. He was frightfully pale, his forehead wrinkled,
and his lips contracted.
“We are falling!” said he.
“Ah!” cried Michel Ardan, “on to the moon?”
“On to the earth!”
“The devil!” exclaimed Michel Ardan, adding philosophically,
“well, when we came into this projectile we were very doubtful
as to the ease with which we should get out of it!”
And now this fearful fall had begun. The speed retained had
borne the projectile beyond the dead point. The explosion of
the rockets could not divert its course. This speed in going
had carried it over the neutral line, and in returning had done
the same thing. The laws of physics condemned it _to pass
through every point which it had already gone through_. It was
a terrible fall, from a height of 160,000 miles, and no springs
to break it. According to the laws of gunnery, the projectile
must strike the earth with a speed equal to that with which it
left the mouth of the Columbiad, a speed of 16,000 yards in the
last second.
But to give some figures of comparison, it has been reckoned
that an object thrown from the top of the towers of Notre Dame,
the height of which is only 200 feet, will arrive on the
pavement at a speed of 240 miles per hour. Here the projectile
must strike the earth with a speed of 115,200 miles per hour.
“We are lost!” said Michel coolly.
“Very well! if we die,” answered Barbicane, with a sort of
religious enthusiasm, “the results of our travels will be
magnificently spread. It is His own secret that God will
tell us! In the other life the soul will want to know nothing,
either of machines or engines! It will be identified with
eternal wisdom!”
“In fact,” interrupted Michel Ardan, “the whole of the other
world may well console us for the loss of that inferior orb
called the moon!”
Barbicane crossed his arms on his breast, with a motion of
sublime resignation, saying at the same time:
“The will of heaven be done!”
CHAPTER XX
THE SOUNDINGS OF THE SUSQUEHANNA
Well, lieutenant, and our soundings?”
“I think, sir, that the operation is nearing its completion,”
replied Lieutenant Bronsfield. “But who would have thought of
finding such a depth so near in shore, and only 200 miles from
the American coast?”
“Certainly, Bronsfield, there is a great depression,” said
Captain Blomsberry. “In this spot there is a submarine valley
worn by Humboldt’s current, which skirts the coast of America as
far as the Straits of Magellan.”
“These great depths,” continued the lieutenant, “are not
favorable for laying telegraphic cables. A level bottom, like
that supporting the American cable between Valentia and
Newfoundland, is much better.”
“I agree with you, Bronsfield. With your permission,
lieutenant, where are we now?”
“Sir, at this moment we have 3,508 fathoms of line out, and the
ball which draws the sounding lead has not yet touched the
bottom; for if so, it would have come up of itself.”
“Brook’s apparatus is very ingenious,” said Captain Blomsberry;
“it gives us very exact soundings.”
“Touch!” cried at this moment one of the men at the forewheel,
who was superintending the operation.
The captain and the lieutenant mounted the quarterdeck.
“What depth have we?” asked the captain.
“Three thousand six hundred and twenty-seven fathoms,” replied
the lieutenant, entering it in his notebook.
“Well, Bronsfield,” said the captain, “I will take down
the result. Now haul in the sounding line. It will be the
work of some hours. In that time the engineer can light the
furnaces, and we shall be ready to start as soon as you
have finished. It is ten o’clock, and with your permission,
lieutenant, I will turn in.”
“Do so, sir; do so!” replied the lieutenant obligingly.
The captain of the Susquehanna, as brave a man as need be, and
the humble servant of his officers, returned to his cabin, took
a brandy-grog, which earned for the steward no end of praise,
and turned in, not without having complimented his servant upon
his making beds, and slept a peaceful sleep.