passing behind the moon’s invisible disc; but when it was time
for it to reappear on the visible disc, one may imagine the
impatience of the fuming J. T. Maston and his not less
impatient companion. Each minute of the night they thought
they saw the projectile once more, and they did not see it.
Hence constant discussions and violent disputes between them,
Belfast affirming that the projectile could not be seen, J. T.
Maston maintaining that “it had put his eyes out.”
“It is the projectile!” repeated J. T. Maston.
“No,” answered Belfast; “it is an avalanche detached from a
lunar mountain.”
“Well, we shall see it to-morrow.”
“No, we shall not see it any more. It is carried into space.”
“Yes!”
“No!”
And at these moments, when contradictions rained like hail, the
well-known irritability of the secretary of the Gun Club
constituted a permanent danger for the Honorable Belfast.
The existence of these two together would soon have become
impossible; but an unforseen event cut short their
everlasting discussions.
During the night, from the 14th to the 15th of December, the two
irreconcilable friends were busy observing the lunar disc, J. T.
Maston abusing the learned Belfast as usual, who was by his
side; the secretary of the Gun Club maintaining for the
thousandth time that he had just seen the projectile, and adding
that he could see Michel Ardan’s face looking through one of the
scuttles, at the same time enforcing his argument by a series of
gestures which his formidable hook rendered very unpleasant.
At this moment Belfast’s servant appeared on the platform (it
was ten at night) and gave him a dispatch. It was the commander
of the Susquehanna’s telegram.
Belfast tore the envelope and read, and uttered a cry.
“What!” said J. T. Maston.
“The projectile!”
“Well!”
“Has fallen to the earth!”
Another cry, this time a perfect howl, answered him. He turned
toward J. T. Maston. The unfortunate man, imprudently leaning
over the metal tube, had disappeared in the immense telescope.
A fall of two hundred and eighty feet! Belfast, dismayed,
rushed to the orifice of the reflector.
He breathed. J. T. Maston, caught by his metal hook, was
holding on by one of the rings which bound the telescope
together, uttering fearful cries.
Belfast called. Help was brought, tackle was let down, and they
hoisted up, not without some trouble, the imprudent secretary of
the Gun Club.
He reappeared at the upper orifice without hurt.
“Ah!” said he, “if I had broken the mirror?”
“You would have paid for it,” replied Belfast severely.
“And that cursed projectile has fallen?” asked J. T. Maston.
“Into the Pacific!”
“Let us go!”
A quarter of an hour after the two savants were descending the
declivity of the Rocky Mountains; and two days after, at the
same time as their friends of the Gun Club, they arrived at San
Francisco, having killed five horses on the road.
Elphinstone, the brothers Blomsberry, and Bilsby rushed toward
them on their arrival.
“What shall we do?” they exclaimed.
“Fish up the projectile,” replied J. T. Maston, “and the sooner
the better.”
CHAPTER XXII
RECOVERED FROM THE SEA
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 travelers. 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!”