scrapes, ending invariably by falling on his feet, like those
little figures which they sell for children’s toys. In a few
words, his motto was “I have my opinions,” and the love of the
impossible constituted his ruling passion.
Such was the passenger of the Atlanta, always excitable, as if
boiling under the action of some internal fire by the character
of his physical organization. If ever two individuals offered
a striking contrast to each other, these were certainly Michel
Ardan and the Yankee Barbicane; both, moreover, being equally
enterprising and daring, each in his own way.
The scrutiny which the president of the Gun Club had instituted
regarding this new rival was quickly interrupted by the shouts
and hurrahs of the crowd. The cries became at last so
uproarious, and the popular enthusiasm assumed so personal a
form, that Michel Ardan, after having shaken hands some
thousands of times, at the imminent risk of leaving his fingers
behind him, was fain at last to make a bolt for his cabin.
Barbicane followed him without uttering a word.
“You are Barbicane, I suppose?” said Michel Ardan, in a tone
of voice in which he would have addressed a friend of twenty
years’ standing.
“Yes,” replied the president of the Gun Club.
“All right! how d’ye do, Barbicane? how are you getting on–
pretty well? that’s right.”
“So,” said Barbicane without further preliminary, “you are quite
determined to go.”
“Quite decided.”
“Nothing will stop you?”
“Nothing. Have you modified your projectile according to my telegram.”
“I waited for your arrival. But,” asked Barbicane again, “have
you carefully reflected?”
“Reflected? have I any time to spare? I find an opportunity of
making a tour in the moon, and I mean to profit by it. There is
the whole gist of the matter.”
Barbicane looked hard at this man who spoke so lightly of his
project with such complete absence of anxiety. “But, at least,”
said he, “you have some plans, some means of carrying your
project into execution?”
“Excellent, my dear Barbicane; only permit me to offer one remark:
My wish is to tell my story once for all, to everybody, and then
have done with it; then there will be no need for recapitulation.
So, if you have no objection, assemble your friends, colleagues,
the whole town, all Florida, all America if you like, and
to-morrow I shall be ready to explain my plans and answer any
objections whatever that may be advanced. You may rest assured
I shall wait without stirring. Will that suit you?”
“All right,” replied Barbicane.
So saying, the president left the cabin and informed the crowd of
the proposal of Michel Ardan. His words were received with clappings
of hands and shouts of joy. They had removed all difficulties.
To-morrow every one would contemplate at his ease this European hero.
However, some of the spectators, more infatuated than the rest,
would not leave the deck of the Atlanta. They passed the night
on board. Among others J. T. Maston got his hook fixed in the
combing of the poop, and it pretty nearly required the capstan to
get it out again.
“He is a hero! a hero!” he cried, a theme of which he was never
tired of ringing the changes; “and we are only like weak, silly
women, compared with this European!”
As to the president, after having suggested to the visitors it
was time to retire, he re-entered the passenger’s cabin, and
remained there till the bell of the steamer made it midnight.
But then the two rivals in popularity shook hands heartily and
parted on terms of intimate friendship.
CHAPTER XIX
A MONSTER MEETING
On the following day Barbicane, fearing that indiscreet
questions might be put to Michel Ardan, was desirous of reducing
the number of the audience to a few of the initiated, his own
colleagues for instance. He might as well have tried to
check the Falls of Niagara! he was compelled, therefore, to
give up the idea, and let his new friend run the chances of a
public conference. The place chosen for this monster meeting
was a vast plain situated in the rear of the town. In a few
hours, thanks to the help of the shipping in port, an immense