Maston was oppressed by sinister forebodings. He looked fiercely
at Nicholl, asking himself whether the captain’s vengeance had
already been satisfied, and the unfortunate Barbicane, shot, was
perhaps lying dead on some bloody track. The same thought seemed
to occur to Ardan; and both were casting inquiring glances on
Nicholl, when suddenly Maston paused.
The motionless figure of a man leaning against a gigantic
catalpa twenty feet off appeared, half-veiled by the foliage.
“It is he!” said Maston.
Barbicane never moved. Ardan looked at the captain, but he did
not wince. Ardan went forward crying:
“Barbicane! Barbicane!”
No answer! Ardan rushed toward his friend; but in the act of
seizing his arms, he stopped short and uttered a cry of surprise.
Barbicane, pencil in hand, was tracing geometrical figures in a
memorandum book, while his unloaded rifle lay beside him on the ground.
Absorbed in his studies, Barbicane, in his turn forgetful of the
duel, had seen and heard nothing.
When Ardan took his hand, he looked up and stared at his visitor
in astonishment.
“Ah, it is you!” he cried at last. “I have found it, my friend,
I have found it!”
“What?”
“My plan!”
“What plan?”
“The plan for countering the effect of the shock at the
departure of the projectile!”
“Indeed?” said Michel Ardan, looking at the captain out of the
corner of his eye.
“Yes! water! simply water, which will act as a spring– ah!
Maston,” cried Barbicane, “you here also?”
“Himself,” replied Ardan; “and permit me to introduce to you at
the same time the worthy Captain Nicholl!”
“Nicholl!” cried Barbicane, who jumped up at once. “Pardon me,
captain, I had quite forgotten– I am ready!”
Michel Ardan interfered, without giving the two enemies time to
say anything more.
“Thank heaven!” said he. “It is a happy thing that brave men
like you two did not meet sooner! we should now have been
mourning for one or other of you. But, thanks to Providence,
which has interfered, there is now no further cause for alarm.
When one forgets one’s anger in mechanics or in cobwebs, it is
a sign that the anger is not dangerous.”
Michel Ardan then told the president how the captain had been
found occupied.
“I put it to you now,” said he in conclusion, “are two such good
fellows as you are made on purpose to smash each other’s skulls
with shot?”
There was in “the situation” somewhat of the ridiculous,
something quite unexpected; Michel Ardan saw this, and
determined to effect a reconciliation.
“My good friends,” said he, with his most bewitching smile,
“this is nothing but a misunderstanding. Nothing more! well! to
prove that it is all over between you, accept frankly the
proposal I am going to make to you.”
“Make it,” said Nicholl.
“Our friend Barbicane believes that his projectile will go
straight to the moon?”
“Yes, certainly,” replied the president.
“And our friend Nicholl is persuaded it will fall back upon the earth?”
“I am certain of it,” cried the captain.
“Good!” said Ardan. “I cannot pretend to make you agree; but I
suggest this: Go with me, and so see whether we are stopped on
our journey.”
“What?” exclaimed J. T. Maston, stupefied.
The two rivals, on this sudden proposal, looked steadily at
each other. Barbicane waited for the captain’s answer.
Nicholl watched for the decision of the president.
“Well?” said Michel. “There is now no fear of the shock!”
“Done!” cried Barbicane.
But quickly as he pronounced the word, he was not before Nicholl.
“Hurrah! bravo! hip! hip! hurrah!” cried Michel, giving a hand
to each of the late adversaries. “Now that it is all settled,
my friends, allow me to treat you after French fashion. Let us
be off to breakfast!”
CHAPTER XXII
THE NEW CITIZEN OF THE UNITED STATES
That same day all America heard of the affair of Captain Nicholl
and President Barbicane, as well as its singular _denouement_.
From that day forth, Michel Ardan had not one moment’s rest.
Deputations from all corners of the Union harassed him without
cessation or intermission. He was compelled to receive them
all, whether he would or no. How many hands he shook, how many